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Peter hauls his luggage up the steep dirt path, kicking up gravel and tumbleweed in his wake.
It’s not that he expected the Midwest to be anything like Queens, or even Brooklyn. But so far, Iowa is nothing like the Berkshires, where Aunt May had once taken him for a surprise birthday trip. It’s not even like upstate New York, where the Avengers facility was located. It’s far more rural and a lot more dense, and he has no idea how anyone lives out here, much less enjoys living out here.
The cab he’d gotten at the airport had taken him as far as the beginning of a long dirt road, and Peter hadn’t complained when the driver suggested he walk the rest of the way. He had been surprised that his aunt had been so willing to let him go on this trip at all; true, revealing himself as Spider-Man had been as much of an independence check as it had been a reality check. But when he mentioned -- the real truth, no more lies -- that he wanted to go visit one of the friends he had made during science camp, she had smiled and kissed him and told him to have a good time. And even though Peter knew she had seen him pack his new suit “just in case,” she hadn’t mentioned it.
Peter blinks when the house comes into view in front of him, and he drops his bag to shield his eyes. Sure, he’s aware that everyone outside of Manhattan probably owns nicer and more spacious places than three-foot-wide apartments, but he’s still not prepared for the large sprawling colonial that takes up space on the wide acre of land, a multi-level house with a simple wooden fence, an ornate overhang, and a porch filled with swings, plants, and a few stray baby toys.
He picks up his bag and lets out a shaky breath. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t still have flashbacks of walking up to Liz’s house and meeting her dad, a villain unmasked behind the facade of the All-American dream, but he ignores the feeling as he approaches the porch and climbs the steps, putting his bag down next to him. His shoulder aches, a holdover from his injuries after the fight at Coney Island, and he rubs at a particularly sore muscle as he knocks on the door. There’s a brief silence, and then a multitude of sounds at once: feet pounding against the floor, a baby’s cry, windchimes, small screams.
And then the door opens to reveal a rugged-faced man with sandy hair and hazel eyes. He looks as homey as anyone living out here would look -- bare feet, flannel over a maroon shirt, ripped blue jeans -- but Peter can’t help thinking he seems strangely familiar.
Stop that, he thinks as he stares at the man in the doorway. Liz was in the past in every way, even physically. So was her family.
“Hi.” The man’s voice is a cross between gruff and cautious, and Peter can immediately tell it’s the tone of someone who doesn’t always trust who’s on the other side of the door. “Can I help you?”
“Uh, hi. I’m, uh. I’m Peter Parker.” Peter gestures towards the house. “I’m here for Cooper Barton. He’s a friend, from camp.”
Three months ago
“So, here’s the thing.” Tony waltzes into Pepper’s office, swinging the door shut behind him. “I’ve got a great idea for what we can do with Parker this summer.”
Pepper puts down her pen, abandoning her budget reports. “I thought you were going to lay off treating him like a superhero when he told you he wanted to be a kid.”
“Who said anything about treating him like a superhero?” Tony sounds downright insulted, and Pepper almost -- almost -- cracks a smile. “Okay, so we agreed that he should keep busy enough to not go out and tear the city apart, right?”
“What, you don’t trust him?” Pepper shuffles a few papers together and finally looks up, meeting his eyes. “Tony, I think based on what you told me, he’ll be okay.”
“Right, right. But what if I just wanted to, you know, just make sure he really had something to keep him busy this summer?”
Pepper bites down on her bottom lip as Tony brandishes a glossy flyer in her face, and she plucks it from his fingers with perfectly manicured nails. “Science camp? For the smartest person in the school?” She’s unable to stop the sigh that escapes from her throat. “Have you forgotten what it was like to go to MIT at fifteen?”
“Hardly, because I couldn’t even get into the cool frat parties without Rhodey,” Tony responds. “And it’s not just any science camp. It’s the Summer Exploration Program at The Victoria Hand Institute of Science. A four-week program in June that I wish I could have had the chance to go to. Instead, I was sitting at home trying to, you know, make my dad pay attention to me.”
Pepper laughs quietly. “And I suppose we’re going to offer to pay for it.”
“Well, of course.” Tony squares his shoulders. “Seriously, Pepper, am I making any sense here? I like to think I know you pretty well, and your reactions are kind of hard to read right now. Is this because of the ring?” He blinks, and inclines his head when Pepper doesn’t answer. “Okay, it’s totally because of the ring.”
“It’s not because of the ring,” Pepper promises, getting up. “I think it’s a good idea. And I’m very proud of your fatherly instincts.”
Tony makes a face. “The word ‘fatherly’ makes me sound like a grandfather. Did you not use the word ‘paternal’ because of my dad?”
“Mmmm.” Pepper grins. “Maybe.”
“You know, Miss Potts.” Tony drops the brochure on the ground as Pepper leans in to kiss him. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Clint lets Peter into the house after debating the situation in his head, giving into his dad instincts.
“Coop!”
He waits until the floor creaks above him, signaling that his son has gotten off his bed and is on his way downstairs. Sure enough, Cooper comes pounding down the stairs not three precise seconds later, landing at the bottom with a flourish. His eyes light up when he sees who is standing in the living room.
“Peter!” Cooper shifts his eyes downward and turns around, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck in a move Laura likes to tease he’s picked up from watching his dad get in trouble too many times. “Erm. Dad.”
Clint eyes him back until he looks up. “You didn’t tell me you had a friend coming.”
“Um.” Cooper looks visibly embarrassed. “I know. Sorry.”
“You know the rules, right?”
“I know, I know...I know, dad. No inviting new people to the house without asking you or mom first.” His voice escalates and reaches a slight whine. “But I didn’t know he was going to come today!” He shoots Peter a glare and Clint sighs, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair.
“It’s fine. You know him, yeah?”
“Yeah!” Cooper turns and smiles. “We met at camp. I told him he could come over sometime and we could play Legos together.”
Clint nods, trying to ignore a sudden pounding headache. There was something familiar about the kid, something about his face and voice that made his unusually sharp assassin senses flash a radar.
Stop that, he thinks as the two boys smile at each other and loosely hug. Cap was still out there -- a war criminal, they called him -- and anyone associated with him was either on the run or lying low. No way could Cooper’s friend be the same kid that he had spent two seconds staring down during the fight in Berlin.
“Go upstairs and I’ll talk to your mom, okay?”
Cooper nods and gestures wildly at Peter. “Come on! I gotta show you the newest thing I’ve been working on.”
Clint watches them leave, and then stretches his arms over his head until everything hurts. He wanders through the kitchen and into the sunroom, where Laura is bouncing Nate on her knee while Lila draws, lying on her belly on the hardwood floor.
“Coop invited a friend over,” Clint explains as he flops onto the couch. “He didn’t tell me. This kid from camp.”
“Is he okay?” Laura asks in a voice calm and neutral and practiced, every bit as natural at this game when children are present.
“Yeah,” Clint responds. “He seems fine. It’s just…” He trails off, watching Lila’s colored pencil scratch a fat yellow sun onto white construction paper. “He looks familiar. Like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
Laura sighs and adjusts Nate on her knee. “Cooper is a young boy, Clint. Every kid in his school looks the same.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Clint muses. “I dunno.”
“Well.” Laura gets up and leans over to kiss his nose. “Considering you mistook one of his female friends for a guy, I think I do know. Come here, old man. Your turn for baby duty.”
Clint grumbles, but stands up as Laura passes Nate into his arms. He stares at his son and his wide smile, and starts to feel a little calmer. Maybe Laura was right, the way Laura was always right. Maybe he was making a big deal over nothing, Raft paranoia be damned.
The baby squeals loudly as Clint immediately turns him upside down, swooping him back and forth at varying angles.
“For the last time, our baby is not one of your trick arrows,” Laura reminds him from the doorway, her voice sharp and clear. Clint grins and kisses Nate on the head as he cuddles him in his arms.
“Yes, ma’am.”
***
“So what have you been doing since camp ended?”
Peter stretches out on Cooper’s bed, admiring the way the sun paints shapes on the ceiling, and thinks about what he can say that isn’t quite lying. “Hanging around, mostly.” It wasn’t a lie, was it? He did hang, technically, as Spider-Man. “Working and stuff.”
“Working over the summer?” Cooper snorts out a laugh. “You sound like my dad. Even he makes me take a break. You’ll have time for all this later, kid.” Cooper says the last words in a deep voice, imitating his dad, no doubt, and Peter can’t help but smile.
“Your dad seems nice.”
“Yeah, he’s okay.” Cooper looks up and grins. “He’s great. Sometimes he’s paranoid, but whatever. His work makes him worried, I guess.”
Peter nods, because he gets it. He gets how a day job, no matter what it is, can make you feel more paranoid and stressed than you’d want to admit. He looks around the room again, and something on Cooper’s dresser catches his eye.
“Hey. That’s kinda cool.”
“Oh, yeah.” Cooper doesn’t even look up from where his gaze is concentrated, rummaging around in a drawer. “Dad gave it to me for my birthday last year. It’s a super sonic arrow head.”
Peter gets up and walks over, inspecting the object, which is encased in a small glass box. “Where’d he get it?”
“It’s his.” Cooper finally does look up with a shrug. “My dad -- he shoots arrows and stuff. I mean, he’s an Avenger. Well, he used to be an Avenger. I dunno if I’m supposed to say anything, but no one’s seemed to care for awhile now and he hasn’t been away in awhile. We just get really weird about people coming to the house if we don’t know them.”
Peter’s pretty sure he doesn’t hear anything after the word Avenger, because all of a sudden, everything explodes into place in his brain -- the reason Cooper’s father looked familiar, the reason Cooper himself had such a familiar way of throwing everything from baseballs to paper airplanes.
“Oh.”
He says the word out loud because he feels like he has to say something, and he doesn’t want Cooper to get suspicious. There are chills running through his body that he can’t control but he shakes them off. Yeah, he had technically fought against Cooper’s dad, although he didn’t really even fight him -- they’d just been on opposite sides. But as far as Peter knew, he wasn’t mean or trying to kill someone, like Liz’s dad.
“Yeah.” Cooper still doesn’t look up, and Peter realizes that unlike Ned or any of his other friends, Cooper is more or less oblivious to his reactions. “I don’t tell people about it, because it makes them think I’m weird.”
Peter nods. “I don’t think you’re weird,” he says, because it’s really all he can say without spilling his own secrets. “Hey, um, where’s the bathroom?”
Cooper points to the door, jerking his thumb to the left, and Peter gets up from the bed. The house doesn’t look like anything like an Avengers house would, though Peter realizes he can’t make that assumption; the only place he’s seen where any Avengers might live is the new headquarters, which were definitely more of a training center. But there’s nothing high tech about this place; the walls are covered in family photos and drawings and a few framed diplomas, and even the decorations are as simple as a hanging plant or a ceramic statue.
Another Avenger! He tries to control his excitement as he finds the bathroom and locks himself inside. It was almost too good to be true. He would have an entire week in the presence of someone else who could teach him about being a superhero, and --
And. Peter deflates suddenly, remembering what he had told Tony. He had promised to be a kid, and he had been doing a pretty good job so far. Sure, Tony giving his suit back had made him get back out on the street, but Peter hadn’t made all the mistakes he’d made while he was trying to save the world on his own. He had gotten better. At least, he thought he had.
Plus, Hawkeye wasn’t just an archer who could shoot really cool arrows. Hawkeye was Cooper’s dad. And Peter could tell by the way Cooper had talked that he didn’t think of his dad as some big hero; even if he did, it was a quieter kind of pride.
He finishes up in the bathroom and washes his hands, then yanks open the door -- and is met with the face of Cooper’s dad.
“You’re Peter?” he asks curiously. “Peter Parker.”
“Um.” Peter nods. “Yeah.”
Cooper’s dad nods back. “I forgot to introduce myself earlier. I’m Clint. Sorry about that, we don’t usually get many visitors here that we don’t know.”
Peter nods again. “It’s cool. Um, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming.”
Clint cracks a grin. “It’s not your fault. My son is a little scatterbrained sometimes, but I think I can forgive him. Anyway, let us know if you need anything.”
“Cool. Thanks Mr. Barton.” Peter tries to channel some rosy optimism into his voice, and Clint gives him a strange look as he walks back to Cooper’s room.
“Teenagers,” Peter hears him mutter under his breath, and he almost laughs, because he knows Aunt May would say the same thing.
***
During dinner that night, Cooper talks excitedly about all the things him and Peter have done at camp, and the two boys get on a tangent of science talk and lego building. Laura smiles, offers more spaghetti, and Nate cries and bangs his plastic cups on the table while Lila spills half of her vegetables on the floor in a charmingly innocent manner.
Clint excuses himself halfway through dinner to take the baby upstairs, and when Lila joins him after a few minutes, announcing with a face covered in dried vodka sauce that they should call Auntie Nat, Clint thinks his daughter might not have the worst idea.
“What trouble did you get yourself in this time?”
“What?” Clint blinks at the wall, and finishes changing Nate’s diaper, motioning for Lila to go to the bathroom. “Nothing.”
“Oh.” Natasha sounds distracted, and there are the sounds of sirens in the background. “Well, I just assumed you were in trouble since you were calling me. You’re still a fugitive, you know.”
“So are you,” Clint responds. “But Clint Barton aka Hawkeye was never found in that jail. Anyway, I’ve got a weird feeling about something.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Clint pauses to kiss his son on the head and adjusts the bluetooth attached to his ear. “Coop’s got a friend over.”
“How strange,” Natasha intones, sarcasm dripping off her tongue.
“Come on, Nat. I’m serious.”
“Fine.” The sounds fade and quiet, and Clint suspects that wherever Natasha is, she’s found a place where she can talk more easily. “What’s up?”
“I dunno. This kid...he’s familiar. And I don’t know how or why, but it’s bothering me. I know he’s someone I’ve never met before, but I’ve definitely seen him before, and --”
“Is he dangerous?” Natasha interrupts.
Clint frowns at Nate, who smiles again. “Pretty sure he’s not. He’s a kid.”
“Kids can be dangerous,” Natasha reminds him. “Cooper almost took my head off with my widow’s bites.”
“That was your fault for letting him play with them before he knew the concept of the word weapon,” Clint replies. “No, I don’t think he’s going to, like, infiltrate the house or anything. He’s a regular kid, so far as I can tell. But I know there’s something I’m missing.” He shifts the baby to his other arm and walks into the bathroom. Lila is standing over the sink, methodically moving a wash cloth over her mouth. Clint raises an eyebrow and mimes washing his own mouth in the mirror, and Lila giggles.
“Well, when you figure it out -- Hawkeye -- call and let me know. Then I’ll know you haven’t lost all your senses.”
“Love you too,” Clint mutters, before raising his voice. “Any idea where I’ll be able to find you next?”
“Hmmm.” Natasha sounds pensive. “Try a place where the bread is always fresh and the pastries are always good.”
“Riddles suck, Nat.” He takes the bluetooth out and bends down, deftly using one hand to fit it into his daughter’s small ear. Lila, now sporting a clean face, shrieks delightedly.
“Auntie Nat!”
Clint smiles and walks out of the bathroom, content to let his daughter talk for as long as she needs to.
“Dad?”
Clint turns around, hoisting Nate higher on his hip, which is starting to ache again from old wounds.
“Hey, Coop. Where’s your friend?”
“Mom wanted to show him stuff in the basement.” Cooper eyes him. “Lila’s talking to Auntie Nat. Are you okay?”
“Course.” Clint reaches out to hug him with his free arm. “You’re worried because Lila’s talking to Nat, like she always does when she’s away?”
Cooper shakes his head. “No. I dunno. I just feel like you’re acting strange. You’ve been strange ever since my friend came.” He winces. “You’re not...I didn’t make you mad, right? I know you don’t like people coming over, but I just wanted to see my friend.”
Clint’s heart hurts when he notices the way his son’s words are shaking slightly, a distinct show of vulnerability. “Hey, come on. I’m not mad. I promise. I was a little surprised when he showed up, but everything’s fine.”
Cooper makes a face. “So why do I feel like things are weird?”
Clint shrugs. “Dunno. You got my senses, I guess.”
“Spidey senses?”
Clint stifles a laugh. “No such thing, dude. If anything, you’ve got archer senses.” He nods towards his room. “Come on, let’s figure out where Peter can sleep tonight. I’ll bring up the mattress from downstairs and he can stay in your room, is that cool?”
Cooper nods and smiles, and Clint smiles back.
***
Peter talks himself out of it, all through Laura’s house tour and the movie night that they’ve set up, until he can’t help it anymore. He knows he won’t be able to sleep without at least getting confirmation, so after a lengthy chat with Cooper that takes them into the early morning hours, he takes his cell phone and tiptoes out of the room. The hallway is quiet, all the other bedroom doors closed, and Peter holds his breath as he lightly treads down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom, he waits to make sure no one is going to wake up, then slips quietly out the front door.
Peter takes a deep breath of stagnant summer air and lets it out slowly. He was better than most at sneaking out after all of his practice, but he was unfamiliar with Cooper’s house and for all he knew, Clint had some strange Avengers sense -- or security.
He checks his watch and then presses a number on his phone. After three rings, the line connects.
“Yeah.”
Peter’s heart leaps into his throat, and he realizes he hasn’t expected anyone to actually respond. “Hey! Hey, Mr. Stark! Um. It’s me. It’s Peter.”
Tony makes a grunting noise into the receiver. “What’s wrong, you okay?”
“What?” Peter tries not to get annoyed at the fact that the first thing Tony thinks is that he’s in danger; he tries to remind himself that he really does care. “No, yeah, I’m fine. I’m not even doing the spider stuff. But, um. I went to visit this kid I knew from camp, and --”
“Kid, I’m not your therapist,” Tony breaks in. “I can do the dad thing, and I’m all for trying to guide you, but --”
“I went to visit my friend and his dad is an Avenger who lives on a farm,” Peter blurts out. Tony suddenly goes silent.
“Okay.”
Peter groans. “Come on, Mr. Stark! You made me go to this camp! Did you set me up?”
“Kid. I had no idea that Hawkeye’s spawn was going to be there, much less become your friend,” Tony responds. “I know it’s bugging you out, but do me a favor and just...let it go, okay? Accept it. We’re not superheroes all the time. Definitely not out in cornfield world.”
“Okay.” Peter crushes his toe onto the wooden deck, noticing for the first time how quiet it is without cars and trucks and buses going by every four seconds. “Um, Mr. Stark? Am I allowed to...you know...talk to him about stuff? Superhero stuff?”
Tony sighs over the phone. “Remember what I told you about being a kid and just doing kid things? Not everyone needs to know you’re an Avenger. Not even real Avengers. Sometimes, we’re all just...normal.”
“What if he says something to me?”
“Then say whatever you want,” Tony replies in exasperation. “But don’t get yourself in trouble for no reason, okay? I’m busy, and I can’t come bail you out of jail or something.”
Peter nods to himself. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
Tony hangs up before he can say anything else, and Peter looks down at the phone as it goes dark. He’s not really sure if the conversation has made him feel any better, but at least he's been able to tell someone what's been gnawing away at his brain for the past twenty-four hours. He takes one more moment to calm himself outside in the quiet, and then opens the door slowly --
-- and for the second time since coming to the farm, he’s greeted by Cooper’s father. Clint regards him carefully, standing in the foyer with his arms crossed, and Peter suddenly feels about a foot tall.
“How --”
“Years of doing it myself, and also years of being a dad to a boy who likes to disobey me. And I’m an Avenger. But I think you knew that, right?”
Peter nods slowly, and Clint runs a hand through his hair.
“Thought I recognized you. Berlin, right?”
Peter nods again. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I didn’t -- I’m sorry --”
Clint looks confused. “Not sure what you’re apologizing for,” he says gruffly. “But if you wanna keep talking, we’re going to do it outside. I’ve got a one year old who’s finally asleep, and I’m not about to chance it.” He strides in front of Peter, joining him outside, and Peter takes the hint, closing the door behind him.
“Gotta say, it’s a little strange,” Clint starts, leaning on the porch railing in a show of relaxation. “Not that my son knew who he was becoming friends with. He makes friends pretty easily, and you’re pretty outgoing. So you’re, what? Spider-boy? Spider-Man?”
“Spider-Man,” Peter confirms. “I haven’t done any superhero stuff in awhile, though. Just...trying to be a kid.”
Clint smiles at the landscape. “Yeah, that’s what I tell Coop. Not that he’s any kind of superhero -- thank god, because I don’t think my wife and I would be able to handle it -- but he likes to think he can do what I do one day.”
Peter walks forward until he’s standing next to Clint, and glances up at him. “What’s it like? Being a parent and being...being an Avenger?”
Clint lowers his head. “Hard,” he says finally. “And tough. It’s not something I’d ever tell people to do, and I certainly wouldn’t tell my own son to do it.” He turns and looks at Peter carefully. “What’s it like being a kid and hiding everything from your parents?”
Peter’s caught off guard at the question, and looks down at his feet. “It’s just me and my aunt,” he admits. “And she found out a little while ago. It was kinda my fault. But I only hid things because I didn’t want her to worry.”
“Does she know about Berlin?”
“What?” Peter can’t see his own face, but feels the color drain from his cheeks. “No. No way, you think I’d tell her about that? It was bad enough that she found out I did the things she saw on TV!”
“Smart,” Clint says, turning fully so that he’s now leaning backwards against the rail. “We didn’t see much of each other that day, but you were good.”
“That’s not what Mr. Stark told me,” Peter says moodily. “I mean, he said I was good, but he also said I was out of my league.”
“You were,” Clint agrees. “But so was I, the first time SHIELD put me in the field. Stark was the same. So was Cap. All of us, more or less, we learned on the job or by almost dying. No one will tell you that, though. They’ll just act overprotective so you don’t make the same mistakes they made.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Peter grumbles, and Clint laughs.
“Yeah, well. My wife likes to say that my pep talks have gotten better over the years,” Clint says, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Dunno if I believe her. You’re not gonna tell my son you’re Spider-Man, are you?”
“No,” Peter replies quickly. “No, I don’t wanna do that. I just...I wanna be normal. And I wanna be his friend. That’s cool, right?”
Clint laughs again. “Yeah, that’s cool.”
***
When Clint wakes up the next morning, he’s surprised to find that he’s slept later than usual. He rolls out of bed and pauses, listens, squints into the sunlight and yawns, meandering out of the bedroom.
He spies Lila lying in the hallway on her back, book in hand and tongue carefully tucked inside her cheek. Clint attacks her, laughing as she screams in fake fright. After a healthy amount of cuddling, he lets her go so she can return to her reading and he heads to the bathroom, showering quickly before he makes his way downstairs, running his hands through damp hair to keep the ends from frizzing.
“Where is everyone?” Clint asks curiously, noting the strangely quiet house and clean kitchen. Nate is attempting to move in his portable bouncer, but other than the sound of plastic rings hitting the floor and small fists pounding on the tray table, there’s no raucous noise indicative of two young boys.
“Outside.” Laura doesn’t turn around from where she’s standing at the sink, washing breakfast dishes. “Cooper and Peter are in the backyard.”
There’s something strange about her voice, the way it’s crafted to hide any emotion and almost too cheerful. Clint feels the worry lines increase along his forehead as he closes the distance between them.
“Hey, what’s up?” He doesn’t say anything else; he knows if he waits long enough she’ll talk and if she doesn’t want to, she’ll make that clear, too.
“I heard you,” Laura says quietly, so softly he can barely hear her. “Last night. I heard you talking to him outside.”
“Oh,” Clint says just as softly, realizing what Laura must have heard. He tightens his grip on his wife’s body, and Laura releases a single hitched sob.
“Hey, Laur.” Clint turns her around carefully and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “It’s okay. He’s okay, he’s not going to get us in trouble. I trust him.”
“It’s not that,” Laura says, her words shaking. “It’s...he’s a kid, Clint. First Wanda, now Peter...you’re just recruiting kids to die for your cause. They’re fighting for things they don’t even understand...things that I don’t even understand! And…and….”
Clint recognizes immediately where his wife’s mind is going, and brings her in for a closer hug. “Hey. Look, Peter’s not going to tell Cooper what he is. He just wants a friend.”
Laura presses her cheek into Clint’s shoulder. “We can’t stop him,” she says with a shudder, and Clint knows as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, she’s right. “What can we say, Clint? No, Cooper’s not allowed to go and do those dangerous things he’s seen you do, when you were doing them at twenty?”
“He doesn’t know that part of it,” Clint assures her. “And Peter doesn’t want to be a superhero...not here. He wants to be a kid. We gotta trust that.”
“I do.” Laura swallows. “I do, Clint. But I’m also...I’m scared. Because we can’t do anything. We can’t control who he’s going to be, or who he becomes friends with...we can’t shelter him from that anymore than we can shelter him from you being talked about on the news.”
“I know,” Clint agrees, his shoulders slumping. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it...every goddamn day since the Raft, I’ve thought about it. I don’t want this life for him. And there’s no way we can control whether or not that happens.”
“I know,” Laura repeats against his skin as the sounds of Peter and Cooper laughing outside filter through the open window. “I know, Clint.”
The next day, Clint comes home from running errands to find Natasha stretched out on one of the porch chairs, feet up on the railing, looking for all the world content and satisfied. Clint narrows his eyes as he walks up the dirt road, balancing two canvas bags of groceries in one arm.
“When did you get here?”
Natasha grins and bites into the apple she’s holding. “Five minutes ago. I heard you’re harboring an Avenger.”
“You could say that.” Clint drops the bags and plops down on the seat next to her, not asking how she knew. Laura, probably, as usual. “How was Paris?”
“Ah.” Natasha winks. “You did figure it out.”
“Land of pastries and fresh bread?” Clint rolls his eyes. “You must’ve thought I was really daft.”
Natasha shrugged. “Could’ve been talking about New York.”
“Oh, definitely,” Clint deadpans. “Tell me when you’ve had fresh bread that hasn’t come from someplace that costs fifty dollars for a burger.”
Natasha laughs under her breath. “So, you figured it out.”
“Yeah,” Clint admits. “Took awhile. Talked to him about it a few days ago.”
Natasha arches an eyebrow. “Really?”
“He was calling Stark,” Clint says, gesturing towards the house. “Caught him sneaking out to ask about me, so I just figured I’d break the ice myself.”
“Good parenting,” Natasha notes, nudging his knee. “How’s Laura taking it?”
“She…” Clint trails off, knowing it’s not worth it to beat around the bush. “Not well. She’s reminded of Wanda. Peter’s a kid, and she wants Coop to be a kid. Not a superhero. But Coop doesn’t know Peter’s a superhero. He’s just a friend that he met at science camp.” Clint slouches back in the chair and closes his eyes. “Sometimes, I wish I could’ve just stayed in the Raft.”
“And missed your family growing up?” Natasha teases, but her voice is gentle. She puts her hand over his own. “You can’t protect Cooper any more than Laura or I can. But you can let him be a kid, and that’s what everyone wants for Peter right now, too. He’s not going to pull a Stark and throw your son into battle. So let him have that normal part of his life. Both of them need it.”
Clint keeps his eyes closed, but nods, and Natasha’s hand stays still on his own.
***
“You’re acting funny,” Cooper informs Peter on the fourth day of his visit. Peter internally kicks himself for the fact he’s been so transparent; Ned could call him out for being weird any day of the week, but Ned had known him for years. Cooper had only known him for four weeks and change.
“I guess it’s just different for me,” he says, throwing a stone into the river. “The whole country vibe, and being away from the city.”
Cooper gives him a side-eye and shrugs. “Okay. It’s just...you didn’t act this way when we were at camp. All of a sudden, you’re just being really odd.”
Peter throws another stone and watches it sink into the water. “Hey, do you ever ask your dad about being an Avenger?”
Cooper doesn’t answer right away, and Peter notices he looks conflicted. “I used to,” he says slowly. “But then a lot of stuff happened and dad went away, so I stopped asking. And he never wanted us to make a big deal about it, you know? Like, it was a job, and everyone had jobs.”
“Right,” Peter agrees.
Cooper furrows his brow. “Why are you so interested in my dad, anyway?”
Peter flinches. “No reason,” he lies, throwing another stone. “My parents died when I was younger, so, uh...I guess I just get curious about other people’s families.”
Cooper sticks his tongue in his cheek and nods. “That makes sense.”
The conversation is dropped after that, and Peter manages to get his mind off the whole thing until they make their way back to the house. Cooper is called upstairs to do chores, leaving Peter alone in the foyer. He stands by himself for a moment, and then wanders into the kitchen where Clint is reading.
“Hi.”
Clint looks up from his book in surprise. “Hi.”
“I was, uh. I was wondering if you could show me something?”
Clint narrows his eyes. “What do you want me to show you?” he asks in a voice that implies he knows exactly what Peter wants, but needs him to say it out loud. Peter clears his throat.
“What you do. As an Avenger.”
Clint puts down his book slowly. “Would you have asked me about this if I wasn’t an Avenger?”
Peter swallows against a dry throat, trying to remember that as much as Clint was a superhero -- a superhero, like he was -- he was also a father and a normal person who wasn’t out saving people all the time. “Probably not,” he admits. “But I also wouldn’t have been taken to Berlin and seen you shoot.”
Clint looks thoughtful. “That’s a good assessment,” he says, nodding at the stairs. “I’ll show you what I do, if you show me what you do. If you can still sneak out in the middle of the night without waking my son up.”
“He sleeps like a rock,” Peter says before catching himself. Clint laughs.
“Yeah, he does. Gets that from me, I’m afraid.”
The conversation calms Peter, enough so that he’s not constantly thinking about superheroes. He considers calling Tony again, but he also knows that won’t do any good. And besides, he’d already been lectured once about how to handle this situation.
Still, when he meets Clint outside later that night, after everyone has gone to sleep, he can’t quell the excitement bubbling up inside him. Berlin had been such a massive blur of shields and guns and magical powers that he realizes he’s never let himself watch and learn from people who have done this all their lives.
“Hell of a suit,” Clint greets him when Peter finally finds where he’s standing -- near a big oak tree, about a mile from the house.
Peter can’t help but smile. “It’s, uh, it’s not my original one. Mr. Stark made me a new one after he saw what I was using.”
“And what was that?” Clint’s voice is skeptical, but Peter also notices it’s not particularly accusatory. It’s gentle and interested, the way a dad would talk to a kid but without the added tone of being talked down to.
Peter shrugs. “It wasn’t much. I mean, it was pretty homemade. But I thought it was pretty good.”
“Kept you safe, didn’t it?”
Peter thinks of the scrapes and bruises and fractures, and decides it’s not worth arguing over. “Yeah, for the most part.”
Clint sighs, and looks up at the tree. “I come out here to shoot, because I don’t like to be close to my house. It was a cautionary thing for awhile -- you know, if anyone saw me or followed me, I’d be far enough away from my family to protect them -- but as my kids got older, I realized that I didn’t want to be around them while I was an Avenger.” He twirls an arrow between his fingers with deft ease. “This is my home. And when I’m home, I’m not at work, unless I have to be. And you better hope to god I don’t have to be.”
Peter swallows, because Clint hasn’t exactly lectured him, but there’s definitely a hint of danger swimming in his words.
“Right. Sure. Makes sense.”
Clint raises an eyebrow. “Not everyone is Tony Stark. Some of us get up every morning and drink coffee and take kids to school. Some of us even still go to school,” he adds pointedly. “But it doesn’t mean our lives are any different, or any less dangerous. Now.” He pauses, and Peter waits for him to continue, feeling like he can’t say or do anything without concrete permission. “Show me what you can do.”
Peter takes a deep breath and then swings himself up to the tree, unleashing his web shooters. It’s different swinging out here than it is in the city -- the wide open space thrills him, and with the absence of tall buildings and traffic and obstacles that he’s used to deflecting, he realizes how much easier he can move his body and how much more freedom he has.
Peter lets out a yell of excitement before he can stop himself and swings onto another tree, launching himself into the air and across the sky. The stars sparkle above him, like a shower of bright lights, and he does another few mid-air flips before landing smoothly a few yards away.
“That was amazing!” Peter shouts breathlessly as he rushes back to Clint. “That was so cool! I’m used to being in the city but out here, everything is so open!”
Clint smiles, and Peter notices he looks a little sad.
“Sorry,” he says after a moment, when Clint continues to stay silent. “I, uh. I didn’t mean to yell or anything before.”
“It’s not that,” Clint says wistfully. “You just reminded me of someone.”
“Who?” Peter asks, unable to help himself. Clint picks up his bow and looks at the sky.
“Someone else.” He raises his bow, not taking his eyes off Peter as he turns his body and shoots. “A friend I miss.” Clint strings another arrow and lets it fly, and it hits the exact middle of the tree trunk on the other side of the small hill. Peter feels his eyes grow wide at the precision, skill and stealth he’s witnessing.
“Woah.”
“It’s probably not that impressive when you compare it to being able to shoot lasers out of your hands,” Clint says, gesturing towards the arrows he’s shot. “But it’s something I’m proud of. I’m even more proud of the fact that I’ve been able to do this and keep a normal life. I never wanted this for my family -- I never wanted them to be anything special, or have to deal with any kind of danger. But sometimes, things happen, and we don’t get a choice about how we want it to affect us. We just make it work the best way we know how. You get it?”
Peter stares down at his own hands, hidden inside his suit, and feels the hairs on his arm start to tingle with familiar comfort.
“Yeah,” he decides with a small smile. “I think I get it.”
***
“So, when are you signing the adoption papers?”
“Huh?” Clint looks up at his wife and Natasha hides a grin as she stares into her coffee cup. She’d been sleeping at a motel, staying out of the way so as not to cause suspicion, but since the boys had gone out to run around town out for a majority of the day, she was taking advantage of the time alone to enjoy breakfast and some baby cuddles.
“Just wondering if you’re going to hold Peter hostage before we send him back to New York tomorrow,” Laura continues teasingly.
Clint rolls his eyes. “I’m not that bad.” He pauses, looking at Natasha, who is making funny faces at Nate. “Am I that bad?”
“Yes,” Natasha and Laura reply in unison. Clint runs a hand down his face and groans quietly.
“Fine. But he’s a kid!”
“So is Wanda,” Laura reminds him gently. Clint makes eye contact, trying to get a read on her emotions; since her initial breakdown, she’d been hiding her feelings better -- she was the bright, cheery, amicable mother and wife Clint had always known her to be -- but he knew she was hurting and worrying more than she was letting on.
Natasha remains silent, drinking her coffee, and finally puts her cup down. “Stark had no business dragging Parker into Berlin,” she says, her voice sounding hoarser than usual. “I’ll be the first one to admit that, and I was the one who could have stopped him when I knew where he was going. But I don’t know if he would’ve been any safer throwing himself around Manhattan, the way he was used to doing, if he hadn’t stepped in and helped him.”
“Maybe,” Clint agrees, sinking down into a nearby chair. “But now we’re responsible for him.”
“We?” Laura quirks an eyebrow, and Clint closes his eyes, knowing he’s going to be unable to lie to the two people he’s closest with.
“Yeah. He came here, Laur. He told us who he was...he showed us who he was. We know what he’s doing when he’s out there, now. He’s not just on his own anymore.”
Laura leans over and kisses him softly. “So we’ll protect him.”
“We can’t,” Clint returns bluntly. “You know that. We can’t protect him, even if we try. He’s in this now, and he’ll be in it for the rest of his life.”
“And when has knowing that stopped you?” Laura adjusts the baby in her arms as he tries to wiggle away. “You’ve kept us safe, Clint. You risked everything for Wanda in that prison. You almost died for Natasha, when it mattered.”
“And now I’m more or less in hiding at home, and you’re a damn fugitive,” Clint says, gesturing towards Natasha. “I don’t see your point.”
“My point is that even if you know what you do and don’t have control over, it doesn’t mean you can’t try to help,” Laura says. “And the man I know and love would never stop trying to protect someone he cared about. Especially a kid.”
Clint looks down and then looks up again, staring at his son’s chubby face. He glances over at Natasha, who nods subtly, the most confirmation he knows he knows he’s going to get from his partner.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can try.”
***
While Laura readies a “last supper” -- pasta cooked with vegetables pulled from the garden and potatoes pulled from the ground -- Peter and Cooper sit outside on the big swing with glasses of homemade iced tea.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Cooper says dejectedly, taking a drink and looking out at the lawn.
“You can come visit me in New York,” Peter suggests. “Aunt May and I will take you to get thai and everything!”
Cooper makes a face. “Good luck getting my dad to agree to that.”
Peter kicks his feet up onto the porch railing and glances at Cooper out of the corner of his eye. “Your dad’s pretty awesome. Well, for a dad.”
“You don’t even know him,” says Cooper with a roll of his eyes.
“Okay, well, he seems pretty cool,” Peter amends. “I mean, I did just spend an entire week with you.” He falls silent, thinking about his session with Clint a few nights ago. “Your dad cares about you. He’s overprotective because he cares. I get that. I mean, my aunt is really overprotective of me.”
Cooper traces a thumb against his glass, smearing condensation. “He was away a lot when I was a baby,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud because it will make him appear more vulnerable than he already is. “He always came home hurt. Sometimes he was really hurt and it was scary. He called me when he was on trips, and I didn’t even know what he was doing, you know? But he’d always bring me back cool things, and every time he came back…” He shakes his head. “I thought he wouldn’t leave again. But he kept leaving and getting hurt.”
“But you still want to do what he does,” Peter observes. When Cooper looks up in surprise, Peter can tell he hasn’t expected to be read that easily.
“I want to, but I don’t know if I want to,” he says carefully. “Anyway, my mom would never let me.”
Peter watches Cooper as he relaxes, his body sagging as if he’s just admitted something he’s kept inside for longer than he’d care to admit. “You don’t talk about it much, do you? The fact that your dad’s a superhero and stuff?”
The last sentence comes out before he can stop himself and Peter freezes, his entire body tensing. It was okay to use the word in front of Stark and Cap, and even in front of Clint. But Tony was right, he realizes, as he watches Cooper process his words. Even if he knew his father was an Avenger, he was still just a dad.
He had always been just a dad. He had always been more than an Avenger. Clint -- Hawkeye -- he meant something to the people he lived with when he wasn’t running around with his bow and arrow. Something that was more important than getting a front page headline.
“Not really,” says Cooper. “No one would really understand if I did.” He shrugs. “It’s kinda odd that you do, really. I just met you.”
Peter laughs under his breath as Laura calls them in for dinner, her light voice traveling through the open window and landing in his ears like a summertime tune that he’s hearing for the first time. He thinks of open fields and swinging through the starlit sky, and looks around.
It was a good home. It was a good normal life.
He could deal with not being a superhero, for a little while.