Budapest

Clint - Brothers

CLINT

Clint hooked two fingers on the edge of the curtain and pulled it back. People poured into the main tent, some carrying sodas or lemon shake ups, others carrying giant pretzels or popcorn in grease-stained red and white paper bags as they edged along the bleachers and settled in for the show. He could practically feel the electric crackle of excitement in the air as the anticipation began to build like thunderclouds on the horizon. After their fifth and final day in Wichita, it had proven to be the most lucrative city on their circuit so far this year. Every night was sold out with people still clamoring at the gates to be let in.

Clint double checked his arrows for the thousandth time in the past five minutes, running his thumb along the razor sharp tip of each arrowhead, sighting down the shafts and then making sure they were tucked into the quiver, perfectly snug. He moved onto his bow next, caressing the smooth, worn curves of the dark oak wood with the lightest touch, checking for any dings, cuts or scrapes. He pulled the string back and felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten in response to the tension. His bow had been with him for show after show ever since he joined the circus fifteen...sixteen....years ago. Maybe it was time to replace the old beauty but he just couldn't bring himself to do it yet.

"You're reminiscing again."

Clint turned to see his brother, Barney, watching him, arms crossed with an amused smile on his face. Sometimes it amazed Clint that the two of them were brothers. Clint was short, stocky, round in the face and his hair was always getting messed up if he didn't keep it cropped short. Barney, on the other hand, was the spitting image of their father - curly dark hair, sharp blue eyes, tall and broad in the shoulders. He inherited Dad's temper too. More than once, Clint had to run interference and drag his brother away from a fist fight because he took some offhanded comment the wrong way.

"Can't help it sometimes," Clint replied with a shrug. "It was my first real bow, kind of got attached I guess."

"You're a sap, you know that?" Barney shook his head and took the bow from Clint, looking it over, testing the string as Clint has done earlier but it wasn't the same thing. Barney studied and analyzed it like it was nothing more than a tool, but Clint felt it, remembered every story behind every scratch. Because it was Clint's bow, not Barney's. He'd practically slept with the damn thing ever since Mr. Carson gave it to him when Clint and Barney were rookies on the carnival circuit, what felt like a lifetime ago now.

Finally, Barney handed the bow back and Clint folded his arms over it like a protective father reunited with his long lost child. Barney was the only one he trusted to touch his bow, no one else at the carnival, no matter how well he knew them, was allowed to lay a finger on it. That was the rule for most any of the equipment though. The carnies made a living through the tools of their trade. If anyone accidently tampered with something or, god forbid, caused damage in any way, it could be at the cost of someone's livelihood.

"I remember when that bow was bigger than you were," Barney said.

"And I remember how much you laughed when the only way I could pull the string back was with both hands."

"Gotta get my kicks somewhere," Barney replied with a smirk. "What are little brothers for if not for entertainment?"

"Don't you have some elephant shit to shovel up somewhere, big brother?" Clint teased.

Barney took a playful swipe at Clint's head but after years of Barney being far too predictable, Clint managed to duck with plenty of room to spare. He took a step back out of arm's reach and shot his brother a grin.

"Must be close to show time," Barney replied, "your trash talk gets worse so you don't puke from the nerves."

"That was one time!"