Necessary background information. (original) (raw)

Being dead was, at it's best, confusing. One minute, there, the next, nowhere at all.

Not that he was aware of it at all until that kid, the little blonde girl, Layla something-or-other worked his brain back to where it should have been before the Scarlet Witch re-ordered reality with a flick of her wrist, a toss of her hair and the suggestion of her brother.

In this brave new world, Clint was alive. Healthy. Part of a team of "Avengers" led by Luke Cage, fighting for the rights of human beings to exist alongside the mutant ruling class. In the world that should be, he was dead. Killed by aliens summoned or created by the Scarlet Witch. His teammate. His friend.

His murderess.

All completely confusing.

He was more used to the aim and shoot philosophy of life, really.

So, when he got a chance to shoot, he held fire and demanded an answer. Why she'd killed him.

Ridiculous, really. After all, you don't get answers from people whose brains have reached the expiration date on their warranty. No, you're lucky if they don't just burble happily into their lukewarm spaghetti. Or, you know, more frequently in the spandex line of work, they try to kill you. Again.

Which she did.

He felt reality unzip. He saw his bow, his hands for God's sake, tumble away, like a child's building blocks. The last thing he layed eyes on, before those eyes fell out of his head like discarded dice, was Wanda's red curls, framing a face in which the lights were still on, but the apartment had gone vacant a while back.

Was this the end of our hero?

Well...not quite. He didn't expect to wake up again. He was in no place to expect much of anything, really. No place at all. So, when he woke with a start behind a half-busted wall, the cold air chilling his face, his breath escaping in great plumes, he was, to be fair about it, a little taken aback. Shocked. Surprised.

Flabbergasted, Jarvis would say, if he were here.

Avengers Mansion, he figured out quickly, was in a shambles. Broken and left behind. It was home for so many years, for he and so many of his friends. Now, Tony had obviously abandoned it. What else had he abandoned? Why was he lying in the wreckage of what looked like the ground floor dining room, in what was left of this grand house?

Why was he alive? Again?

Too many questions, and no answers to be found. But nothing he couldn't handle, with a bow in his hand, and a quiver on his back. How many people get to hit the cosmic reset button and start over twice? Aside from the X-Men, anyway.