parental book of imagines. | marvel.

Imagine : Restart | Hawkeye.

It was early in the afternoon. The weather was comfortable. A nice breezy wind as well as a hot sun that peeked from behind the clouds, brightening your room. With the perfect glow of the sun your mind wandered to your childish decorated room.

You remember when you and your mom painted the walls baby blue with crafts from your younger self. Now in your eyes, it didn't bring the excitement it once did. It made you suddenly stop with the gloomy nostalgia.

The room was filled with memories. Your results from the doctor, your major fight with your dad, it held significance. But you were older now and you needed a change. A restart.

...

You sat in the black coloured truck. Next to you sat your father, Clint. He was a last resort.

The two of you grown apart for some time. He was focused with the younger ones and his pregnant wife. The oldest didn't need attention right?

It was partially your fault. You were never one with empathy or emotion. There wasn't a need or a want. Inevitably, you pushed the family apart and they grew without you.

Parking into the lot of the joint hardware and furniture store, the both of you exited the vehicle.

Clint turned toward you with a goofy smile. "What's the sudden change up kid? Room not good enough?"

You rolled your eyes. "It isn't. Not anymore. That was a childish phase." He let out an uneasy breath. Your bluntness and uninterested always got the best of him.

...

In the deafening metal cart were cans of white paint, office supplies, new beddings, and anything that caught your eye.

Conversation was barely made and Clint was slowly spiralling into what seemed like timidity, downcast, and every other negative emotion.

The two of you walked down aisles until his eyes laid upon a youthful leather couch. Decorated on it was him. Hawkeye, an Avengers, archer, and hero.

"We should put this in your room. I know I'm your favourite hero!" He let out a throaty chuckle, elbowing you in the rib for your attention.

Grimacing from the sudden pain, you responded. "I most certainly oppose. It's not professional in the slightest. And no, you aren't my favourite hero."

Your answer made him immediately quiet down. You could tell by the sudden change of facial expression that he was more than hurt.

"Why aren't I?" He said softly, his voice almost as a whisper.

"I see you everyday. I don't need a childish couch to prove that I somewhat admire you. By default, you will always be my considered a favourite."

...

The pathway to the cashier was long and empty. The echoing of your shoes and breathing were the only noises.

You heard him sniffle. It wasn't allergy season. Turning to look at him, you could see the water build up in his eyes.

"It means a lot that you said that..." Clint said.

...

The truck was parked on gravel. With bags in your hand, you walked up to the wooden stairway of your home.

Suddenly Clint hollered. "Who's you favourite hero?" He ran up to you with the paint cans in his arms panting from the cardio.

"You said at the store that I was by default a favourite. That was plural. So, who's your favourite? He repeated.

Almost in an instant you replied. "Bruce or Tony. I admire their intellect." You walked up the stairs leaving him on the porch.

Left outside he came to a sudden realization. "Wait!I'm not smart!?"

You laughed and stepped back outside. "No."

His eyes widened with the display of emotion. He hadn't seen you smile or laugh in years.

The errand to the store was the stepping stone for a restart in your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kind of hate it and love it.
Re-edited 06/13/2020

- BingeReaderClub