Silence

by Liliththestormgoddess

Summary: The five times the team thought Clint was acting strangely, and the one time they found out that he was deaf.

Rating: T for some violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the Avengers.

A/N: Ever since I discovered that comic book Clint was deaf, I have been obsessed. I simply love the idea. I couldn't get enough of deaf!Clint fics, so I wrote my own. I also love all the 5 + 1 stories and have always wanted to do one myself. So here is the product of those two loves. Enjoy!

1.

Clint Barton narrowly avoided the lethal kick to his midsection, instead receiving a blow to the side of his head when he couldn't move fast enough.

He ignored the searing pain the contact brought on, and the fact that his vision swam and rocked. Instead, he threw the knife that he gripped tightly in his hand, towards where he knew his attacker to be. Even with the black spots crouching in on his vision, the knife sunk into the alien's throat and he fell to the ground, gurgling.

With all threats handled, Barton took a moment to try and clear his head and take in his situation. His vision was back, but as he looked around at the nearby explosions and the lightening streaking down from the sky, he found that something was off. Something wasn't right.

It only took him a few moments to realize that there was no sound.

Cursing, his hands flew to his ears. Sure enough, his hearing aids were gone. Both of them, including the specially designed field aid that had his communicator built in. That meant that he was out of contact with the rest of his team mates.

Captain Steve Rogers, dressed in his full Captain America uniform, ducked under a barrage of heavy gunfire before slinging his shield into the offending attacker. It made contact with a satisfying thud before bouncing back into his outstretched hands. He barely had a chance to take a breath before he sensed, rather than heard, another alien creeping up behind him. It was not long before it, too, was lying on the ground.

Eyes furrowed, Rogers scanned the rooftops for Hawkeye. The archer always had his back. He never let anything sneak up on any of the team. Something had to be wrong.

"Hawkeye, come in," he shouted into the comm. No response. His heart began to beat a little faster as he shouted even louder, "Hawkeye, come in! What's your status?"

A sudden movement on the rooftop adjacent to Hawkeye's initial perch caught the Captain's eye. It was Barton, waving down to him. When he caught Rogers' eye, he motioned to his ear and made a slashing gesture across his throat.

No communication.

Rogers nodded his confirmation, and Barton was off. "Alright guys, Hawkeye has no communicator." He received various grunts of confirmation from the rest of the team, and then they were off again. Steve thought nothing of it for the rest of the fight.

Nearly an hour later, the section of the city they were fighting in was in relative shambles. The alien race had not been polite about where they pointed their guns and what they might be shooting at. Buildings sagged and crumbled, most reduced to ash. Standing in the middle of the street, bending over a carcass of an alien was Barton, his back to Steve.

Steve frowned in concern at the blood that coated the assassin's side. He'd been out of communication for much of the fight, so Steve wouldn't have known if anything had happened to him.

"Hawkeye," he called out as he approached.

The man didn't move, clearly not having heard him. Steve frowned. "Agent Barton!" he said a little louder. Still, the archer didn't move. "Clint! Clint, you okay?"

Now he was directly behind the man, and he still had not acknowledged his presence. Steve reached out to touch Barton's shoulder.

Before he could even blink, Clint had whirled around, knocked Steve to the ground, and had an arrow knocked and pointed at him.

"Whoa, whoa!" Steve cried, holding his hands out in front of him. "It's just me, Barton."

Clint swallowed visibly, and recognition flickered in his eyes. He let out a breath and lowered his bow, tossing Steve a faint smile. "Sorry, Cap. Shouldn't sneak up on me like that," he said as he offered a hand to the fallen soldier.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Steve offered, though he said nothing about the fact that he'd called Clint's name several times, and that it was nearly impossible to sneak up on the assassin. Rogers noticed, however, that Clint seemed as tense as a wound spring and only relaxed when Natasha joined him.

2.

After a fairly silent ride back to the helicarrier, the Avengers shuffled into a meeting room, falling less than gracefully into the chairs around the table. No one was hurt seriously enough to require medical, so Fury had called them all in for a debriefing.

Everyone, including Tony, relaxed into the chairs, exhausted but grateful that the threat had been eradicated with minimal civilian death. Actually, Tony realized as he glanced around the table, everyone except Barton was relaxing.

The man sat straight and rigid in his chair, eyes flickering around the rest of the team, resting on each person's face before moving on. He seemed to be continually on edge, as if waiting for some sort of attack.

When Fury swept in and asked for Stark to make a report about the nature of the giant weapons that the alien race had access to, he and Banner launched into a long-winded description of their theories and conclusions. Tony noticed with some discomfort that Barton's attention was solely on him. His face was of total concentration, and he'd shifted his body to directly face him, so as to have the best view. While Tony Stark loved attention – he actually thrived on it – he admitted to himself that it was unnerving to have that rapt of attention from the man who rarely listened to Stark's science rants.

When the debriefing was over, Tony high-tailed it out of there.

Later, while in his lab working with Bruce on the more detailed specifications of some armour, he broached the subject with Bruce.

Bruce merely looked up with a frown. "Tony, you think everyone's looking at you like some lovesick teenager."

Stark huffed. "Please. This was different. How could you not have noticed? He never pays attention when we speak science." While Bruce rolled his eyes, a sudden thought entered Tony's head, put there by Bruce's earlier words. "Do you think he's gay?" he blurted. "Yes, that's it! Oh my god, he's gay for me."

Banner sighed and continued scrolling through the schematics.

3.

Steve, Tony, and Bruce looked up from their breakfast as Clint stumbled into the kitchen.

It was fairly early in the morning, and even though Tony was not an early riser, he and Bruce had pulled an all-nighter working in the lab as they neared a major breakthrough. Steve was always up early, and had already been for his morning run. While Clint was also not one to sleep in, the team rarely saw him in the mornings due to the fact that he was usually on a mission and hardly ever in the tower. What also made this morning different was the fact that the assassin seemed to be having trouble walking.

They watched with curiosity as Clint went through every cupboard and drawer, slamming each one shut with a little more force than was necessary. He rifled through the contents of the refrigerator before turning to the others. "Where's the coffee?" he slurred.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"

Clint's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Have you been drinking?" Tony clarified. "Even I don't start this early." Bruce elbowed him in the stomach.

Licking his lips, Clint spoke again, this time slower and a little louder than was necessary with the amount of space between them. "Where do you keep the coffee?" His words were much clearer.

Steve stepped in, showing Clint the one cupboard he hadn't ransacked. Clint quickly thanked him, scooped out a heavy dose of grinds, and slinked back out from the room, ignoring Bruce's passing inquiry of his health.

Ten minutes later, Barton was back, fully dressed and fresher looking than he had been. His speech and his walk were back to normal, and he acted like nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.

The others assumed he just wasn't a morning person.

4.

Clint fiddled with the controls of the remote for the hundredth time that day. The remote connected to his new hearing aids he'd just received, after he'd accidentally broken the last pair. Because the hearing aids were so small and nearly invisible inside his ear, the volume had to be controlled on the remote. And so far, he'd been having a hell of a time trying to get it right.

Frustrated, but feeling like he'd finally gotten it right, Clint decided he needed a cold beer.

He headed towards the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. As he twisted off the cap, he noticed that the rest of the Avengers were sitting in the living room, watching TV. He walked in, just as a large and very loud explosion went off on the program. He jumped, not expecting the loud sound. His ears protested the loud noise.

Tony noticed, and grinned. "A little jumpy there, Legolas?"

Clint scowled at him, dropping into the seat beside Natasha. "Your TV's on too damn loud," he countered.

He nearly jumped again when Thor boomed, "My friend Hawk! This show is quite amusing! Do you know of it?" He shot Clint a wide smile.

Barton grimaced and refrained from turning down the volume on his hearing aids. "Um, no. But not so loud, big guy."

Clint found he couldn't sit comfortably or relax throughout the entire show. Anything that anyone said in the room seemed to be screaming in his ear. His head began to pound, and he was almost literally twitching with every word spoken. Natasha, concerned, laid a hand on his knee and eyed him quizzically. They held a silent conversation for several seconds before rising in unison and quickly leaving the room.

A few minutes later, Steve left the group, wanting to turn in early. As he approached his bedroom, he heard an argument coming from across the hall, from Clint's room.

"Everything's so freaking loud, Tasha," Clint's loud and clearly frustrated voice could be heard outside the door.

"Calm down, Clint." Natasha's voice was much quieter in comparison, and it held none of her no-nonsense edge that she usually spoke in. It seemed to be a tone that she reserved for her partner, especially if she was trying to soothe him. "You need to give them time."

"Time?" Clint growled, and his footsteps could be heard pacing around the room. "They've never been like this. I can't get the stupid volume right."

Steve felt very uncomfortable standing there and eavesdropping, but he admitted to himself that he was too curious to leave.

"I mean, who the hell sent these? They don't even fit properly."

"Stevenson sent them," Natasha said.

"Stevenson's an ass," Clint countered.

Natasha sounded as if she might have been smiling as she responded, "Well, he's our new handler."

"I don't give a damn. Coulson never would have made a mistake like that."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"I know," Natasha said softly. "Come here, let me see." There was more silence, then, "Christ, Clint, they're inflamed."

"God damn it!" Clint cried out, and then Steve heard the sound of something small being thrown against the wall. He chose that moment to scurry inside his room and go to sleep. He did, however, linger on the conversation, wondering just what they could have been discussing.

5.

Clint uncomfortably made his way towards one of Stark's many labs, cautious of what he was going to find. JARVIS had recently informed him that Tony and Bruce required his assistance immediately.

When he reached the lab, he was relieved to find it all in one piece, along with the two men occupying it. The doors clicked open, and Clint stepped inside.

He looked around with mild interest, never having been inside the lab before, until Tony waved him over with child-like enthusiasm.

"Great," Stark said, bouncing over to the table that Bruce stood at. "Come see our new prototype." On the table lay a dozen arrows, all with extremely high-tech arrowheads that Clint couldn't fathom their purpose.

He leaned closer with genuine curiosity but frowned as a sudden buzzing and clicking assaulted his ears. He shook his head to clear it, but it stubbornly remained. Tony continued to ramble on about the specificities of the arrows, but Clint could not concentrate on his words. All he could concentrate on was the annoying interference in his ears.

Were the batteries dying in his hearing aids? He wondered. He quickly discarded that idea when he remembered he'd just changed them yesterday. Glancing around for possible answers, his eyes lit upon the numerous machinery and devices around him, and he realized what was causing his aids to malfunction.

Tony was oblivious to Barton's discomfort, but Bruce watched in concern as Clint shifted uncomfortably, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He winced several times and was looking everywhere but at the two scientists or the arrows in front of him. Stark held out an arrow for him to examine, but Clint wasn't looking at him.

They watched as the archer shook his head once more, gruffly cleared his throat and murmured, "I have to go," before spinning on his heel and leaving the lab.

Tony looked like someone had just taken away his favourite toy. He still held the proffered arrow, frowning at Clint's retreating form through the glass.

+1.

The first time that Clint had ever fought an alien before had been after he'd been severed from Loki's manipulation and fought against him to save the world. Now, it seemed as if that was the signal for all sorts of alien races to decide to try their hand at taking over the world. Today was no different.

Hawkeye was perched atop a roof, picking off as many aliens as he could. Each arrow hit a satisfying mark and the numbers were soon dropping. He briefly wondered why the Avengers had been called in at all. This was child's play.

A collective sigh of relief was expelled from each member as the last alien fell.

Captain America brushed dirt off his hands as he commented, "Great work, team. That was the last of them. I'll call it in."

Hawkeye gave a last cursory glance around, and seeing no more aliens, he began to make his way towards the roof stairs. "I'm headed do-" he began to say, but a chilling voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello, Clinton."

It was a voice he hadn't heard in nearly six months. It was the same voice that haunted him in all of his dreams. It was the same voice that he had hoped he would never hear again.

He tried to spin around to confront the demi-god, but found that his brain refused to send the commands to his limbs. He could only stare in horror as the majestically clad figure stepped slowly around him, coming to a halt in front of him, that same thin smile curling his lips. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"Hawkeye, report!" Steve was shouting in his ear. He must have realized something was wrong. Try as he might, Clint couldn't make his tongue work.

Loki examined Clint with wild, dark eyes. Loki looked horrible, like he'd been through hell in the past few months. Clint was hoping he had been. His face was paler than before, his hair wispy and no longer perfect, and thin, pale scars stretched across his face, adding to his demonic look as they stretched when he smiled.

"I've missed you, my friend," he said, his voice a low hiss. Clint's struggles doubled as Loki stepped closer, his hand coming to rest softly against his cheek. Suddenly, the god frowned. "Ah, but as I recall, you betrayed me, didn't you?" He let out a tired, over dramatic sigh. "And I do not like an unfaithful servant." His expression turned from calm to furious in the blink of an eye, and his grip on Clint's face intensified painfully. With a firm wrench, Loki pulled Clint's head toward him, lowering his mouth to his ear. He whispered poisonously, "Come and get me, brother."

Loki's breath was an electric current travelling through Clint's ears. When his world once again became silent, he realized that Loki had disabled his hearing aids. So when Loki's voice echoed once again inside his head, Clint's anxiety increased exponentially. The god was inside him again.

"You are nothing but a worthless liability," he spat. And then Clint felt his insides catch fire.

It was a pain like nothing he had ever felt before. It felt as if someone had poured gasoline down his throat and lit a match. Everything was burning inside, he was sure of it.

When awareness returned, he gasped against the pain in his throat. He must have been screaming.

Thor had heard the whispered words of his brother, and his heart immediately turned to lead. Without a word to the others, he quickly took off towards the last known position of the Archer.

He got there at the same time Tony did. Iron Man fell to the roof with a small 'thud', before lifting his faceplate up to reveal narrowed, furious eyes at the sight before them.

Loki had Barton on his knees in front of him, gritting his teeth in obvious pain. Grinning maliciously, Loki grabbed Clint by his hair and pulled his head back so that the marksman was now looking at the two men.

"Hello, brother," he said. "Looking for him?" He shook the beaten man for emphasis.

"Why are you doing this, brother?" Thor asked pleadingly, watching the way the Hawk's eyes were trying desperately to stay focused.

Loki tipped his head. "Revenge," he said simply.

"Stop this. Leave him from this, and take your quarrel up with me," Thor insisted, shifting his grip on his hammer. He did not like the way that Barton looked and wondered just what sort of trickery Loki was playing on him.

Loki laughed harshly. "You would sacrifice yourself for this pitifully mortal man? How noble of you, brother, but you might as well save your breath. He cannot hear you."

Tony took a menacing step forward. "What did you do to him?" he demanded.

"I have done nothing but show him what a useless weight he is." He raised his eyes back to the two Avengers, fake surprise shining in his smiling eyes. "Oh, you haven't told them, Clinton?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Tell them," he ordered, giving Barton's head a rough shake. "Tell them how pitiful you are." It was as if the god hadn't brought Clint low enough the first time they met. But he knew everything about Clint, and he knew just where his insecurities lay.

When it was clear that Clint intended to keep silent, Loki snarled one last time, before deciding to use more of his magic.

A smoky green tendril left Loki's fingers and disappeared inside Clint's throat. They watched as he visibly fought and struggled against the magic, but it wasn't long before his mouth opened and words came out, strained and clearly not his own. "I…am deaf."

Loki laughed into the silence. "There, see? Was that so hard, my Hawk?" He turned back to the stunned Avengers. "Now you must realize there is no point in trying to save him. He is of no use to anyone."

Stark turned his focus back on Hawkeye, astonished at the revelation, but the archer's moving fingers caught his eye instead. He frowned for a moment before realizing that he was signing something. Looking surreptitiously past Loki, he watched as Natasha and Steve slunk towards the god's unprotected back. Natasha, he noticed, was watching Barton's hands.

Natasha made a quick signal with her hands, and Rogers immediately swung his shield at Loki. In the flash of an eye, Loki had spun around to face his attackers, but as soon as he relinquished contact with Clint, the spell was broken.

His attention diverted, Clint was up in a flash and throwing himself on the demi-god, a knife in his hand and at his tormentor's throat.

Clint breathed heavily down into the face his nightmares often took, watching as the god of mischief merely smiled back at him. He growled in return, pressing the knife dangerously close to the skin.

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him, but he looked up to find Thor looking sadly at him, but the angry set to his eyes was for his brother. He gestured to the man on the ground, his mouth moving silently, and Clint understood that Thor wanted to deal with his brother.

Clint turned his attention back to Loki. He wanted to kill him. He ought to kill him. For everything that he had done to him, for everything that he had taken from him. He deserved it. But instead, he rose shakily to his feet. "Death would be too good for you," he growled. He also would never admit that he liked Thor too much to break his heart by killing his brother.

Another, smaller hand, rested on his other arm, and he turned to see Natasha standing there, concern clear in her eyes. It wasn't often that she so openly displayed her emotions, so he figured that he had given her quite the scare.

Are you okay? He read from her lips.

He nodded and she led him away from the rest of them. As soon as they had stepped out of sight, however, his legs refused to support him any longer. He winced as he slid down to lean against a chimney, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Somewhere inside, the fire had turned down to a simmer.

Natasha kneeled down in front of him, and her hands moved, rapidly signing both questions and updates on the battle. Clint focused only on her moving hands in an attempt to get his mind off the pain and the heartache.

That was where Steve found them some time later. He moved slowly forward, but stayed back from the pair. "The clean up crew is here," he said quietly. Natasha slowly turned to look at him, but Barton never looked up. Steve cleared his throat. "Medical is here also. Is he hurt?" he asked.

The redhead turned back to her partner and signed quickly. His response was a shake of the head and a single flick of his hand. Without turning back to the Captain, Natasha spoke. "He's fine. He says it was just magic."

"Okay," Steve responded, now feeling awkward. Without knowing anything else to do, he quickly fled.

It had been two days since the mishap with Loki. The Avengers hadn't seen hide nor tail of Barton or Romanoff since. In their rooms back at the tower, all of their belongings were gone. When Clint had packed up, Natasha had done the same without uttering a word. She had told him, long ago, that she would go wherever he went, even if it meant leaving behind her team mates and – she admitted to herself – her friends.

It was sunset on the second night, and Natasha and Clint were sitting on the rooftop of some agency. Clint didn't even know the name of it; he had only chosen it for the height it afforded him.

He sat on the edge, letting his feet dangle over. He liked the spot; he liked the feeling of control it gave him. He was on the edge of two worlds: free falling or the solidity of the roof, and he could decide his fate at any moment. It made him feel as if he could control his own life in the same manner.

Natasha sat beside him, her shoulder pressed into his and her hand entwined with his. Neither spoke a word, content in the silence and watching the sunset.

After the battle, medical had cleared Barton fairly quickly. There was nothing wrong with him and the doctors had no means of detecting or examining magic, so they had guessed and told him the magic would wear off. It had, in fact, within a couple of hours.

Fury, in a moment of extremely un-Fury-ness, had told the agents that they could submit their report by the end of the week. He hadn't asked them to come in for the debrief. Clint was especially grateful for this.

The sudden slamming of the roof door broke the silence and solitude. The two assassins leaped up and had their weapons drawn at the intruders, only to lower them when they saw that it was merely Steve and Tony.

"Helllooo, anybody home?" Tony called obnoxiously, only to receive a glare from Steve.

Natasha let out an annoyed breath. "Stark, Rogers, what are you doing here?" she asked as she holstered her weapon.

"What, you thought we wouldn't be able to find you?" Tony asked with a smirk, holding his hands out to the side in a mock show of innocence.

Steve shot him another look before turning to Clint. "How are you doing, Agent Barton?" he asked gently.

"Fine, thanks Cap," Clint replied, eyeing them wearily.

The door to the roof stairs opened once more, and Bruce and Thor stepped out onto the roof, offering shy smiles to the pair of spies. Clint looked overwhelmed by the sudden gathering. "What is this?"

"We're checking up on you," the billionaire offered.

"Why?" Clint demanded. "Why do you even care?"

Rogers stepped forward, knowing that it was part of his duty to his team mates to handle the situation, though he seemed at a loss as to how to handle it. "Listen, about what happened –" he started but Barton immediately cut him off.

"Don't worry about it. You don't have to say anything. I know what you're going to say. I'm a liability in the field, and you can't have any weaknesses on this team. I've been told all of this before. I get it." He spoke all of this with a toneless voice and his face devoid of emotion. As he said it, his mind replayed the first time that people had looked at him differently when he was first diagnosed. An agent had refused to go on an operation with him because he was deaf. Clint didn't point out the fact that two days later the same agent received orders to man a listening post in the North Pole. Coulson forever denied having had any part in the decision, but Clint always knew better.

Clint continued on with his tirade before Rogers could open his mouth again. "You don't need me on this team. I was already a liability because I don't have superpowers, and I knew that. And when we first met, I was playing for the other team. That sure strikes confidence, doesn't it?" He asked sarcastically.

Stark narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Does SHIELD know?" he suddenly asked.

Confused, Clint said, "Yes, of course. I was on a mission for them when it happened. Got too close to a blast. Nearly died."

"So why didn't they get rid of you, hmm?" Stark countered. "If you're no longer useful? You called it, what, a liability?"

Clint grew silent, locking his gaze with Tony's. The genius was unfazed.

"I'll tell you why," he continued, pointing a finger at Barton. "Because you're a damn good marksman. You're SHIELDS best sniper - actually, the world's best sniper. I read it in you're file. It's in big bold letters, right across the top." He spread his hands for emphasis, his words no longer dripping with sarcasm, but carrying the heavy weight of truth and sincerity. "And Fury does not strike me as the sort of man who keeps things laying around, just for sentimental value."

At the last of Tony's words, complete silence rang on the rooftop. It was deafening and thick, and Clint thought he might suffocate or choke on all the damned emotion in the air. His head spun, and he didn't know what to think. Two days ago, and he thought the Avengers would have been glad to see him go. He thought he was doing them a favour, sparing the need to kick him out themselves. Now? He had no clue now. Natasha, who had dropped his hand when the team had first barged in on them, now grasped it tightly again. It was a rare display of affection in front of an audience, and Clint was both baffled and grateful for it.

Steve stepped forward again, confidence surging through him at the evident change in the atmosphere. "Clint," he said. "No one thinks you're a liability. You've had our backs for several missions, and we trust you to watch out for us. We've never doubted you. This - this changes nothing. No one wants you off this team.

"But, if we're going to make this team thing work, the trust has to be reciprocal. You have to trust us and talk to us. We need to know these things. What if something happened? I lead this team, but if I can't help any of you, then I've failed in my duty. And I will not let that happen."

Clint wanted to say something sly and challenging, but found he could only speak the truth. "It was years before I told Natasha," he said through the thickness in his throat.

"I know some sign language," Bruce finally spoke up. "But I really would like to learn more." He offered Clint a small smile, and more words were said in that smile than his actual offer.

"The Man of Iron told me what it is that you have, or have not. He also spoke of such devices and tricks of magic that allow you to hear and operate." Thor frowned. "You are still the same man, friend Clint, and I do not understand how this makes a difference."

Before Clint could even start to think on how to respond to that open and blatant honesty, Steve asked another question. "What was the damage?"

Clint jumped at that one. It dealt only with facts and numbers. "Eighty-five percent of my hearing is gone from my right ear, and ninety percent from my left. But, uh," he added, looking around at them, "I do read lips, if I need to."

Stark whipped his cell phone from his pocket, and immediately began to type furiously. "I'll hack SHIELD to get the schematics of the hearing aids," he said matter-of-factly, as if hacking into a top-secret organization was an everyday occurrence and not extremely illegal. "I doubt those high school lab geeks know what they're doing anyways. I'll make something better." He suddenly spun around and fired off questions to Bruce, who looked startled for a second, before answering. The two science geeks then began to rattle off theories and terms, completely baffling Clint.

He looked down to see Natasha smiling up at him, and he heard the words she had spoken from the very beginning. Words like trust and honest; words that he thought he could never apply to anyone again after Coulson.

And just like that, he knew these people would not judge him, were never going to judge him, and they might, just might, be considered his friends.