Hello, those who chose to read this one shot. I won't judge you for your motives in doing so, whether by curiosity or anything like that, but I hope you enjoy. Please excuse any errors I made. This is my first fanfic in the Avengers fandom.

Rated T just in case.

I, sadly, don't own anything about this.

Julius Babas. Noël Fritz. Andrew Benedict

Three months since the Battle of New York.

Liam Miller. Jacob Shores. Susannah Gibbons.

One year, three months, and one day since Thor's first arrival in New Mexico.

Mark Drake. Francis Drake. Robin Drake.

Two years, seven months, and five days since he had brought Natasha to SHIELD.

Jóse Porter. Benjamin Yonekuni. Porter Richfield.

Four years and since Coulson and Fury had taken a chance on him and brought him to SHIELD.

Andrew Beckett. Elisabeth Wilkerson. Charles Johansson.

Five years since he escaped military prison.

Bobbi Yagand. Jesse Sullivan II. Neko Williams.

Six and a half years since he signed up for the military.

Nolan Shelvan. Stockton Miller. Vivian Brown.

Six years and one month since Jacques had almost killed him and Barney had left him.

Calvin Fjord. Nathaniel Burton. Orion White.

Ten years since he and Barney joined the circus.

Orlando Wood. Alicia Xie. Timothy Grant X.

Sixteen years his his and Barney's parents had died.

Sarah Manning. Solomon Atene. Kyle Gomez.

So many names filled the small, innocent looking notebook in Clint's hands. Most of the names were old, and of people from his assassin days. Some were only from three months ago.

Charlotte Lafay. Sandra Lyte. Henry Smith.

The last one was by far the worst one. Agent Phil Coulson.

The man had over seven hundred names in it total. He was only twenty two. Barely old enough to drink (not that I would, given my experiences with alcohol. Strictly milk, water, and coffee).

It was a day of celebration for the Avengers. A day to celebrate their victory over Loki and the Chitauri while remembering those who fell because of the God of Mischief. Even as Clint pondered over this, his eyes only glancing over the ink scribbles on the yellowed paper, were they over in Stark's personal bar, jesting merrily as Thor put it.

Where was the archer amid this? In a dark windowsill reading names of his victims.

All his life he was never strong enough. If he had been stronger, he could've stopped his father from abusing him and Barney. If he had been stronger, he would've been able to stop Jacques from stealing and put him in jail. If he had been stronger, his age may not have been found out. From these failures, he built himself up, refined his skills more and more. Until recently, he believed he could take on anything that was thrown at him.

Then Loki and his mind control came along. Clint hadn't been strong enough then, and it hurt. It looked bad, but felt much worse than he'd ever let on. To Fury, to his teammates, even to Natasha.

With each name he looked at, the worse he felt. He'd never really had a way to cope with his feelings in a healthy manner, choosing instead to shove them down and try to release them in target practice. He deserved feeling this guilt, after all. A popular saying for criminals that he'd heard many times said that if you couldn't do the time, don't do the crime. It was much too late for that.

His ledger wasn't dripping with blood. It was made of blood.

After a while, he slammed the small book shut and threw it under the couch. He'd fetch it later, but for now, he needed his space. Suddenly, the room seemed too confining, too much like a cage. He needed air. He stood up and started walking briskly to the stairs.

"Hey, Legolas," Iron Man called, "where do you think you're going?"

Thor added in a much too loud voice (Coming from a guy who was 80% deaf.), "COME JOIN US IN FEASTING AND MERRIMENT!"

Clint paused and shook his head, faking an apologetic smile. "Not right now. I'll be back later." He was careful to keep out the fact he was going to the roof. JARVIS would tell them if they asked, anyway.

As he continued toward the stairs, he thought he heard Tony say something along the lines of, "Birds of prey need to stretch their wings." It could've just been the agent and his hyperactive mind, though. He wasn't sure.

Clint climbed the stairs rapidly, unnerved by the close quarters. Sure he could've taken the elevator, but it was worse there since he couldn't move around very much. At least in the stairwell he could go somewhere. Relief was all too evident on his face when he finally made it to the very top. There was a little strip where he liked to perch over the city and brood when he didn't want to do so with the prying eyes downstairs. It was one of the few places that JARVIS couldn't see, courtesy of his stealthy moving skills.

He sat down, leaning back on his palms as he gazed out over the New York City skyline. He had a perfect views of Times Square, or at least what was becoming Times Square once more after the battle. Once again, he felt a surge of regret and anger, and he curled his hands into fists while squeezing his eyes shut. He just needed to think and be alone. That was the answer.

Clint was so busy with his thoughts that he didn't even realize the Captain was there until his sturdy hand was on the archer's shoulder. "Clint," the older man asked, his voice gentle, "is something wrong?"

"Nothing." He replied, slipping his emotionless mask back on to look at Captain America. "Why would you think something's wrong, Captain?"

"Well, you haven't called me that ridiculous nickname."

"Capsicle?"

Captain America sighed. "That's the one."

Clint chuckled softly. "I guess I just don't feel all that hot."

"Is it something I can help with?"

By now, Clint was getting suspicious. He wasn't used to people actually caring about him unless they needed him for their own motives. It had happened with Jacques, Buck, Barney. . . . Even Coulson and Fury; they only gave him a chance because of what he could give them. The question was what the Captain wanted from him. "Why do you care?"

He was expecting something along the lines of 'Just want to make sure you're not sick in case of a battle' or something like that. The archer wasn't expecting what he got.

Captain America smiled a little. "Because you're my friend. Of course I care."

Friend. Everyone who dared call themselves Clint's friend usually ended up dead. Well, except Natasha, but she was harder to kill then the flu. "Are you sure you don't want to rephrase that?" He asked, bitterness souring his tone.

The Captain tilted his head, confusion shining clear as day in his blue eyes. "Why would I? Do you not think of us as friends?"

"All my friends die, so I don't make many unless I have to."

Clint probably could've said it in a nicer way, but he didn't. That led to one of the most awkward silences that he had even been a part of, which was saying something since he worked with Fury the pirate.

(Don't tell the director this.)

Captain America suddenly flinched. Clint was immediately attentive, his gray-blue eyes searching. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why do you care?"

Okay, that stung. Although Clint would never admit it, his eyes may have started selling up with a tear or two. (It can't be proven!) He straightened up, stiffening into a more defensive position. "Maybe because if you got shot, I'd be threatened as well. Now, could you please tell me what's wrong?"

"Oh, just heard something crash down with the others. It's nothing."

They resumed sitting in silence again. If Captain America had been attempting to get the archer to admit anything, it had backfired. Eventually, the large 95-year-old stood up again. "Are you sure you don't want to come down with us?" He got no answer. After waiting a minute, Captain America walked back, then stopped by the door. "Please, take care of yourself, Clint." Then he was gone.

Clint sat on his perch, not even twitching, for at least another half an hour before he decided to go back downstairs. At the least, he could go explore the air vents. He did that when he couldn't sleep. It was another place JARVIS didn't have monitored.

Of course, though, he'd have to get his book back before anyone else found it.

He soon found that wouldn't be an option. The moment he stepped back into the common room, which was thankfully empty by now, his heart dropped. The couch that the notebook had been under was crushed in a Thor-shaped dent while the item in question was sitting on the table with a small piece of paper that said Read Me. He swallowed, trying to decide what to do now. Obviously the other Avengers had seen it. They knew what a monster he was. Should he even both staying in the tower?

Maybe he should just read it.

Clint sighed, picked up the leather book, and opened it. To his surprise, it wasn't his own writing, but Natasha's cursive that graced him to the first page. Instead of saying Hit List, it read People Saved.

Nick Fury. Grant Ward. Melinda May. Leo Fitz. Jemma Simmons. Maria Hill.

The further in the got, the more surprised he was.

Natasha Romanoff. Tony fricking Stark. Pepper Potts. Bruce Banner. Steve Rogers. Thor.

Clint was inexplicably happy to see each name was written in their respective handwriting. Except for this which was pure Iron Man:

The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist adds that 100% of the world owes their lives to Hawkeye. He also wants to mention this was 1000% his idea.

For he first time in years, Clint's eyes actually visibly started tearing up. (That they can prove!) A small smile graced his face. He wasn't even surprised when he felt a familiar pair of arms around his waist and a voice whispering in his ear. "Do you want to have some ice cream?"

He laughed, remembering the line that got him to find the person right by him. "Yes, Tasha, I do." He smiled at the others as they trailed in after her.

"Good!" Everyone cringed in unison at Iron Man's voice, which had somehow been amplified, as it echoed through the room. "This party isn't going to end until tomorrow."

Naturally, JARVIS pointed out, "Sir, the time is 12:21 am. As such, it is, technically, tomorrow." Tony simply waved that bit of logic off and AC/DC music began playing full blast. Clint took his hearing aids out and put them in his shirt pocket, but it only made the song quieter. It didn't do anything for the fierce beat that throbbed in his bones.

As the archer made his way to where the ice cream would most likely be, he happened to walk by the Captain. Captain America smiled slightly and asked, 'Feeling better?'

"Yes. Thank you." Clint hesitated, then added, "It's nice to have friends."

From then on, Iron Man was Tony, Captain America became Steve, Doctor/Hulk became Bruce, and Thor became, er, remained Thor.

So, what did you think? It's a bit dark for Christmastime, but that's how my mind works.

The review box gets lonely and hungry.