64A/N: PHEW! It took me longer than expected to get this typed, but here we are. (grins) I just couldn't resist a crossover!
I've typed a story with a plotline a bit like this before, for another fandom. BUT, this'll be different. NO ACTION, just pure drama and angst! (Because I'm a sadist who can't resist angst, LOL.)
DISCLAIMER: BUAH-HAH-HAA! Yeah, right…! If I had the money to hire Renner I'd die of joy. Me… owns… nothing. (POUTS)
WARNINGS: CROSSOVER, VERY DARK and adult themes, child abuse, language, ANGST, weirdness… Oh, anyone out there…?
AWKAY, because it's late and I'll chicken out if I keep stalling… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.
The Brother Code
Chapter 1 / 10 – Goodbye, Hello
Social worker Renee Stannis sighed heavily as she climbed out of her ancient, grey Sedan and ran a cigarette stained hand through her shortcut, unruly maroon hair. With barely even three hours of sleep the night before, she tried to remember what she read about this family from their file. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the information.
Two children, twin-boys of six years. Clinton Francis and John William. Their mother was a paranoid schizophrenic who, according to the neighbors, vanished two weeks ago and left the boys all alone. There was no knowledge of their father. Chances were that even their mother wouldn't have remembered, if they were able to ask her. Renee didn't have a very clear idea of the boys' current mental and physical condition but she braced herself for anything.
Her colleague, Pharrel Wyans, was just finishing a phone-call with a grim look on his face. He had a pair of incredibly ancient eyes. Those and the fact that he hadn't shaved in a few days made him look far older than his thirty-three years. "Stacy found the mother", he announced before he even looked towards her. "Someone called the cops when she started tearing apart a grocery store. She wasn't able to tell who she was and had no ID along."
Renee swore colorfully under her breath. Her glare scanned through the neighborhood, at a lot of expensive looking houses. The building they currently stood by was the only stain on the landscape. Several people were staring at them openly. All those people, and this family must've met countless of healthcare professionals. "Why the hell didn't anyone react sooner?" Why didn't anyone even try to help?
Pharrel wrinkled his nose. His fists were balled so tightly that knuckles turned white. "Because no one care enough."
Renee inhaled a heavy sigh. She then took a deep breath, bracing herself. "Well, we do. So let's go and see the boys."
The second they entered the house Renee knew that this would be one of those cases she'd never, ever forget. The small house, which was in a miserable condition and still stood only with sheer stubbornness, was impeccably clean. Even if only two small boys had inhabited it for weeks. Clearly someone had taken a good care of it, until recently. A layer of dust was gathering slowly yet steadily above everything. There was no electricity. Renee wondered just long the family had gone without.
Both she and Pharrel froze upon discovering a string of metal that'd been placed across a doorway. "What the…?" he sputtered in utter disbelief. "Is that a trap-wire?"
"Where's mom?" a young but threatening voice growled. Did it come from somewhere above them? How? "What did you do to her?"
Renee swallowed. "Your mom is very sick", she explained softly. "She's been missing for a while, hasn't she? Who helped you take care of the house?"
"No one", the boy spat back. Defensive. "Will cleaned, I set the traps. That's what mom told us to do. To make sure that it was clean and that we're safe." There was a frosty pause. "Did you come to take us away from her?"
"We came because looking after yourselves is too much work on two boys", Renee explained, trying not to let the tension she felt become audible. "We came to help, Clinton."
"Clint", the boy corrected instantly, sounding just a little more like someone of his age. Tired. Scared. Angry. Abandoned. Exhausted.
"Clint", Renee repeated. And nodded, certain that the child was somewhere he could see her. "Where's Will? We need to make sure that he's okay, too."
There was a long silence that made her stomach knot as she feared the worst. The response she eventually got wasn't very reassuring. "He… got sick. I think… He may need a doctor. But not one of those bad ones. Mom's told us to stay away from them."
"Then we'll take him to one of the good doctors", Pharrel promised. Sounding incredibly reassuring although his eyes darted around nervously. "Where is he?"
They both shuddered when there was a small thud and turned around. Apparently there'd been a hole in the ceiling neither of them noticed. Because through such a small boy had jumped and now stood behind them. Horribly tousled but clean hair, clothes that'd seen better days but had no stains. Although he was fully dressed it was easy to see how thin he was. There was a threat in the far too old eyes glaring at them. "You… won't hurt him, right?"
"We won't", Renee promised. Her heart breaking. "Take us to him, yeah? Then we can see what we can do to help him."
They were led through a very, very impressive maze of hallways. Renee realized that if the kids wanted to, they could've easily hidden there and wouldn't have been found until the house finally collapsed. Did their mother build the renovations? Renee dreaded to imagine what kind of a mind could come up with something like that.
After five full minutes they reached a tiny, dimly lit room. Clint dove in first, towards a thin mattress that must've served as a bed for far too long. "Will, a couple of people came here. They said they want to see you're okay."
There was a tiny lump on the bed. It wasn't until Clint addressed it the adults realized that it was a second child. Pale and even thinner than the one who greeted them in, deep shadows around closed eyes. It took them a long time to realize that the boy was still alive and that the chilling sound they heard was his breathing.
While Clint continued to try and rouse his brother Renee glanced towards her colleague. Their eyes held identical horror. "Pharrel, call an ambulance."
By some miracle, and with an incredible amount of stubbornness, John – or Will, as the boy preferred being called – pulled through. Neither twin was happy when they were sent to an orphanage. Very quickly it became apparent that aside their identical appearances, the boys had absolutely nothing in common.
Will worked his hardest to blend in as soon as he overcame the first shock and most of his physical ailments. He blended in, never talked to a lot of people but always had a pleasant smile on his face. He adapted to a point where he became invisible. Even some of the adults around him fell for his magnificent act.
Clint was working his hardest to not blend in. He picked up fights, got himself into a trouble as often as he could and refused to interact with anyone. Save his brother. He obviously imagined that no one noticed when he adopted a puppy, which was strictly forbidden. The adults didn't have the heart to take his pet away, especially when the animal was one of the only two creatures in the world the traumatized child talked to.
Well, there was one thing the twins did have in common. They were incredibly protective of each other. Will watched over Clint like a hawk, and Clint attacked anyone and anything he considered a threat to his ailing sibling with horrific viciousness. Their symbiosis ran so deep that the adults around them couldn't imagine there was anything that might break it.
Until one day of a winter storm.
John Brandt and his wife, who never even got the chance to introduce herself properly, observed the twins for an hour. As though evaluating animals. Until they finally came to a decision.
They only had the intention of having one son, and despite desperate reasoning from professionals they wanted nothing to do with Clint.
Despite their best attempts those who worked at the orphanage never found out what, exactly, happened. But at dusk Will followed the couple to their limousine. He wasn't crying or smiling, for once he didn't even attempt to put on a show for someone. The adults who actually cared had never seen a child with eyes that looked so trapped and defeated.
/ Clint's eyes were hard. Full of such fire Will had seen far too many times. It was the first time that ire was directed at him. "This is all your fault! That we were taken from mom, that we had to come here!" His twin gritted his teeth painfully tightly. "Go with them, because I don't wanna be your brother anymore."
Will was only six, still ill and unable to think clearly. It wasn't until he was an adult it occurred to him that he had something in common with his brother. They were both phenomenal actors. /
Clint wasn't there to see Will off. The child locked himself into the bathroom of the room he shared with his brother. It took a considerable amount of effort before the adults managed to break in. They encountered blood and shards of a broken mirror.
It was the first and only time they ever saw Clint cry.
/ Mr. Brandt cornered Clint into the room that was supposed to be a safe place. Where no mean adult was supposed to get to. The look in the man's eyes made him tremble, although he was too young to understand why. "Listen to me carefully, you useless brat. You…" The rich man wrinkled his nose at him. "… are nothing but a pathetic lost cause. But your brother… There's still some hope for him. I can see it." Clint sneered and opened his mouth for a venomous retort but Mr. Brandt was faster. "Stop being a selfish little prick and let him go. You're pulling him down, making him ill. Do at least one thing in your pitiable life right and let him go." /
Clint was eight and a half when a family finally came by that agreed to take him. The child was far from happy to go but resigned to his fate. He was barely even ten when came back, that time with Barney Barton, a car crash with his adoptive father driving drunk having stolen his second family.
The second time he left he didn't come back.
Some of those working at the orphanage and Renee were left wondering what became of the twins. If they ever found each other again, if they even tried. If they were even alive anymore.
In the end they decided that perhaps it was more merciful to not know.
Clint Barton had just returned from a long, exhausting mission the night before. Bruised, battered and thankful to be alive and in one piece. He wasn't exactly surprised when he discovered that he'd slept until almost noon.
He groaned loudly, then shifted just enough to peer to his side. Only to discover that Laura wasn't there anymore. Still haunted by the nightmare he just had, his stomach constricted until he heard the sounds of his kids laughing outside.
He really had to do something about that tiny, infuriating part of him that always expected the worst.
With a glorious yawn and a stretch that made him wince, Clint hauled himself out of the bed and began to drag his heavy feet downstairs. He smirked at the scent of coffee and pancakes. It widened to a wide, satisfied smile when he found Laura from the kitchen. "Morning. The bed was cold, but I forgive you if those are blueberry pancakes." At that moment he finally noticed the look on her face and the envelope she was holding. His chest tightened. "Laura?"
She swallowed thickly and wrapped one arm around him. "I'm… sorry, I was half asleep and didn't realize that it was for you before I opened it." She squeezed him a little tighter. "Honey, I'm sorry."
About a couple of hours later Clint sat on the porch, every single muscle in his body tense and holding his phone so tightly that it was a miracle the item didn't break. Eventually he steeled himself with a deep, shuddering breath and dialed a number Phil Coulson gave him when he was twenty-eight.
He'd almost given up until someone picked up. And he recognized the voice instantly, because it sounded like an echo of his own. "Brandt."
Clint gulped. What was he supposed to…? "Hi." Well, that was a crappy start. He blinked several times and rubbed his face roughly with one hand. "It's… me." Wasn't he just on fire…? He was trembling so badly that he nearly dropped the phone and sniffled when a sob attempted to break out.
"Clint?" The disbelief and uncertainty in Will's voice were heartbreaking. "What's wrong?" Still, after all the years, after everything…
"She's dead", Clint breathed out just as the first and only tear rolled.
TBC
A/N: Those poor boys…! Neither of them has had it very easy. If you've read my Clint-stories and 'The Perfect Son' about Will you know some of what they've gone through. If you haven't, you're about to find out. (grins, then winces)
Sooooo… The ball's been thrown to you! What do you, would you like to read more? PLEASE, do let me know! It's always nerve-wrecking to start a new story so I'd LOVE to hear from you.
In any case, thank you so much for reading! Who knows. Maybe I'll meet you later?
Take care!
