Imagine If You Assembled The Avengers: Volume 3

I've Elected to Ignore It (Barton x reader)

The story of Clint Barton recruiting Natasha Romanoff was SHIELD lore. How a young and barely tested agent had been assigned to kill the famous and notorious Black Widow, but when the moment came, he made a different call; he made a call that could have ended very tragically had he taken a chance on the wrong person. It was a story that every new recruit thereafter had to hear on their first day as Nick Fury gave his customary welcome lecture that actually welcomed no one; it was formality that he couldn't pass to anyone else and it wasn't for lack of trying.

What wasn't as famous of a story was that of how Clint was recruited.

Once he had been brought into SHIELD, he excelled at every challenge and climbed through the ranks to lead faster than nearly anyone in history. Everyone except you, of course. There was no way in hell that he was going to climb over you if you had anything to say about it. You brought that boy in yourself, and after endless hours of convincing Fury that you were making the right decision, he finally gave in so long as you got Barton under control. The kid was a mess; untrained, stubborn, arrogant, and too smart for his own good. Beyond that, he was the most skilled marksman you had ever known, and if you hadn't taken the chance on him, someone else would have and the options weren't ones you wanted to consider.

No one ever gave you credit for Nat, though. All Barton was doing was exactly what you had done with him, but without the proper acknowledgment for giving him the idea in the first place. He always had been a little shit like that.

"So, how's this new group?" you asked your protégé. "See anyone promising?"

"They're all promising," Clint shrugged, "but no one jumping out at me yet. They're young, this group. Not sure if Fury even bothered to check birthdays."

You peeked your head into the classroom where Barton had just left, seeing for yourself just how young these new recruits really were. They looked like a mix of eager, nervous, and terrified; you remembered the feeling yourself as if it had been only yesterday that Nick gave your group the exact same speech that they had just endured. "Nick isn't even scary anymore," you chuckled, "what's with them? Are we sure that they're old enough to leave their mommies?"

"Pfft, barely."

"Well, Barton, they'd better pull up their big kid pants soon because we're taking them out in the field on Monday."

"Woah, hold up," he stopped you, grabbing your arm, "like, this Monday? Like, three days from now Monday?"

"Yep."

"You and me?"

"Yes, Clint. You and me."

"Shiiit," he grumbled, turning away and shaking his head, "are we taking bets on how many actually come back alive?"

"Really? Come on, Clint, you know that if anyone can get these kids into shape fast, it's you. Besides, don't worry, I'll be there with you."

"You say that like it's a good thing, (Y/N). We're not exactly known for our conventional methods, and if this is a teaching mission, don't you think we need a little convention?"

With one final glance into the room filled with bursting, youthful nerves, you could feel the pressure of their anxieties pushing back against you like a balloon ready to burst with the slightest pressure. Maybe Clint was right, that it was too soon, but you were of the mind that there was no time like the present to start, and what better way than on a nice, simple training mission? It was how you got your start, how Barton got his, and it was how these newbies would get theirs; tradition demanded it.

"Would it make you feel better if we bring Nat?"

"Nat? Ha!" he scoffed. "Cap, maybe. Or even Stark for that matter. Bringing Nat along is definitely asking for trouble. You think that I can handle two of you on my own?"