Work Text:
Worth the Trouble
It’s one of those weeks again - Steve is sick. He is shaking from the cold and sweating at the same time, feverish and freezing all at once. As much as he is used to it, he’s miserable and much more clingy than usual.
The others are there for him to bring food, tea and medicine, but most of all, to keep him company. They happily stay to provide distractions, cuddles and new mugs of tea. The downside of all of this is that sooner or later, someone catches whatever cold or stomach bug Steve managed to get at the time.
Which leads to the issue at hand, being that Clint Barton ignores any signs of sickness in himself that isn’t a body part about to fall off.
It starts out with a scratchy throat, which is easy enough to ignore and easy to hide. Then, he starts coughing and his voice sounds like he swallowed sandpaper - great. Clint keeps ignoring all the signs and keeps going on like usual - get out of bed, help the younger kids, help with making breakfast and then he disappears to the shooting range to finetune a few of his archery tricks - it’s a routine he likes, especially since no one here yells at him or inflicts pain when he messes up a shot.
But Clint notices that his shots get messier and messier, and he is more than a little annoyed at himself. Failure is unacceptable, after all.
He only works himself harder and harder, and by the time he is done for the day, he is shaking and sweating, but he blames it on the hours of shooting and nothing else.
Clint isn’t very hungry that day, and says as much when he is asked for his vote on lunch - they always get options, and to make things easier for everyone, it’s a vote every single day.
“You’ve been training all morning. Are you sure?” Phil asks, with a concerned frown creeping onto his face. He is well aware of Clint’s tendencies to skip meals sometimes, both now and as an adult, and it is almost always a sign that something isn’t right.
“Yeah, I’m just not feeling it right now.” He shrugs, and just to be safe and not draw any suspicions onto himself, he adds,
“Maybe just a soup or something. You guys do your thing.”
The others vote on pasta, and the smell is almost enough to make Clint want to leave the room. Too much at once - a wave of nausea creeps up at him and he slams the microwave shut. Clint waits for it to warm up some of that chicken noodle soup they always have in the freezer. It’s always good for days like this, and he figures it’ll keep the worry of Phil and Thor off of his back for now.
At least for that day, he gets away with it.
He goes to bed early that night, earlier than usual. Clint can feel Lucky nuzzling into him, licking the skin on his wrist until he gets the pets that he wanted. It feels good, having the dog close. His presence always relaxes Clint, especially when he isn’t feeling well. There is no way that dog cuddles don’t have magical healing powers - he is convinced of it, and with that thought in his mind and Lucky next to him, he drifts off to sleep.
The next morning, Clint wakes up with a head full of cotton and a throat filled with what feels like glass shards, but he still forces himself to get up and start out the day as usual.
Lucky for him, Steve is already feeling better and joining the others, which means that a lot of attention goes to him. The fact that Natasha is talking his ear off about something she read in a story book recently also helps - he can focus entirely on her and act like he simply forgot to eat while engaging in her excited ramble. Besides, it’s good so see how much she has flourished in the last few weeks - Clint is genuinely happy to see her like that.
He manages to go shooting arrows without anyone catching on - or so he thinks.
By the time he is coughing more and his hands are starting to shake, JARVIS asks him to please stop and go to bed, but he doesn’t listen.
Phil is in a conversation with Director Fury and doesn’t catch any of it, and Thor is on an important skype call with Eric Selvig, so he catches on late as well.
But JARVIS knows how to be effective - of course he does. Tony built him, after all, and so the AI calls for him to drag Clint upstairs.
Tony may be a tiny pre-teen right now, but he sure knows how to get people to do things. Mostly by being annoying - all he needs to hear is that a friend is unwell and none of the adults can be reached, if he could please go down there and help.
He does so without a question.
“Jarvis said you’re sick and you need to go to bed.” he informs the archer as he walks onto the range, and Clint turns to him, sneezes and let’s the arrow fly on accident - it pierces into the wall next to his target and he scowls at it.
“I’m fine.” he says with a sniffle, and gets back into position. His head is throbbing, but he ignores it to the best of his ability.
Going to bed would be the smart thing to do - but years of being told to stop being fucking lazy and get off of his ass when all he wanted to do was crawl back to bed and sleep off a flu, keep him rooted to the spot now.
The swordsman and Trickshot sure had gotten into his brain, and the thought of their anger, especially once drunk, is enough to force himself to keep going. It is a long standing habit by now.
But Tony isn’t having any of it - he, too, can be fiercely protective of the other kids. He is trying to pry Clint away from the gym and upstairs to the bedroom.
“Come on! I know you caught whatever Steve had earlier - you were near him the whole time and all you wanted yesterday was soup.” Damn it if he didn’t pay attention to what happens around him.
“I’m not done here. Leave me alone.” it comes out a lot more grumpy than intended, but Clint is almost running on auto-pilot by now, lining up his arrows and trying desperately to hit the center.
When he is about to grab another one, Tony scoffs and tries to pull him away by grabbing his arm - Clint doesn’t budge. He might not be taller or older by a lot, but damn if the years of archery haven’t paid off already. He might not look it, but he is damn strong for his size and age.
Tony seems to come to the same conclusion, because he sighs dramatically and then says,
“You may be stronger, but I’m much more annoying. Try me, bitch.”
And with that, Tony hops on the older boy’s back, clinging like a monkey and repeatedly poking his cheek with one finger. While he does that, he keeps chanting his name over and over again.
“Clint. Clint. Clint. Come on, go upstairs, I can do this all day long. Clint. Clint.”
The archer sighs, heavily. Stopping his training doesn’t suit him at all, but to be fair, he really doesn’t feel great. There is an annoying scratch in his throat that gets stronger and stronger and his head feels like it is about to explode.
But shooting is what he always does. Taking a break isn’t like him - until now, he’s never been allowed to.
Finally defeated, Clint goes to collect his arrows. He takes a little longer than usual to pack his quiver, but once that is done, he makes his way to the elevator. Tony doesn’t give up and just stays where he is, like a stuck record. He keeps poking Clint and intends to do so until he is in a bed to sleep off the sickness.
This is how the two of them arrive upstairs - Clint shuffling and visibly pale, with a scowl on his face, bow in one hand and his quiver in the other and Tony still hanging onto him.
In the kitchen, Phil is having a quick coffee with Director Fury. He spent quite some time telling him how everyone is doing, how the age regression affects the Avengers. They have been discussing how possible cures might be attainable - all of those things.
Of course it is in this exact moment that Clint is walking past the doorway, tired and annoyed at this point and with Tony still clinging onto him while poking him in the cheek with one finger.
“Clint. Clint. Clint…” the two of them disappear around a corner.
“Clint… Clint… Ew! Stop biting me!”
“Then stop poking my face!”
Something soft hits the floor - probably an annoying 12-year old Tony. After that, the bickering fades away, too quietly to make out from the kitchen.
Fury turns, eyebrows raised and staring at Phil with one unimpressed eye.
“I can’t see how these two are any different than usual. Nothing. Nada.”
Phil’s expression doesn’t change - he has been used to this for a long time.
When Fury has left the tower again just a few minutes later, he does get up to make his way to the shared guest suite. He wants to check up on the boys, because Clint has been acting weird in the past few days - more so than he usually does.
“Sir, I should inform you that Clint is unwell. He was training and refused to stop despite getting worse. Neither you or Thor were available at the time, so I’m afraid I had to call the nearest person to get him to move...”
Oh. Now this makes a lot more sense. Phil curses silently, then adds,
“Thank you, Jarvis.” and leaves the kitchen.
He is surprised to find the suite in silence - Steve went for a nap after breakfast and a movie, and as far as he knows, Bruce is painting with Nat. A few moments later though, Tony steps out of one of the rooms.
“Uhh, Phil?”
“Hey. Jarvis told me. How is he?”
“Annoyed because I dragged him up here. But I don’t think he’s okay, he’s warm and fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed… I was gonna go tell you.” Tony explains, and a shadow of worry creepy across his face. He doesn’t like it when the people around him aren’t themselves, and this is certainly one of those cases.
“Thank you, Tony. I appreciate your help.” He shoots him a smile and accepts the half-hug from Tony, gently ruffling his hair in the process. He is beyond happy that he seems to trust and know he can safely seek out affection - god knows, he needs it. All of those kids need it.
“How are you doing? If Clint is getting sick, some of you might, too. You were all close to each other in the last few days.”
“I’m okay. Not feeling sick or anything.”
“Alright, that’s good. Let us know if that changes, okay?”
“Okay.” and with that, Tony let’s go of him and walks off to find Bruce and Nat.
When Phil enters Clint’s room, he is careful not to spook the boy, but as it turns out, he is fast asleep. He looks pale and sweaty, and he is still wearing his workout clothes. His bow and arrow stand in a close corner, as if he’d only managed to drop them there before he made it into bed. It looks like he fell asleep pretty much instantly. Even when Phil steps around him, to get to the bathroom for medicine and a glass of water, he doesn’t stir. This is unusual - normally, Clint registers when someone comes near him, even when - or rather, especially when - he is asleep.
It doesn’t help Phil’s worry about him at all. He places both the glass of water and the pills on the nightstand, then he leaves the room.
“Jarvis, please let me know when he wakes up or if anything else is needed.” Phil requests quietly upon leaving and the AI reassures him that he will.
By the time Clint wakes up again, he feels like he got run over by a train. He is absolutely miserable and wouldn’t be able to get out of bed even if he wanted to. All he wants to do is burrow back into the pillows, but then a panicked thought jolts through him like an electric shock.
‘You’ll get in trouble - Trickshot is gonna be pissed!’ his sickness clouded brain keeps telling him, and it takes Clint longer than it should to realize that Trickshot isn’t here - neither he, or Swordsman or Barney or Carson or anyone else is here, he is safe and he is allowed to sleep. He is allowed to be sick and rest. He doesn’t have to work through it.
Clint’s heart is still hammering in his chest, and part of him is terrified. What if it changed? Who knows how long he slept for, maybe the rule has been changed in the meantime?
Oh god, what if they’re mad at him?
The thoughts keep going and going, and his breathing is shallow, but at the same time, way too fast. It hurts. His head feels a lot worse than before, too. Clint is faintly aware that he is starting to slip into a full blown panic. He presses both of his hands, shaking and slick with cold sweat, over his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet.
Don’t alert anyone. Don’t let them see, don’t let them hear - just hide and hope they’ll leave him alone.
He wouldn’t be able to defend himself right now if he had to.
Only when it is way too late to do anything - not that he could - Clint realizes that the door to his room has opened. His breathing speeds up even more, making his lungs hurt and the pressure in his head increases.
Everything hurts, he is too weak and too panicked to do anything, and all of this terrifies him even more.
It takes him a while to notice that someone is talking to him. Phil, he realizes and somehow, he connects that with “calm” and “safe”, contrary to what the other, messy part of his brain is trying to make him believe.
Phil doesn’t touch him, which is good, but he keeps talking to him, trying to get him to even out his breathing. It takes a while, but it works out eventually.
Clint still doesn’t look at him - he is shivering with cold while the back of his shirt sticks to him uncomfortably and his head feels like it’s about to explode. The headache has only gotten worse while he was freaking out and now he is attempting to hold back tears. It’s too much, but the calm and even voice next to him helps.
“You’re safe, everything is okay. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe…”
Finally, the words register with him, but what comes out of his mouth is,
“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time.”
A beat of silence follows - just for a few seconds, just long enough for Phil to push away the urge to go back in time to murder a few people. He only talks when he is sure that there is no trace of anger in his voice - however little it might be, he knows that the boy in front of him will pick up on it. Doesn’t matter that it isn’t directed at him - he will take it that way and slide into another panic. It’s the last thing he needs right now.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” He ignores the fact that Clint was hiding how sick he is and pushing through like always. Overcoming this is something that took years of support and therapy even as an adult - there is no reason to expect this from a traumatized teenager. Phil knows his story, after all - it only helps him approach the situation now.
He isn’t sure if his words stick, but Clint nods. His breathing calms down a bit, but he doesn’t move, keeping his eyes cast downwards on the sheets.
“There is water and medicine on the table, you should take it.” Phil tells him, and is glad that he does. Small favors.
“Can I do anything else for you?” he asks then, and Clint just shakes his he had before burrowing back into the blankets. All he wants is to be left alone.
Over the course of the next few days, Clint is getting worse. He doesn’t let anyone near him, let alone touch him, not even the other kids. This, of all things, probably worries them the most.
The fact that he spent the first days ignoring his state only made things worse now. Maybe it wouldn’t have turned this bad if Clint had rested instead of pushing through training and everyday tasks as always, but as it is now, his flu turns out to be a bad boost of pneumonia.
Breathing is hard and painful, and the only times that Clint is awake, he spends in the bathroom or vomiting. He barely manages a shower on his own - by all means, he is shaky enough on his legs that he should have needed help to keep standing, but due to various personal issues, it is not an option for him.
As a compromise, he leaves the door half open, so that someone could come in quickly in case of an accident. Even that seems to be a lot more than he is willing to do, but he agrees nonetheless - it’s easier than arguing.
The first few times he manages on his own, stumbling out of the bathroom and back to bed as soon as he is done. But one day, he gets dizzy while getting dressed. He moved too quickly, trying to get his clothes back on as quickly as possible to get back to bed, but then he suddenly blacks out with the long sleeve shirt halfway over his head.
Thor is pacing the bedroom while he waits for Clint to be done. He is about to call out, asking if everything is okay, but right when he opens his mouth to ask, the sound of a body hitting the floor comes from the other room. It makes him curse out loud and sprint over to help, but Clint is unconscious and sprawled on the tiles.
Carefully, Thor steps closer - he knows that Jarvis is calling for medical help and for Phil, but he barely registers it.
It looks like Clint hit his head when he passed out, and he starts checking all the vitals and then makes sure to bring him into the recovery position.
Thor is always careful and gentle with other people, especially kids. Now, he takes even greater care, knowing that Clint doesn’t want to be touched, but there is no way to help him otherwise.
Things get hectic after that - Phil comes running only moments after the call for help, and soon after that, they have Clint down in medical.
The other kids are still upstairs, worried because they don’t know what is going on, only that their friend is hurt and needs help.
Natasha especially takes it hard. She usually spends a lot of time around Clint, and suddenly everything changed again. All she knows is that he is unwell and won’t let anyone near him, and now there is some kind of emergency.
The little girl is sniffling silently in a corner, eyes locked onto the door as if it held any answers. It takes several attempts to talk to her, and when Bruce sits down next to her, offering his hand to hold, she accepts it and scoots closer in an attempt to find comfort.
It doesn’t take long for Tony and Steve to join them, and together they wait on any answers. Unlike usual, they don’t talk very much at all.
Phil comes back to them after a while, apologizing for leaving them alone so suddenly. He looks tense and worried, despite his best attempts to hide it. The kids know - they feel the same.
It saddens him to see them this upset, and he does his best to explain the situation so they know enough but not too much. They deserve to know what is going on, but he doesn’t want to scare them any further. It is a slippery slope, but he is used to delivering information in this kind of way.
Meanwhile, a few storeys down in medical, the doctors get Clint’s temperature and symptoms under control as well as they can, but they are concerned. Along with the pneumonia and head injury from his fall, which luckily, isn’t as bad as it could have been, they have discovered something else.
They have found that Clint has a number of both fresh and healing cuts on all arms and legs, easily hidden by clothing. Since there were no accidents or incidents that they know of, and due to the easily hidden locations, they are pretty certain that they are caused by self-harm. The even length and depth is another indicator.
They tell this to Thor, who is very much concerned. He knows about those issues from when he read his teammates file, back when the team first got together - the doctors know about it as well, but neither of them knew it had started this early.
“This is an issue we need to address once Clint is awake. He will not react well if any action was to be taken now. He needs to know, and he needs a choice. Otherwise, he will lose what little trust he has in us.” Thor is very certain of this, and he keeps repeating his point to every single person until the point has come across.
Clint is out cold in the hospital bed, and Thor settles into one of the cheap plastic chairs that look comically small under him. There is nothing funny about it now.
After a little while, Clint seems to wake up. He is groggy and confused, especially when his eyes dart around the unfamiliar room in a panic. But then his eyes settle on Thor sitting next to the bed and tries to ask what is going on, but all he can manage is a coughing fit.
“Easy, my friend, you are safe. Here, this might help.” Thor hands him a cup of water, and it helps him enough to not hack up a lung.
“Thanks. What happened?” His voice is barely there, but the question seems to be obvious enough.
“You fell in the bathroom and hit your head. We had to bring you down to see the healers, and they say you will need to stay and recover here for a bit. How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” It’s a lot more than that, but it’s true nonetheless. Without thinking about it, Clint scratches with one hand under the bandage of his right arm.
“Why is my arm bandaged?” he asks then, clearly suspicious.
Choosing his next words carefully, Thor asks,
“They’re not… New injuries. Do you want to talk about this?”
This is like a cold shower, no matter how gentle the approach - shit. Clint pales visibly and shakes his head no. He never intended for anyone to find out. Especially not like this.
“Can you stay?” he asks instead, hating how desperate he sounds.
“Of course. I will keep watch and when you wake up, either myself or Phil will be with you.”
That sounds good enough to him. At least, with either of those two around, Clint knows nothing will happen to him here. And going to sleep sounds a lot better than dealing with all of those emotions, anyway.
That same night, Phil trades places with Thor and spends the next hours in the same, uncomfortable chair next to the bed. He has been filled in on all the updates from both Thor and the doctors, and he is just as concerned.
Phil knows about the unhealthy ways that Clint tends to cope in sometimes - some more than others. But he’d never told anyone, which coping method had started when. Phil had never asked, out of respect for his privacy and the right to disclose those things in his own time, should he ever wish to do so.
All he knows is that his friend needs help, and he isn’t sure if or when he will accept it in this situation.
A few storeys further up, the living room couch has been extended into a large bed where currently, all four of the other kids are curled up with each other. No one is asleep, and Thor is currently in the kitchen to prepare another thermos of tea for them. Being alone in the room, it gives him time to pace a bit without having to worry it’ll unsettle the kids.
All they know is that Clint is sick, hit his head in the bathroom and is now in the hospital to recover from those things. They have no idea about the self-harm issue, and by the gods, he wants to keep it that way. Phil and he have agreed that it would scare and worry the children endlessly, as well as crossing Clint’s boundaries. They don’t want to do either of those things.
Staring at the smoking kettle, watching the small lights blink until the water has reached the right temperature, his thoughts drift off for a little while. Only when the kettle suddenly plays an annyong, catchy melody (because that’s just Tony’s sense of humor, rigging the water kettle so it plays “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” whenever it is done) Thor blinks a few times and comes back to reality. Tea. Kids. Right.
He wipes one sleeve over his face, hoping the living room will be dark enough to hide the worry and sadness in his face.
Back in the other room, Natasha clings to Tony like a small monkey, arms and legs wrapped around him and holding on as tightly as she can. She’s been incredibly silent in the last few days, and it’s heartbreaking to see her retreat back into her shell when she only just really came out of it.
Tony is absentmindedly combing through her hair with one hand and returning Bruce’s grip around his other hand. The younger boy is curled up behind him, face pressed into his back and holding on just as tightly. Steve is gripping the fabric of Tony’s sleeve from where he is curled up behind Nat.
Neither of them wants to be alone right now, and luckily, despite all odds, none of them is feeling sick as of yet. Small favors.
Thor enters the room silently, placing the thermos next to the couch on the floor. Then he sits down, waiting for Bruce to settle into him and then puts another blanket over him and his own legs.
The kids drift off to sleep, eventually, but Thor stays awake, watching over them. He keeps his phone close - just in case anything changes down in medical.
Phil is on his 12th cup of gross vending machine coffee when Clint stirs awake in the hospital bed. Once again, he is confused and disoriented, but he seems to be catching on this time.
“Hey. How are you?” Phil asks him silently, and Clint takes a while to answer. He feels like his head is filled with cotton and his lungs definitely don’t feel great, but at least he isn’t nauseous right now.
“Don’t know. Tired.” he replies truthfully.
“Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you? Bring a book or a movie or something?” Phil asks while filling the water cup. He is desperate to do something, no matter what it is.
“Can’t really focus. Bright lights aren’t great, too…” Truth be told, Clint would love some entertainment. But only being able to read half a page or watch 3 minutes on the TV until it gets too much, would only frustrate him more.
“How about a book, then? I could read it to you, so you can just listen.”
Admittedly, this takes Clint completely off-guard. He can’t think back on a time anyone would have ever read something to him - not even his parents, although Mom might have done it a few times. He can’t remember.
After the car crash, no one would bother - he’d been too old to be read to at that point, he’d figured, and never asked. Being 14 now, even less so. Just the thought of the roaring laughter that would get him from most people is enough to make him squirm inwardly.
But now, he is too tired and in too much pain to read himself, and Phil is offering to help out. If that offer came from anyone else, besides Thor, he’d have thought this to be a trap.
Clint knows better now, but he can’t help but ask,
“You would?” He hates how small he sounds, but as it is, it is hard enough to keep it together. Ironically, after everything he’s survived so far - his father, the orphanage, several foster families, Trickshot and Swordsman - it is kindness that really gets to him.
He can go through hell and keep his walls up for a long time when no one gives a shit. But a tiny flicker of care, just a bit of kindness - he doesn’t know what to do with it, and it makes everything else harder, because what if life isn’t supposed to go like that, after all?
“Yes, of course. Is there anything specific you would like?” Phil asks him, and it’s all he can do to shake his head in an attempt not to cry.
Luckily, he falls asleep soon after that.
Phil trades places with Thor quite a few times, both of them taking turns in sitting with Clint and taking care of the younger kids, but the next time Phil returns to medical, he does so with “Men at arms” by Terry Prtachett in his hand. Not only is it an amazing book that Phil himself has read many, many times, he also happens to know that it is one of adult-Clint’s favourites. Chances are, he’ll enjoy it now. If nothing else, the book is funny, and that might be enough to make this time a little bit better.
He is right. Every now and then, the story makes Clint smile as he listens with his eyes half closed or slowly dozing off. Some parts, especially when he is more awake, make him laugh out loud. One part in particular, it results in a coughing fit for Clint, who keeps laughing even as he is hacking up a lung and while Phil is apologizing profusely while offering him water. There is a slight sparkle in the boy's eyes though, and it tells Phil very clearly that he did something right.
That same night though, a particularly nasty nightmare sends Clint into a full blown panic. He wakes up tangled in his sheets and screaming,
“Barney, no! Help me! NO!”
Phil is at his side in an instant. He still doesn’t touch - he wasn’t asked or given permission to - but he remains close, offering any kind of support that Clint wants or needs. For now, it’s mostly words.
“Clint! You’re safe, no one will hurt you. Please keep breathing - you are safe…”
It takes a while for him to calm down, but eventually, he remains still in bed, safe for the constant tremors running through his entire body. Phil keeps talking to him the entire time, trying to reassure him that he really is safe. At some point, Clint starts scratching under the edge of his gauze wrapped wrist and he keeps doing so more and more violently.
“Clint. Hey, please stop, you’re hurting yourself.” He keeps going until droplets of blood start staining his left hand.
“Clint. Stop. Please” Something in his voice must be getting through to him, because Clint actually stops and looks up at him. His eyes are huge, terrified and filled with tears.
“It’s the only way to make them stop. I feel them all the time.”
This is the first time he’s ever told someone this - not that anyone would have asked. But Phil is here and Phil is safe , and this is why he opens up in the first place.
“It’s the only way to take back control - I can’t -” breathing gets harder now, but he manages - barely. Phil is still by his side.
“You’re safe… I promise, you are safe. I’m here for you. Whatever it is you need - I’m here for you.”
The seconds are ticking away while nothing happens, until suddenly, Phil finds himself with an armful of sobbing teenager. Instinctively, he holds him close and waits for the storm to pass. This has been long, long overdue, but the fact that Clint feels safe enough to finally reach out, even in an extreme emotional situation like that, is a good sign.
They don’t talk very much in the following hours or days, but Phil spends just as much time with him, finishing the book and bringing a new one after that - “Lords and Ladies.”.
It makes Clint smile a few times, and he allows himself to lean a little bit into Phil while he reads - now that the ice is broken, he seeks out casual touch whenever possible. It’s something he’s been craving for years, but never really had. When Phil tells him that there are resources available to help him with his self harm issues and to deal with his trauma, he simply nods and says,
“I’ll think about it.” because it is the truth and he isn’t sure what else to say - it’s too much to put into words just now, but he hugs Phil again and thinks, with such a support system, tackling this might actually be doable.
A few days later, Clint can finally leave medical and get back home. It literally makes him stop in his tracks for a moment, when he realizes that he thinks that word in the first place - home.
That is exactly what the tower and most of all the people in it mean to him though. As strange as that feeling may be, he thinks he could get used to it.
When he arrives home, everyone else is already waiting with breakfast on the table.
Naturally, Natasha is the first to run towards and hug him. She barely reaches up to the middle of his torso, but she hugs his waist and buries her face in the fabric of his soft shirt.
“Hey there - oof!” The impact isn’t very soft, but it makes him chuckle - god, he’s missed this. Natasha clings to him and he holds onto her for a little while longer. It feels good to be back.
Lucky is jumping up on him in excitement - clearly, the dog missed him just as much, and Clint does his best to greet everyone at once appropriately.
One by one, the other kids join in on the hug or wait for a free space to greet him back and it’s incredibly sweet. Clint doesn’t know what to say or do, especially since they don't know about the details that came to light in the past few days and he would like to keep it that way.
Besides, he’s doing okay at the moment and everyone else seems to be happy, too. No need to ruin the mood.
After the first wave of greetings has died down a little, Clint surprises himself and everyone else as well. For the first time since the age-regression, he doesn’t hesitate in getting closer to anyone.
Sure, he’s been okay with being close to the other kids, and he’d hugged Phil that one time when he’d freaked out in the hospital and even after that, once he truly knew he could. But now he leaps at Thor and slings both arms tightly around his waist.
“Thank you.” he mumbles into the soft fabric of his shirt, knowing he’ll hear it.
Thor hugs him back, gentle as always, but it’s warm and reassuring and just what Clint needs after, well, everything.
“Anytime.” comes the quiet reply, and Clint squeezes just a little bit harder. He knows now, just how much the people around him care, kids and adults alike.
He knows now, just how much both Thor and Phil worry about them all the time. How much they’re willing to do and give to know them happy and safe and it means the world to him.
Clint never knew what that was like until recently, and as much as he appreciates, and yes - loves them for it - he doesn’t know how to put all of it into words.
But he hopes that “Thank you” is enough, so he tries to put the rest of it into the hug. When he pulls away after a while, he is surprised to see that the Thunder God seems to have teared up, but he is smiling.
It tugs at something in him, and he can’t help but smile back.
“I am glad to see you well and back here. Come on, both of you, let us feast!”
The table is so full of food and drinks, Clint is pretty sure they had to play tetris to fit everything.
Once everyone is in their seats, it is just like any other morning. And yet, it is better - lighter. Safe and secure without a question.
If a family like this is the price, opening up might be worth the trouble.
*+~
51 - Help me