Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Laura greeted idly as she walked into their bedroom, an appreciative smile pulling at her lips at the sight of him, before realizing he probably couldn’t hear her.

Clint was sitting cross-legged on their bed, cleaning his hearing aid. He was wearing loose fitting flannel pajama pants and a tight t-shirt that left little to the imagination. His short spiky hair, still damp from his shower, was sticking up in all directions. Even pushing fifty—No, she reminded herself, fifty-four. Damn, if she still didn’t struggle to wrap her mind around the fact that she’d lost five years of his life.—he was still sexy as hell. Perhaps even more so, with his muscular chest and chiseled abs, and those biceps. God, but she loved those biceps.

She was wondering how long she could get away with standing there, leaning against the door jamb, admiring the view, when he asked without looking up from his task. “You coming in or are you going to stand there ogling me all night?”

Laura smiled as she rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the door frame. She should have figured that even with his head down and his guard lowered, Hawkeye would have spotted her long before she reached the threshold. Stepping into the room, she didn’t bother to answer aloud. Without his hearing aid, he could hear enough to know she was speaking, but the words would be indecipherable. So, she let her actions speak for her as she took up residence at the foot of the bed.

“Everyone down for the count?” he asked, glancing up as he scrubbed lightly at the buttons on the faceplate with the small bristle brush that was part of his cleaning kit.

Laura nodded, waiting until he was looking at her before attempting to sign. “Nate’s asleep,” she told him, muttering the words to herself as she concentrated on her hand motions. “Coop and Lila in bed. Lights off in 30 minutes.”

Their ASL was slow and choppy and they resorted to finger-spelling more often than she’d like to admit, but they were making progress. They were to the point that, after almost a year of taking classes once a week and the smattering of practice they did at home (dinner on Wednesday was their designated ASL practice), they could hold a simple conversation. Nothing fancy, but it got the job done, allowing for communication in the rare instances when Clint wasn’t using his hearing aid or when their environment rendered it ineffective.

“I’ll check on them before we turn in,” he offered, as he finished changing the earwax trap. Picking up the drying jar, he hesitated, glancing between her and his hearing aid, apparently trying to decide if he should put the thing back in or put it away for the night.

“We should practice,” she gently prodded.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered begrudgingly, before slipping the small device into the drying jar and setting it on his bedside table.

“We got a P-R letter, today,” she told him, once he was looking at her again, “with four t-i-c-k-e-t-s to R-o-g-e-r-s the M-u-s-i-c-a-l.”

“Tickets to what?” Clint asked, his face scrunching up as he concentrated on her hands.

“R-o-g-e-r-s,” she said again, while fingering-spelling the name, slow and deliberate, “The M-u-s-i-c-a-l.”

“Yeah,” he snorted as he leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest. “No thanks.”

“Lila saw them,” Laura told him, her face contorting into an apologetic grimace. “She’s excited to go.”

He chuckled wryly. “Well—since you let that cat out of the bag, I’m going to let you clean up the mess.”

“I thought it’d be nice for you to take them.” She bit her lip for a second, before adding, “without me.”

“You want me to take them?” he parroted, most likely checking for clarification on her signing—or questioning her sanity if the look of total disbelief on his face was anything to go by.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Without you?”

She nodded, causing him to bark out a laugh.

“What makes you think I have any interest in wasting—four hours of my life with that garbage?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I know you don’t,” she stated flatly. “They do. They’re curious, like the rest of the world. Maybe more, because of you.”

“If they’re curious, then—I’ll talk to them about Cap and his role in the Avengers,” he countered. “What I have to say is going to be more accurate than anything they’re going to get out of some overly dramatic Broadway production.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but they want more than to hear the stories. They want to see the m-o-n-u-m-e-n-t-s. They want to see A-v-e-n-g-e-r-s building, the S-t-a-t-u-e L-i-b-e-r-t-y. N-Y-C is the whole game. They should share it with you.”

Clint sighed in defeat, prompting Laura to bite down on her lip in a weak attempt to hide her victory smile. “You know I missed over half of that,” he admitted, “but I caught enough to get the gist.” He shook his head, looking away briefly to stew over his concession. “When’s the show?”

“December 19th. It’s a Thursday.”

“Kids will have to miss school.”

“Two days,” she conceded, “maybe three. Depends on when you leave.”

He nodded, before letting out another long, heavy sigh. “They only sent four tickets?” he asked incredulously.

“I know,” she lamented. “I don’t know why. I can call?”

“Don’t put yourself through that mess on my account,” Clint told her. “I’d love for you to go, but we’ll be fine on our own.”

Laura smiled. “I know,” she agreed, before reaching out to rub her hand along his flannel-covered calf. Giving his leg one last pat, she pushed herself off the bed. “I’m going to wash. You look in on Lila and Coop? Tell them the news?”

Clint nodded, as he swung his feet off the bed and stood up. “I guess now’s as good a time as any. Meet you back here in twenty?” he asked.

“Sounds good,” she replied, giving him a quick kiss before disappearing into their adjoining bathroom.

Chapter Text

Clint let out a long, heavy sigh as he set down Nate’s suitcase and backpack before popping open the hatch of the Traverse. Three days and two nights, that was the planned duration of their trip, including travel time. Yet, from the amount of stuff they’d packed, you’d think they’d be gone for over a week.

The bulk of it, unfortunately, was clothing. Travel-wear for the over eight hours of combined drive and flight time. Clothes for traipsing around the city during the day. Formalwear for the musical. Swimsuits for the hotel pool, which he couldn’t see them finding time for, but which Laura and the kids had insisted on. Pjs, undergarments, and of course extras of everything, because you never knew with a four-year-old tagging along. The fact that Laura had managed to cram all that, plus everything else, into one carry-on and a backpack apiece was frankly a miracle.

Slinging his own duffle and backpack into the back of the SUV, Clint bent over to collapse the handle on Nate’s suitcase as Lila and Cooper brought him their respective bags. “Backpacks upfront,” he instructed as he handed Lila Nate’s and then started arranging the various pieces of luggage into the cargo bay. They’d been instructed to cram everything they wanted and/or needed for the drive and flight into their backpacks in order to avoid the hassle of having to access their carry-ons during travel.

“I’m driving, right, Dad?” Cooper asked as he handed over his suitcase.

“Yeah,” Clint replied, taking the proffered bag and shoving it into the back. “As long as we leave on time.”

“No!” Lila whined from where she was dumping her and Nate’s stuff into the backseat. “If Cooper drives it will take forever! Plus then we can’t listen to the radio.”

Clint frowned at Lila’s comment, guilt nibbling its way in and threatening to settle in his chest. Even though Lila had placed the blame solely on Cooper, the lack of radio was mostly on him.

He and Laura felt it was important to limit the number of distractions while Coop was driving, which included loud music. But where she would allow it at low levels, as background noise, he couldn’t. It simply made it too difficult for him to understand what was being said, and he needed to be able to easily and readily communicate with Coop when he was behind the wheel. That meant, when Clint was supervising, the radio was off and chatter had to be kept to a minimum.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have to drive slow,” Cooper retorted, as he circled the SUV and climbed behind the wheel to adjust the seat and mirrors. “Mom and Dad make me. Besides, who listens to the radio anyway?” he asked, condescension evident in his tone. “Just listen to the music on your phone.”

“I don’t want to use my phone,” Lila snapped, in what Clint could only describe as petulant. “I want to save the battery for watching movies on the plane?”

“Then plug it into the car charger,” Cooper shot back, drawing out the words as if he were talking to an idiot.

Clint sighed, shaking his head as he loaded the last suitcase into the back and lowered the tailgate. This was definitely not the way he wanted to start this trip. “That’s enough!” he bellowed, effectively halting any further bickering.

Stepping around the side of the Traverse, he glowered at them. “Until you,” he said, pointing at Cooper, “have got way more experience behind the wheel, the speed limit is plenty fast enough. Especially, if the roads could be icy,” he added, before turning his attention to Lila. “He’s not going to drive the entire time, only about halfway. You can suffer with headphones until then. We’ve got three hours in the car ahead of us plus another three or four on the plane,” he reminded them. “Let’s not start things off on the wrong foot.”

“-orry,” they both mumbled, though they continued to shoot each other dirty looks.

“Now,” Clint forged on, ignoring the glares and counting the overall exchange as a win, “where’s your brother?”

“Is here,” Laura called as she stepped onto the porch, shepherding Nate out in front of her. “Drowned it did bears been owner had his eggo cartooned or —e door.”

Clint repeated her words in his head, trying to reconcile what he’d heard with something that actually made sense, as he made his way back up the walk. It happened rather frequently, this—mishearing. According to his audiologist, it was his brain’s attempt to fill in the missing sounds, but more often than not it left him struggling to understand what was essentially complete nonsense.

“What was he doing?” he asked, when he joined them on the porch.

“He was playing with his legos,” Laura repeated, “making a mess in his room.”

Clint shook his head. Nate was a good kid, he truly was, but he also had the attention span of a gnat. You couldn’t turn your back for a second without him disappearing or getting into something.

“Come on, Bud,” he scolded gently, frowning at his youngest. “Momma and Daddy both told you not to get a bunch of toys out because we were leaving.”

“I know,” Nate replied honestly, with absolutely zero remorse, “but you were taking too long and I got bored.”

Clint shook his head again, looking away to try and cover his smile and the laugh that threatened to escape. “Did you at least get them picked back up?” he asked, turning back once he’d managed to compose himself and could inflict some degree of hardness into the words.

“Yes,” Laura told him, her tone stern, though Clint could tell there was no real heat behind it, “with Momma’s help.”

“Did you tell her ‘thank you?’”

“Yes!” Nate replied, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Good, Boy,” Clint commended, reaching out to ruffle Nate’s hair. “Alright, go ahead and give Momma hugs and kisses, then Daddy will help get you in the car.”

Clint waited as Nate said his goodbyes and then herded him down to the SUV. “Go say goodbye to Momma,” he instructed Lila and Cooper as he circled around to the passenger’s side.

He took his time buckling Nate into his car seat—making sure he had his water and the toys, Iron Man and Captain America action figures, he’d picked out for the car and plane rides—trying to give the older kids a little more time with Laura. When he’d finished, he made his way back up onto the porch, passing Lila and Coop as they returned to the car.

He sighed, long and heavy, as he came to stand in front of his wife, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “Twenty bucks for you to switch me?” he teased, prompting her to raise an eyebrow.

“Twenty bucks? That’s pretty cheap.”

“Yeah, well—I can’t decide how badly I really want you to take me up on it.”

“They’ll be fine,” Laura told him, an indulgent smile tugging at her lips that told him she was struggling not to roll her eyes.

“I don’t know if it's them I’m worried about,” he confessed, trying to remain light and playful, but knowing he hadn’t quite managed it.

This was something he’d been struggling with since he’d agreed to the trip. He wanted to go and spend time with his kids, to show them where he’d been and what he’d been doing, to explain to them why he’d missed so much time with them, to make sure they knew the truth and the significance of that truth. At the same time, he dreaded the memories. Not of Loki, or Thanos, or the Chitauri. Not of the battle they’d fought in the city or the one upstate some six years later. But the memories of her, of Natasha.

There were times when the weight of losing her, and the guilt he harbored, made it hard to function. After the Blip, after almost all of his family had been scattered to dust with the snap of a finger, he’d lost himself in Ronin, buried his grief and his pain under a mountain of rage, violence, and death. It hadn’t made it any easier. In fact, in some ways it had made it worse, but it had kept him going. It had given him a purpose, a reason to exist.

With Natasha, there was no war for him to rage. Her sacrifice demanded he be here, with Laura and his kids, that he be a husband and a father. These were the two things he wanted more than anything, the two things for which he was beyond grateful, but they were also the two things threatening to destroy him. For them, he had to be present. For them, he had to be involved. Which meant, at times, he felt there was no channel for his grief. It festered in his chest, a deep ugly wound that refused to heal.

Laura’s smile shifted, becoming knowing and fond, as she reached out to rub her hands soothingly down his arms. “You’ll be fine,” she assured him.

Clint nodded, unsure of whether or not he truly believed her. “I just—I honestly don’t know if I’m ready for this. After everything that’s happened—” He shook his head and looked away, pressing his lips together. “It’s going to druge up a lot of shit,” he conceded, when he turned back to face her.

“It might,” she acknowledged, her hands sliding down his arms to grasp his hands, “but I don’t know if that’s necessarily a bad thing.”

Clint choked out a laugh, dropping his head and looking down at their joined hands. His breath caught in his throat at the raw, painful memory the image provoked. Laura tugged gently at him, and he allowed himself to be pulled against her. Allowed the smell of her and the warm feel of her body pressed against his to comfort him.

“It’- a-right,” she whispered, the words barely decipherable muffled against his chest and from his right side.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, grounding himself in her. Reminding himself of the reason he was here, of the gift he’d been given, no matter how bittersweet. When the grief finally loosened its hold and he’d managed to compose himself, he pulled back and smiled gently at her through tear glazed eyes. “I love you,” he asserted, cupping her face with his hand, his thumb stroking her cheek tenderly.

She smiled warmly, before turning her head to kiss the palm of his hand. “I love you, too,” she assured him, “and I’ll be here if you need me.”

Clint nodded, finding comfort in the truth of that statement, if nothing else. Smiling once more, he leaned down and pressed a sweet, but chaste, kiss to her lips. “See you in a few days,” he promised, before turning and walking back to the SUV.

Chapter Text

Clint groaned as he climbed out from behind the wheel of the SUV, stiff and a little tired from the three hours they’d spent in the car thus far. He’d let Coop drive for about half of the trip, switching places with him at a gas station when Nate had needed to pee. It had given the sixteen-year-old about an hour and a half of drive time towards his permit, while still managing to placate Lila and her radio needs. Clint was counting it as another win, the second one in his dad column for this trip.

This second stop was at a Chick-Fil-A, about a half-hour from the St. Louis Lambert Airport and just outside of the city proper. The plan was to grab a quick bite for lunch and then get back on the road, hoping to arrive at the airport the recommended hour before their flight. It wasn’t the greatest of options, but it wasn’t the worst either, and far cheaper than anything they’d find at the terminal.

Stifling a yawn, he surveyed the parking lot, before lifting his arms high over his head in a stretch, leaning back and arching his spine until he felt the vertebrae pop. “Lila,” he asked, turning back to the car to dig his wallet and phone out of the center console, “can you help your brother, please?”

“Sure thing,” she called back, as she climbed out the passenger’s seat, where she’d been riding shotgun, and pulled open the back door. Nate was perfectly capable of unbuckling himself, but he still struggled a little with getting the car door open. A fact for which, given his penchant for disappearing, Clint was personally grateful.

Rounding the front of the Traverse, Clint took Nate’s hand from Lila. “Alright, let’s go,” he directed, herding them across the parking lot and into the restaurant.

It wasn’t as busy as he’d feared it would be for a Wednesday lunch rush, but it was busy enough. There were at least six groups ahead of them in the line and over half the tables in the dining room were already occupied. Middle-aged men and women, some individuals, a handful of couples, a few who had children, were scattered throughout the space. The mass of approximately forty-five people filled the room with chatter and laughter, punctuated by the occasional scream of a small child, the electric whine and clatter of ice being dispensed from the ice machine, and the scrapping of chairs against the tile floor. Clint winced at the cacophony, the auditory assault prompting him to reach up to turn the volume down on his hearing aid.

“Coop,” he said, turning to his eldest and holding out Nate’s hand. “Can you help your brother decide what he wants, please?”

“Yeah,” Coop replied as he took Nate’s hand and stepped up in the line, bending down to more easily talk with the four-year-old.

“-ou o-?” Lila asked, touching his arm to pull his attention to her.

The words were muddled and essentially incoherent, but he knew by the concerned look on her face what she’d asked. “Yeah, yeah,” he assured her, smiling encouragingly before he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into a half hug. “It’s just a little too loud is all.”

She looked at him strangely, as if his statement had made no sense. Which, given his circumstances, he supposed was valid, but there was really no other way to describe it. His hearing aid, while designed to amplify specific sounds and frequencies, tended to intensify everything. In certain environments, like a noisy restaurant, it made it near impossible to hear and was, at times, outright painful.

Lila frowned as she stepped away. “We help,” she asserted, signing as she spoke.

Clint plastered another smile on his face, trying to keep it reassuring, to show his gratitude, though he could feel his lips pull tight with discomfort and something akin to embarrassment. “I know, Honey,” he promised, before gesturing for her to move forward in the line.

After a little more than a year, he’d like to think he was fairly well-adjusted to his disability. There were still times, however, when it left him reeling, feeling awkward and vulnerable, isolated. Like being unable to understand his children in a crowded restaurant. Lila and Nate were particularly difficult given the tone and pitch of their voices, frequencies with which he generally struggled, even with the hearing aid.

When it was finally their turn, he let the kids go first, trusting them to tell the cashier they were dining in and to get Nate taken care of. He ordered quickly for himself, a number one with a small drink and fries and Polynesian sauce, attempting to cover all the bases so he wouldn’t have to try and decipher any questions.

“-ny——- e—-?” the cashier asked, bright and chipper with an obnoxious smile on her face that grated on Clint’s nerves.

“No, that’s it,” Clint replied, guessing at the question more than anything, his cheeks burning with another forced smile as he pulled his credit card out of his wallet.

“O-, -ou- tot— — ——ty n-n-.-ou- -i-e.”

Clint nodded, shoving his card into the chip reader, not bothering to ask her to repeat herself. Hoping she’d given him the total which helpfully showed up on the screen of the card-reader. “Thanks,” he offered, taking the receipt and tucking it and his credit card back into his wallet.

“-y —easure.”

Clint nodded once more, curt and polite, before turning away from the cashier. “Coop,” he instructed, as he handed over the table marker and Nate’s milk, “let Lila know what you want to drink, then take Nate and go grab that table in the corner.”

“-an I —ay -n —e —ay —oun-?” Nate asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Clint grimaced, brows furrowed together, as he tried and failed to make sense of the garbled words. “Sorry, Bud,” he said, bending down to be more at eye level, “Daddy can’t hear too well right now. So, I’m going to need to sign. Ok?”

Nate nodded, pulling his hand free of Cooper’s. “I play,” he repeated, speaking aloud as he moved his hands, repeating the words slowly and deliberately, which did absolutely nothing to make them clearer. When he was finished, he pointed toward the playroom, a hopeful look on his face.

“Not right now,” Clint apologized, before straightening back up. “Maybe,” he continued, placing strong emphasis on the word, “if there’s time after we’re done eating.”

“Ok,” Nate signed in return, before grabbing ahold of Coop’s hand and dragging him off towards the table Clint had indicated earlier.

Shaking his head in amusement, Clint watched them go for a moment before turning and handing Lila her and Coop’s cups. He filled his own with Coke, overflowing the top and letting the foam run out before snapping on a lid. The condiments table was next. There, he stuffed his pockets with ketchup and a few mayonnaise packets, grabbed four straws and a handful of napkins, before following Lila over to their table.

The table was in the back corner, as far as possible from the playroom and counter, and with a clear view of all exits. It was the optimum position for both sight lines and noise reduction. Coop had sat opposite Nate, with his back to the wall, looking out over the room. Clint took the seat beside him, placing him on Clint's right side with Lila and Nate across from them.

As he sat down, Clint dumped the ketchup and other essentials on the table, before reaching up and adjusting the volume on his hearing aid, slowly easing it up to tolerable levels. His hope was now that they were a little more isolated, the background noise wouldn’t be quite so overbearing. With an electrical whine and the loud scuff of his fingers against the small knob, the room blared back to life just as Lila dragged her seat closer to the table.

Clint flinched, wincing as the sound grated against his eardrum.

“-orry,” Lila offered, adding the sign after she lifted her hands above the table.

“Not your fault,” Clint promised, the aid’s microphone doing its best to block out the extraneous sounds, allowing him to make out the word with less difficulty, “just bad timing.”

“Hardy a— boat square, yet?” Nate asked, petulantly.

Clint frowned at both the words and the tone. It was obvious, despite his earlier enthusiasm toward the playroom, Nate was getting tired. The hours they’d spent on the road sapping his energy prematurely. Clint hoped they could keep him awake until they boarded the plane. Then he could nap through most of the flight.

“What about a square boat?” he asked, eliciting a giggle from Nate and causing Cooper to blow soda from his nose.

“Oh -y god, Dad!” Lila exclaimed, obviously fighting back a smile. “He a-ked i- we’re a–o-t –ere.” A-L-M-O-S-T T-H-E-R-E she fingered spelled for emphasis.

“Oh, oh,” Clint blurted, through a self-deprecating chuckle. “Are we almost there yet?” he repeated, verifying the question before turning back to Nate. “Depends on where you’re meaning, Bud. If you’re talking about the airport, then yeah, we’ve got only about another half hour in the car. If you’re talking about New York, then nope. It's a long way to go, yet.”

“Why doe- it ha-e to be no car away?” Nate griped, rolling his eyes and dropping his head on the table in a truly dramatic fashion that had Clint stifling a laugh.

“—-t’- —-t -ow —- —e recovery is,” Coop replied. His words were essentially indiscernible from both the lowered volume and being on Clint’s right side, forcing Clint to try and make sense of the fragments.

“Dad?” Lila asked, concerned. “You want us to sign?” Her hands moved as she spoke, allowing him to see as well as hear the words.

Clint drew a breath, opening his mouth to reject the need for assistance, but he stopped himself, releasing the air instead in a long drawn-out sigh. It was foolish, he knew, and a little childish, but a large part of him still wanted to deny deny deny. Especially when it was so open, so public. When it was in front of the kids. He didn’t like how exposed it made him feel, how compromised. The truth of the matter was, however, it would help.

“Today is Wednesday,” Lila added, the comment eliciting a snort from Clint.

“Well, in that case, I guess we should,” Clint replied ruefully, just as a server brought over their food, “or Momma will have my head.”

“Any—i— e-— I can get -or you?” the girl asked, as she sat down the two trays.

“No, I think we’re good. Thank you,” Clint told her, as he started passing out their meals.

“My p-easure.”

“Night -uppo-ed to be -or dinner,” Nate grumped, shoving a chicken tender in his mouth. “—i- i- -u—-,” he continued, the words completely unintelligible as he talked around the food.

“-o- has us,” Coop started before hesitating, his hands hovering awkwardly in front of him.

Of the five of them, Cooper probably struggled the most with the language, more so than Nate even. He was slower and a little sloppier, and he tended to forget even some of the most basic vocabulary. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or couldn’t be bothered. It was—well, to be honest, Clint wasn’t really sure what it was, but he didn’t think it fair to get angry or upset when he wasn’t putting forth his best efforts either.

“—-t, I —ou— know —e -i— —- ——t—-,” Coop said, forgoing ASL entirely in favor of picking up his sandwich.

“Cooper!” Lila scolded, shooting her brother a nasty look as she gestured sharply at Nate.

“W-at?” Coop asked around a mouth full of chicken, feigning innocence.

“Coop,” Clint interjected sternly, taking a wild guess at what he’d missed. “Language. And both of you,” he continued pointing to his two sons, “don’t talk with your mouths full.”

“-——y,” Coop grumbled, leaning back in his seat as he shoved a fry into his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest in a sulk.

Clint shook his head, irated at the sudden bout of bratty teenager-ness but deciding not to push the issue, hoping it would dissipate on its own without the need for further intervention. Instead, he turned back to Lila.

“Who ‘has us’ do what at dinner?” he asked, actually making his first efforts to sign, something Laura frequently called him out for not doing often enough.

He knew she was right, that it was important for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was reinforcement to the kids, but he—didn’t—or couldn’t. Wouldn’t, if he were being completely honest with himself. It was easy to justify when they spent so much time at home, where it was calm and quiet, and he could get along good enough with his hearing aid. Now that he thought about it, it was probably the reason Cooper invested such little effort into learning the language, feeding off of Clint’s own disinterest. Which was something he should probably work on, starting during this trip.

“Dad,” Lila groaned, her hands motionless as she rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Dinner,” she told him, stressing the word, “i- —i-.” She brought her right hand up to her mouth, touching it briefly to her lips before bringing it down to strike her left hand. Her fingers on both were extended and slightly cupped, as her forearm, just above her wrist, connected with those on her left hand.

“Then what’s this one?” he asked, repeating the sign he’d used earlier, bringing his right hand up to his mouth to touch his lips as he held his left forearm across his body, his fingers touching his right elbow. He then brought his left hand up and over his right, pointing the fingers of his right hand up while he brought the left down into the nook of his elbow.

“That’s b-r-e-a-k-f-a-s-t,” she replied.

Clint smiled as he washed a bite of sandwich down with a sip of his coke. Of the five of them, Laura and Lila were by far the most advanced at signing, pushing and prodding, gently coaching the rest of them along, usually with a patience Clint knew he wouldn’t be able to muster. “Ok,” he asked teasingly, “who ‘has us’ do what at dinner?”

“-o-,” Nate piped up. “Mom plays A-S-L at dinner.”

“No,” Coop corrected, “Mom wants us to—” he trailed off again, hands stilling as he glared at his sister. “-i—, wh-t ’- ——ti—?”

Lila rolled her eyes as she regarded her brother. “-o-eti-e-, I under house you even damage to decline.”

“-ight, -e-au— -i— —n-ua-e i- —e en- a— -e a— to -u—i-a-.”

“Why do —ey cat might for sometime?” Nate asked, propping his head dejectedly on the table as he picked at his fries.

Clint frowned, growing increasingly frustrated at his inability to follow the conversation, a fact that was only exacerbated by Cooper and Lila’s continued bickering. He’d barely had time to even try and process the question, to piece together the nonsense, before Lila broke in.

“We don’t -ight at the time,” she insisted, her tone becoming defensive. “It’- ju-t when Cooper’- bei— an idiot, -o it read pike at —e kind.”

“Guys!” Clint asserted, loud enough to garnish their attention, but hopefully not draw looks from the other patrons. He fixed his oldest two with pointed glares, before softening his expression. “I’m—” he hesitated, unwilling to admit how badly he was struggling. “We’ve got a long way to go yet, so I would appreciate it if everyone,” he said, looking sternly once again at Coop and Lila, “could at least try to get along. Otherwise, we’ll go home right now.”

“-o—y,” they mumbled, neither of them meeting his eye, as they stared down at the table, looking sufficiently chastised.

“And—if we could all—make an effort to sign, that would be helpful.”

“But, it’- not dinner,” Nate insisted, whining in agitation and exhaustion.

“I know,” Clint acknowledged, leading by example and signing once again as he spoke. “We practice at dinner, so we can sign any time we need to.”

“-ike now?”

“Like now,” Clint confirmed, the corner of his mouth turning up in an encouraging smile.

“Ok,” Nate relented, though he made no effort to move his hands.

“Ok,” Clint agreed. “We’ve got,” he glanced quickly at the clock hanging by one of the exits, “thirty minutes before we need to be back in the car. So,” he continued, laboring through a handful of signs, barely resisting the urge to abandon them all together, “eat up before your food’s cold and we miss our flight.”

His request was met with a series of nods and half-muttered responses, but, once again, he decided to take it as a win. Even small victories were victories and he was starting to get the feeling this trip was going to be chock full of them. “Now,” he said, as he searched amongst the clutter on the table, “somebody tell me where all the Polynesian sauce got too?”

Chapter Text

“Shit,” Clint muttered under his breath, his hopes of finding a space at least semi-close to the shuttle stop dashed as he was forced, yet again, to circle around to the next aisle. In all fairness, the parking lot wasn’t that big. Normally, he’d take the first available spot, rather than waste his time driving around and around. That is, when he didn’t have an irritable, nap-deprived, four-year old and excessive amounts of luggage to contend with.

“Alright,” he instructed, pulling the SUV into the next available space and throwing it into park. “Make sure you check all around you, that you don’t accidentally leave something behind, because once we leave the car we are not coming back.”

Killing the engine, he climbed out of the driver’s seat, double checking that he had his sunglasses, wallet, phone, and keys, before circling around to the back. “Coop, Lila, you’re in charge of your own bags,” Clint reminded them, as he dug his duffle and backpack, along with Nate’s suitcase, out of the pile. Slinging on the backpack and tossing the duffle across his shoulder, he continued around to the passenger side and opened Nate’s door.

“Alright, Bud,” he greeted cheerfully, trying to bolster some level of enthusiasm from the exhausted child, “hand Daddy your backpack. Let’s make sure you’ve got everything.”

Scouring the area, Clint picked up Nate’s tablet and water cup, as well as the Iron Man and Captain America figures that had been pushed onto the floor. “We’re going to stick all these in your backpack,” Clint told him as he dumped the water out of the cup, “at least until we get through security. When we get to our gate, you can get them back out if you want to.”

“Can I at least keep Captain America?” Nate asked, his tone hopeful but whiney.

“Yeah,” Clint relented, “but you have to keep track of him, make sure you don’t lose him.”

“I won’t,” Nate assured him, waiting until Clint finished tucking everything away before climbing out of the SUV.

“Zip your jacket up,” Clint told him, “and put your hood on. It’s cold out and we’re going to be waiting a few minutes for the shuttle.” He stood by for a moment, watching as uncoordinated fingers struggled with the zipper. “Need help or can you get it?”

“I can get it,” Nate insisted, as he continued to grapple with the fastening.

Clint let him work at it for a little longer, before stepping in and taking over. “Here,” he said, squatting down to take the zipper, “let Daddy do it.”

“I can do it!” Nate whined petulantly, attempting to jerk the garment out of Clint’s hands.

“I know you can,” Clint assured him, managing to keep a hold of the fastening, “but we don’t have a ton of time. You don’t want us to miss our flight do you?”

“No.”

“Then let me get it real quick,” Clint said, pulling the plastic tab up and under Nate’s chin, sliding it as high as he could without making it uncomfortable. “Alright,” he drawled, “hood’s next.” He lifted the covering on Nate’s jacket, pulling it into place and giving the drawstrings on each side a tug to snug it down. “Now all you need is your backpack.” Clint held it steady, helping guide Nate’s arms into the straps before adjusting them so the bag settled high on his back.

Standing, Clint turned back to the SUV. “You guys sure you got everything?” he called out, looking over the backseat one last time before shutting the door.

“Yeah, Dad,” Coop replied.

“Lila?” Clint asked as he herded Nate toward the back of the SUV.

“I said ‘yes,’” she told him, her tone slightly defensive.

“Alright,” Clint apologized before hitting the lock on the fob and tucking the keys into his pocket. “I didn’t hear you.” Extending the handle on Nate’s suitcase, he held out his left hand to his youngest. “Nate, you need to hold my hand,” he instructed, “there’re cars. Plus, I don’t want you wandering off.”

Three kids, eight bags, and one Captain America all accounted for, Clint made a quick mental note of where the car was and then started off across the parking lot.

“Are you gonna fly the plane to New York?” Nate asked, as he traipsed along, seemingly trying to step in every snow puddle and ice patch, forcing Clint to actively steer them around.

Clint chuckled. “No, the airline has their own pilots for that. Besides, Daddy doesn’t like flying big commercial planes.”

“Why not?”

Clint shrugged. “It’s just not something I’m interested in.”

“That's Dad’s way of saying slow and boring,” Cooper cut in, dry and deadpan.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being slow or boring,” Clint asserted. “In fact, I think it sounds downright wonderful.”

Cooper snorted. “Yeah, right. Don’t let him fool you, Nate. Dad might act all totally lame at home or when we’re around, but when it's just him and Mom or Aunt Nat, the shhtuff he does is anything but slow and boring.”

Clint shot Cooper a look, one that had the teen backpedaling with his hands up in mock surrender. “What? I didn’t say it,” he argued, unable to keep the grin off his face.

“Like fighting alien bad guys?” Nate asked, either unaware or simply ignoring Clint and Cooper’s exchange.

“That,” Lila chimed in, “and jumping off buildings, or out of airplanes and flying cars.”

“Time traveling through quantum tunnels and flying spaceships halfway across the galaxy,” Cooper added.

“Working with actual wizards and gods,” Lila continued, the exchange making Clint grimace with discomfort.

He knew there was no hiding what he’d done in his professional life from his children, what with Natasha having dumped all of SHIELD’s files on the internet and the Avenger’s essentially becoming household names. Hell, there was an entire chapter in Cooper’s history book dedicated to the Battle of New York. Granted, it was a small chapter, wrot with inaccuracies, but it was there nonetheless.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed, at least not of what he’d done as an agent or as an Avenger. Nor was he deluded as to what the job had required him to be. He fully understood that he’d been little more than a living weapon, aimed and fired by people he’d trusted at what they deemed to be well-deserving targets. He had loved his job, harbored what he hoped was a reasonable and healthy sense of pride for the work he’d done and the role he’d played in protecting this world.

He still worried, though. He worried how his kids would see the life he’d lived. That they might lose sight of the hardships and the sacrifice, of the loss the job carried with it. That they’d only see it as glamorous, like the majority of the general public did. Something to be turned into Broadway musicals and made-for-TV movies. Something to be idolized.

He also feared how they would be judged or judge him if they fully understood the implications of Hydra’s infiltration of SHIELD or Loki’s puppeteering. If the truth about Ronin ever came to the surface. If he was ever held accountable for all the innocent and not-fully-deserving lives he’d been forced to take or had taken willingly.

He didn’t want any of that for them, and, as selfish as it was, he didn’t want them thinking of him that way. Not as something or someone to be bolstered up and put on a pedestal. A pedestal he quite frankly didn’t deserve. Nor as someone to be cut down and condemned, even if it was justified.

To them, he just wanted to be Dad.

“I want to ride in a flying car!” Nate squealed, pulling Clint out of his thoughts. “Can I ride in a flying car, Daddy?” he asked, latching onto the idea with such enthusiasm that Clint knew he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for a while.

“Sorry, Bud,” Clint replied, as stepped up onto the curb at the shuttle stop. “Uncle Nick has that car now and Daddy has absolutely no idea where he is.”

“Can you call him?” Nate whined up at him. “Please.”

Clint laughed at that, imagining the look on Fury’s face if Clint were to call him up to ask if he could swing by and give the kids a ride in Lola. Poor Phil would turn over in his grave at the sight of a messy four-year-old climbing over the upholstery and tracking dirt across the seats. The thought pulled a sad smile to Clint’s face.

Clint cleared his throat to compose himself. “You’ll have to ask Momma when we get back home,” he told Nate, when he was certain his voice wouldn’t crack. “She’s better at getting ahold of Uncle Nick than Daddy is.”

Chapter Text

Laura grunted as she hauled the last box of Christmas ornaments up out of the basement and deposited it unceremoniously on the coffee table in the living room. They were a little late with getting the tree up this year. Usually, it was standing in its designated corner next to the fireplace, fully decorated, within the first week or two of December. Today was the eighteenth and she’d just managed to get Clint to carry it in off the front porch and nestle it into its stand that morning, before he and the kids left for New York.

If asked, she wasn’t sure if she could pinpoint an exact reason for the tardiness. Other than a general malaise that seemed to have settled over the house. The customs and traditions of the holiday served to remind them of everything they’d been fortunate enough to get back, but also of everything they’d been forced to lose.

For Clint, it had been and continued to be particularly difficult. He still struggled with Natasha’s death, mourning the loss of his best friend, while trying to cope with the survivor's guilt that accompanied her sacrifice. Guilt that was only made worse by the shame he felt over what he’d done as Ronin.

It pained her to think about everything he’d been through in the past six years. From the loss of his family, with how suddenly and painfully they’d been ripped from him. To losing himself under the belief that he would never get them back, and the violent path his grief had sent him down. Then, when he’d finally been given hope, when they thought they’d found a way to get almost all of it back, he’d lost Natasha. Fate, ever cruel and twisted, had denied him the hero’s sacrifice and had instead forced him to trade one piece of his soul for another.

For that, Laura was selfishly grateful. Not that she didn’t miss Natasha. Not that she wasn’t burdened by the loss of her friend, but if she’d been forced to choose—well there really wouldn’t have been a choice. She hoped Clint knew that. That despite everything he’d gone through and was still going through now; despite the weight of the grief and guilt—a weight that threatened to pull him under, to drown him—he knew how much it meant to them, to her and the kids, that he was still here.

“There’s a boy, a little boy,” Leapy Lee suddenly sang out from her back pocket, the twangy sound of ‘Little Arrows’ startling her out thoughts. “Shooting arrows in the blue. And he’s aiming them at someone, but the question is at who.”

Laura wiped angrily at the unshed tears clinging to the corners of her eyes, irritated at herself for being overly emotional, before fumbling to pull her phone free from the confines of her jeans. “Is it me or is it you? It’s hard to—”

“Hey,” she answered warmly, as she silently congratulated herself for not sniffing when she spoke. “Your ears must have been burning, I was just thinking of you.”

“Good thoughts I hope,” Clint replied, his light tone feinting self-deprecation.

“Well—while there is a tree in my living room, I did have to carry three boxes of ornaments up out of the basement. So—I’d say you’re batting about a five-hundred,” Laura teased, eliciting a soft but genuine chuckle from her partner. “How’re you guys doing? I wasn’t expecting a check-in so soon.”

“We’re good,” he assured her. “Nate’s on the verge of either crashing or having a total meltdown, possibly both. But we made it to the airport and through security without any major issues, which is always a plus.”

“Dad totally got Tony Hawk-ed by one of the security guys,” she heard Cooper call out from the background.

“Tony Hawk-ed?” she parroted, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Is that what he said?” Clint asked, all but confirming that she was connected through Bluetooth to his hearing aid. It was a nice feature, one that made phone calls much easier for both parties. Unfortunately, it also meant he couldn’t hear anything else while on the phone. The only sounds that were amplified were those coming directly from the call.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, as she plopped herself down on the couch. “You do know what that means, right?”

“I do now,” he replied wryly, the response causing Laura to chuckle.

“Which one clued you in?” she asked, unable to keep from ribbing him a little more.

“Lila.”

Laura snorted. “I thought as much,” she replied, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She loved her daughter dearly, but Lila was nothing else if not a daddy’s girl. “Was it the name or the face they recognized?”

“The name—or at least Barton.”

“He thought Dad’s, or rather Hawkeye’s, name was Cliff,” Coop chimed in, his delight over the event evident in his voice. “Said if Dad called himself ‘Cliff,’ he might be able to convince people he’s an Avenger.”

Laura couldn't help but laugh, the image Coop painted and the levity in his voice doing wonders to chase away the depressing thoughts she had so recently harbored.

“I take it you heard whatever that was,” Clint said after a moment, trying to be annoyed, but Laura could hear the amusement in his voice.

“I did—Cliff,” she admitted, unable to resist the tease. “Or do you prefer Clifton?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused.

“Well,” she countered, “I guess one of the perks of being the least recognizable Avenger is that a lack of anonymity won’t force you into retirement.”

“Haha,” Clint snarked back dryly. “I am retired,” he reminded her. “Voluntarily, I might add.”

“Uh-huh,” Laura drawled, clearly indicating her disbelief. “I’ll believe that if you ever manage to make it past the two-year mark.”

“Hey, I was pretty close the last time.”

“Yeah? I guess it’s too bad we’re not talking horseshoes or hand-grenades,” she quipped, earning her another quiet laugh.

“Ok—well—lucky for you, we’re going to have to table this discussion for another time,” he said with a groan. “They’re starting to board and I’ve got to get the troops round up.”

“Ok,” she relented, unable to curb her disappointment. “Be safe.”

“We will be,” he told her. “I’ll call you when we get settled. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she replied, a sad smile pulling at her lips as she ended the call.

Chapter Text

“Keep going, Nate,” Clint encouraged, narrowly avoiding bumping the four-year-old with his own suitcase when he stopped yet again in the aisle-way. “Keep following, Lila.”

Nate groaned, but otherwise did as directed, letting his head flop and slapping his hands across each empty seat, as he took exaggeratingly heavy steps.

Clint shook his head in begrudging amusement, but otherwise didn’t comment, grateful this was the worst he was getting considering it was over an hour past nap time.

“—i- is u-,” Cooper announced, stopping at row twenty-seven, which put them right in the middle of the main cabin.

“Alright, suitcases overhead. Coop, help Lila with hers please,” Clint instructed, as he collapsed the handle on Nate’s bag. “Nate, we’re on this side.” He shepherded his youngest toward the window seats before hoisting the four-year-old’s suitcase up into the overhead compartment. Once he had both his and Nate’s bags secured, he turned to help Cooper.

“Coop, you’re in the lone seat on this side,” Clint directed, pointing to the center-section seat across the aisle from the other three they had tickets for. “Lila, you’re over here next to the window. Nate, you’re in the middle.”

With the kids settled, or at least mostly settled, Clint sank down into his seat, unable to stop the groan that escaped as a sense of relief washed over him. It was probably a little premature—they still had the roughly three hour flight, plus the LaGuardia airport and the car ride to the hotel to contend with—but he couldn’t help but feel that the more challenging aspects of their departing journey were behind them.

“Dad?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied, turning towards Coop, who merely pointed at Lila in return.

“Sorry, Sweetheart,” he said, his cheeks burning slightly as he twisted back around to more fully face his daughter. Lila and Nate were both seated on his right, which meant hearing was going to be a bit of a struggle.

Laura had tried to get the bulk of their seats on the other side of the cabin for this reason, so two of them would be seated to his left if he sat on the aisle. Unfortunately, booking the trip a little more than two months beforehand had meant slim pickings in terms of seat selection. They were lucky that the four of them were sitting all together, let alone with an ideal arrangement.

“What do we do wi— our backpack-?” Lila asked.

“Backpacks go under the seat in front of you, at least until after takeoff,” Clint replied, as he dug a king-size package of fruit-flavored Lifesavers out of his bag. “Here,” he said, tearing open the candy and handing both Lila and Cooper a small handful. “These will help your ears during take-off.”

“I want one,” Nate whined, as he reached over to try and take the bag out of Clint’s hands.

“I’m going to give you one,” Clint assured him, pulling the bag back and shoving it in his coat pocket, “but since you need to hold onto Captain America, I’m going to hold on to the candy. That way you won’t drop it or lose it.”

“But, I want one now,” he pouted, his lower lip quivering and his eyes immediately glassing over.

“You’ll get one soon enough,” Clint stated firmly, leveling his youngest with a look that left no doubt rudeness wasn’t going to be tolerated and a fit wasn’t going to get him his way. “Let's get your bag tucked away and you buckled in,” Clint continued, once he was sure the waterworks were back under control, “and then you can have a Lifesaver.”

Nate nodded, sniffing loudly before handing his backpack over.

Clint managed to force a smile as he took the proffered bag, reminding himself yet again that Nate was just tired. They all were. Worn down by the tediousness of travel. A tediousness that was not yet overcome by any general excitement about the trip.

Taking a breath, he made sure all the zippers were firmly closed on Nate’s backpack, before tucking it and his own under the seats in front of them. Sitting up, he turned back to his youngest. “Did you find your buckles yet?” he asked, once again forcing enthusiasm into his voice.

“I can’t bind rubber one,” Nate replied, holding up only one of the two ends.

“Hang on,” Clint told him with a grunt, leveraging himself up and out of his seat so he could better search. “Let me see if I can find it.” He started digging around between and behind the seats. “I don’t—Lila do you see it—wait, wait, never mind I got it,” he proclaimed, pulling the buckle out of its hiding place. “You want to do it?” he asked Nate, as he handed over the other end.

“Zip, peas!” Nate exclaimed, snatching the buckle out of Clint’s hand.

Clint watched as he clipped the two ends together, only fumbling the pieces a little bit before locking them into place. “Snug it up,” he coached, making sure the strap was tight enough without overdoing it. “Good job, Bud.” He ruffled Nate’s hair before turning his attention to his own seatbelt. “Coop, Lila, seatbelts.”

“Do we ha-e to tear gems —e entire night?” Cooper asked, clearly annoyed.

“I don’t,” he started before trailing off with a frown. “Tear gems?”

“Our -eatbe-t-,” Coop repeated, tugging at the strap around his waist for emphasis. “Do we ha-e to wear our -eatbe-t- —e entire ti-e?”

“Just during take-off and landing,” Clint assured him, “or if we hit any significant turbulence.”

“W-at’- —at?” Nate asked.

“Turbulence? It's, um, like a rough patch of air. It can make the plane shake and bounce, like a car on a bumpy road.”

“Wi— we hit any turbu-en—?” Lila asked, concern evident in her tone.

“Yes,” Clint replied, frank and honest, “but it's nothing to be worried about. Every plane hits turbulence at some point during a flight. Like I said, it's just like potholes on a road. Nothing to stress about unless you hit a major patch, and severe turbulence is very rare.”

Lila bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth anxiously. “Dad?” she asked tentatively, a blush reddening up her cheeks. “Can you -it between -e and Nate, in-tead?”

Clint smiled warmly, any annoyance he might have felt at the prospect of reshuffling now that they’d just gotten settled was quickly squelched by the uneasy look on his daughter’s face. “Yeah,” he told her, as he undid his seatbelt. “I can do that, but if I’m going to be in the middle, I want Nate to sit by the window.”

Lila nodded. “Ok,” she agreed, gathering up her Lifesavers and cell phone before unbuckling her seatbelt and standing up.

“Come on, Bud,” Clint encouraged, reaching over to undo Nate’s seatbelt, “climb on over there.”

It didn’t take much to get them both resettled and buckled back in, especially since Nate was eager to comply, knowing it would help make Lila feel better. Once they were all resituated, Clint dug his cell out of his coat pocket. “Coop, Lila, phones on airplane mode,” he instructed, as he switched his over, before tucking it away again.

“Can I ha-e a cried acre now?” Nate asked, looking up at him expectantly. “Peas.”

“Can you have what?” Clint asked, leaning over and tilting his head, straining to get his left ear closer.

“Lifesaver, Dad,” Lila chimed in, as Nate made the sign for candy.

“Thanks,” he told Lila, offering a tight-lipped smile before turning back to Nate. “Yes,” he relented, as he pulled another small handful out of his pocket, “You can have a Lifesaver. What color do you want?”

“Umm—red,” Nate replied happily, taking the proffered candy once Clint had pulled the wrapper off and popping it into his mouth.

It was at that moment that the plane began to move, the flight attendants starting their pre-flight instructions as they slowly taxied out to the runway. Clint tuned them out. The PA system was garbled and difficult to understand over the hum of the plane’s engine as it rattled off information he could recite in his sleep. Instead, he used the time to look over his children.

Cooper, sitting isolated on the other side of the aisle, watched the flight attendants’ demonstration with all the enthusiasm a bored teenager could muster. Which was very little. He was probably only paying attention because there was literally nothing else to preoccupy himself with. Lila, on the other hand, watched with rapt interest. Tense and stiff, she sat up straight in her seat, unknowingly clutching the armrests as she thrummed with nervous excitement. Nate did neither. Lost in his own little world, he made his Captain America action figure dance on his lap, as he sucked happily on his Lifesaver.

Clint swallowed, suddenly overcome with an irrational wave of emotion. A strange combination of despair and relief, both intense, both painful, both bringing unshed tears to his eyes as he choked on his breath.

“You need to endure his toy under lud heat unti- a-ter take-o—,” one of the flight attendants announced, startling Clint back to himself. He looked at her sharply, his expression not yet composed, causing her to furrow her brow in concern. “Are you ok, -ir?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Clint rushed to assure her, forcing a smile to try and make good on the words. “I’m fine.

“Hey, Bud,” he said, turning to Nate, “Captain America’s gotta go under the seat until we’re in the air, ok?”

“Ok,” Nate conceded, handing over the toy with no complaint.

Clint leaned over and stashed the plastic figure with their bags, tucking it between the two before sitting back up and offering the flight attendant another friendlier smile. She returned the gesture, before continuing down the aisle to finish making her checks.

Clint blew out a breath, shaking his head and rubbing at his eye in self-disgust before once again turning to Nate. “You still got a Lifesaver in there?”

Nate nodded in reply, opening his mouth to show Clint the over-half-eaten candy.

“I want to make sure you’re still eating one when the plane takes off,” Clint reminded him. “What color do you want next?”

“White!” he called out enthusiastically, swinging his legs out and almost hitting the seat in front of him.

“Be careful you don’t kick that person’s chair,” Clint admonished, as he tore open the wrapper and handed over the sweet.

Popping a piece of cherry flavored candy into his own mouth, Clint leaned back in his seat, resisting the urge to close his eyes as the piston engines were run up to high power. Their hum faded into a high pitched whine he could no longer hear, before the pilot released the brake.

Nate laughed loudly and Lila’s hand clamped down on his arm as the plane suddenly launched itself down the runway. He grinned at first, his children’s reactions reminding him of what it was like to experience the excitement of it all, to feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins at the thrill of something new and uncharted.

His smile faltered, however, as his mind drifted, sifting through the memories of high octane cars and even faster jets until he was pulled against his will back to the Milano. Where, with Natasha by his side and while moving at a speed pushing that of light, with stars flying past like something out of a Star Wars movie, he’d reminisced about Budapest. Nat had smiled at the quip, her expression then not too different from the one Lila wore now, alight with excitement and something close to wonder. As the plane’s wheels left the ground, he closed his eyes against the memory of her, of that moment, willing away the pain that came with it.

Clint swallowed, feeling the pressure build within his ears, the sounds around him becoming even more muffled as he tried to get them to pop. A high pitched whine, soft at first and then growing in intensity, erupted from his right ear heralding the onset of tinnitus. He drew a breath and pinched his nose, blowing out gently until he felt a pop. The subsequent drop in pressure offered some relief, but the ringing remained, growing louder until it felt like it was all he could hear.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath as the plane started to level out and they approached cruising altitude.

“Cat was awe-o-e,” Lila enthused, practically beaming as she finally released her grip on his arm. “Is —at what —e quinjet pike? On-y way tutor?”

“—e quinjet is toes touch chapter. Duck, it probab-y or bike a he-icopter because dug —e urtical take cog. Right, Dad?” Cooper asked, looking at him expectantly.

Clint swallowed again, hoping to further equalize the pressure in his ears and quell the tinnitus as he tried to follow the conversation. Unfortunately, he was having little to no luck on either end. “The quinjet does feel a little more like a helicopter during takeoff,” he acknowledged, latching on to the two things he was certain were being discussed as he did his best to ignore the insistent high-pitched whine. “But other than that it's a whole different ball game. If you liked this though,” he told Lila, “you’d probably love the quinjet.”

“-o-e —an —e ——— -a-?” Nate asked, his words all but lost over the hum of the engine, the ringing of his tinnitus, and the uselessness of his right ear.

“You’re going to have to say that again, Bud,” Clint told him, offering what he hoped was an apologetic smile, but probably ended up being more of a grimace.

“He a-ked i- we’d budget ‘nor can a dying star.’” Lila supplied, trying to be helpful. Unfortunately, even from her it was almost impossible to understand. Realizing he was still struggling, she repeated the question, this time signing as she spoke. “Will we love it more than a F-L-Y-I-N-G car?”

“Oh!” Clint snorted out a laugh, surprised, though he really shouldn’t have been. Like most kids, Nate’s mind was like a steel trap. Very little attention span, sure, but nothing seemed to ever truly be forgotten. Merely tucked away, waiting for the next random connection to bring it back to the surface.

“Both can be pretty fun,” Clint admitted, as he turned his attention back to Nate, “but you can do a lot more cool stuff in the quinjet.”

Nate seemed to consider that for a moment, before declaring, “I pick the car.” He also signed, his hands forming the words slow and robotically as he concentrated on the hand motions.

“We’ll see what Momma says,” Clint reminded him, as the PA system chimed on and the seatbelt light went out.

He couldn’t make out the announcement, but then again, he really didn’t need to. The lack of seatbelt light clearly relayed the message. Unbuckling the restraint, he leaned forward and retrieved Lila’s backpack from under the seat in front of Nate. “Will you hand me mine and Nate’s please?” he asked.

“Pure,” Lila nodded, before reaching down and pulling them out from where they were tucked under the seat in front of her.

“Watch out for Captain America,” Clint warned, waiting until she resurfaced with both bags and the toy before making the swap.

“You guys can use your phones and tablets now,” he reminded Cooper and Lila, “but you have to keep them on airplane mode.”

“Got it,” Lila replied, overlapping with Cooper’s “ok.”

“I want you,” he said, turning to address Nate, “to take a nap. So, I’m going to read you your book.”

“I -on’t nee- a n—,” Nate whined, his tone nearly matching the pitch of Clint’s tinnitus.

“That right there,” Clint countered, “tells me you do. Here,” he said, handing over the neck pillow he’d dug out of his bag, “take this. Let’s loosen your seatbelt and lean your seat back.” Those two tasks completed, Clint pulled the small paperback book out of Nate’s backpack and tucked both bags back under the seat. He then lifted the armrest between them so Nate could lean in closer.

“Comfy?” he asked, once the four-year-old was settled.

Nate nodded, snuggling against Clint’s shoulder, clutching Captain America to his chest as he peered over at the book.

“Good. Now, let’s see what we got. Little Blue Truck’s Christmas,” Clint crooned, reading the title aloud before opening to the first page. “‘Beep! Beep! Beep! December’s here! Little Blue Truck is full of cheer…’”

Clint continued reading, pointing out things like the stand marked ‘Toad’s Trees’ and the little numbered tags on the five trees that got loaded onto the Little Blue Truck. He and Laura usually tried to quiz Nate more as they read, prompting him to pick out details himself or help count different things on the page. However, with all the better he could hear, it was easier to keep the interactions to a minimum.

By the end of the first read, Nate’s eyes had grown heavy. About halfway through the second, he was completely out. Clint read one or two more pages, just to be sure, before easing the book closed and setting it aside. Free to relax, he leaned back and closed his eyes, grimacing at the headache that was threatening to settle in.

He let out a heavy defeated sigh, before nudging Lila gently with his elbow, prompting her to pull one of her earpods out and look at him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to put on my white-noise app,” he told her.

Lila frowned. “Tinnitu-?”

“Yeah. It started a little bit ago.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up the app, “Probably because of the pressure change during take-off.”

“Ok.” She bit her lip, hesitating a moment before adding, “Petty know which bears any zinc I can do.”

Clint smiled reassuringly. “I will.”

He opened up the ‘Timers’ menu and changed the ‘Stop Sound’ setting to an hour, then went under ‘Favorites’ and turned on ‘Pink Noise.’ Static, not too different from the sound of heavy rain, flooded his ear. Its pitch, a bit lower than his tinnitus, helped to drown out the annoying whine. Clint leaned back in his seat again and closed his eyes, trying to relax into the noise.

*~*

“Whatever it takes,” Clint said softly, repeating the vow they’d all taken at the start of this mission. He knew in his heart exactly what he had to do, what he was meant to do. What he wanted to do, for his wife and his children, for everyone else that was lost, for Natasha.

Natasha rose, striding across the barren rock to meet him, understanding and determination clearly written on her face. “Whatever it takes,” she affirmed, as she reached out and took his hand.

He smiled as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “We both know who it's got to be.”

“We do.”

He pulled back, squeezing her hand one last time as he offered her a small sad smile. One he hoped portrayed the love he felt for her and the remorse for what he was about to do.

Clint attacked swiftly and surely, violently. Kicking Natasha’s legs out from under her, he drove her upper body down onto the unforgiving ground. She hit hard, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of her, leaving her gasping for breath. He held her down, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat and his knee digging into her chest, as the world around him shifted.

The stone beneath them iced over, frozen tendrils spidering out and coating the slate-gray rock in steel-blue. The unnatural cold seeped into his body, the hauntingly familiar sensation sending him into a panic.

Clint screamed at his body to listen, to obey, as the cold wormed its way into his heart and mind, taking him over and stripping him of control. As the ice encased the last of his resolve, he had clarity. Clarity about the mission, about the assassin that lay beneath him. It allowed him to see what he needed to do, as it brought his target into sharp focus.

Ronin drew his blade, the metal singing as it was pulled from its sheath. He brought the tip of the sword down, resting it on Natasha’s chest, poised over her heart.

“Do it,” Loki purred, his voice cruel yet seductive as he emerged from the shadows. “It was your mission, after all, and you failed. Now, look at her. Look at her!” he barked. “Trying to atone for the wrong she’s done. As if that much red could ever be wiped clean.”

“No, no, no, no,” Clint pleaded, but the words—words he hadn’t the will to speak—never left his mouth. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the mission. He knew she was no longer the enemy. He knew Loki was no longer in control, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Your hands are soaked in it,” Loki sneered, “soaked in the blood of the innocent. So what’s one more corpse added to the pile? Do it! It’s what any Ronin would do.”

Clint’s hand trembled as he fought to remember, fought to free his mind from the icy blue clutches of the mind stone. Laura, his wife and soulmate. Natasha, his partner and best friend. His children. As he remembered them, the blue started to fade. They were the reason he was here, not Loki.

“Do it!” Loki snapped, jarring him into action, forcing him to push the sword deep into her chest.

A crimson pool spread beneath her, slowly painting over the blue of the stone. Defeated, Clint sank back on his haunches, dead, hollow eyes watching her blood flow through the cracks in the rock, creating tiny rivers of red.

“The dias to the soul stone is not atop this ledge,” the Guardian proclaimed, his calm and pious tone an unwelcome contrast to the emptiness Clint felt. “The exchange can only occur at the bottom of the chasm.”

Ronin stood, wiping the blood off the blade in the crook of his arm before sheathing the sword. He reached down, taking ahold of one of the assassin’s legs and dragging her lifeless body to the cliff's edge.

“Toss her over,” Loki sneered.

Ronin hauled the condemned roughly to her feet, looking into her terrified green eyes as he held her over the precipice.

“No, please,” Natasha begged as she grasped at his arm. “Don’t let me go.”

Clint stilled, his mind clearing just enough to be aware, enough to know what he was about to do. Desperate, he willed his arms to hold on, even as his grip loosened, as he failed to regain control.

“Please,” he choked, pleading for her to hold on, for Loki to release his hold, to let it be him, to let it be Ronin instead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears streaking down his face as his hands opened against his will and she toppled over the edge.

*~*

Clint startled awake, lunging forward in his seat as he reached out in a vain attempt to try and grab her. Only, he wasn’t on Vormir.

It took a second to make sense of his surroundings, to remember where he was and why he was there, to think through the static that buzzed in his ear. He was on a plane to New York, sandwiched between Nate, who, despite the jostling, was miraculously still asleep with his head resting on Clint’s lap, and Lila, who was looking at him through sleep-groggy eyes with a level of concern that surpassed her years.

He wasn’t on Vormir, which meant Natasha was not in front of him. She was gone, far beyond his reach, beyond his ability to save.

Panic loomed as the details of the dream, of the nightmare, rushed back at him. His chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe as his heart pounded, reverberating through his body until it was all he could hear.

“I need to get up,” Clint announced suddenly, quickly and carefully extracting himself from beneath Nate as he rushed to stand. He barely gave Lila a chance to move out of the way before he pushed past her into the narrow aisle. Mercifully, one of the restrooms at the far end of the cabin was unoccupied and he forced himself to walk, as calmly as he could muster, to it.

Clint slid the door to the tiny room closed with more force than was strictly necessary and threw the lock. He then reached up and turned off his hearing aid, silencing the static that continued to buzz from the white-noise app. He stood there for a moment, head resting against the door, heart hammering in his chest, simply trying to breathe. “That’s not what happened,” he whispered, trying to reassure himself.

Pushing away from the door, he turned to the small mirror above the sink and found pale blue-green eyes, not deep steel blue, looking back at him. A quiet sob, part relief, part despair, escaped as he dropped onto the toilette. Cradling his head in his hands, elbows braced on his thighs, he pulled at his hair, allowing the tears to stream down his face as he cried.

“That’s not what happened,” he told himself again, trying to find the strength to pull himself back together. Loki was dead. The mind stone was destroyed. “You’re in control.”

He took a deep shuddering breath and then forced himself back to his feet. He contemplated calling or texting Laura, to verify, to make sure, to hear her say he was himself, but didn’t. It was a dream, a side-effect of all the shit this trip was forcing him to relive. It wasn’t worth making her worry.

He took another deep calming breath, steadying himself, before attempting to clean up in the small sink, trying his best to wash away the evidence of his breakdown. “That’s not what happened,” he told himself one last time, as he wiped the last of the cold water from his face. “I’m in control.”

Exiting the tiny bathroom, he made his way back down the narrow aisle under Lila’s scrutinizing gaze.

“A-e -ou o-?” she asked, her brow furrowed with worry, as she handed him his phone and stood up to let him pass.

Clint held up a hand, asking her to wait, as he shut off the white noise app and then turned back on his hearing aid. He then gently lifted Nate's head, causing the boy to stir but thankfully not wake, as he slipped underneath him.

“Dad—” Lila started once they were both re-seated.

“I’m fine, Lila,” he assured her, cutting off her questions. “Promise,” he added, forcing a smile to try and ease her concerns.

Lila pursed her lips, before drawing the bottom one between her teeth to bite it anxiously.

“Don’t do that,” he admonished gently.

“I ju-t—I worry about you.”

“I know you do, Sweetheart,” he acknowledged, “but you don’t need to. Ok? I’m here and I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Lila nodded, though she seemed less than convinced.

“So what all movies did you download on your phone?” he asked, changing the subject and trying to lighten things up a bit. “Anything good?”

“I ha-e —e birch tree epi-ode- o- reason war o- —e Witcher. Do you want to watch it again wi— tree?”

“The Witcher?” he confirmed, to which she nodded. “I’ve watched it with you before?”

“No,” she replied, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

“Sorry, I thought—” Clint trailed off, vaguely gesturing to his left ear. “I’ll watch whatever you put on. How’s that?”

“Ok,” she said with a small smile, taking a moment to open up the app and queue up the show. “Do you want the job tit-e on?”

“Subtitles?” Clint confirmed. “Yeah, I’m probably going to need them.”

Lila nodded as she propped her phone on her tray table, angling it so they both could see before handing him one of her earpods.

Clint frowned as he took the small bud, turning it over in his fingers before reaching up and swapping it out for his hearing aid. Switching the aid off, he set it beside Lila’s phone on her tray table and then leaned back in his seat.

He watched with mild interest as the recap started, reading the captions as they scrolled along the bottom of the screen. He typically wasn’t too into creature features or action films, with plotlines that ran a little too close to home. This time, however, he allowed the irrelevant plot to preoccupy his mind, lamenting the fact that he couldn’t easily ask Lila probing questions about the characters and story. Anything to help keep his thoughts from drifting back to the nightmare and other painful memories.

Chapter Text

“Nate,” Clint chided, as the four-year-old bounced excitedly in his seat, hopped up on sugar from way too many Lifesavers and rejuvenated from his three-hour nap, “just relax. We can’t go anywhere until all the people in front of us have cleared out, so it's going to be a minute.”

“—ey —ou-d go after,” Nate grumped, throwing himself back into his seat to punctuate each syllable, making his words even more difficult for Clint to understand over the tinnitus that had resurfaced during landing.

“Hey!” Clint scolded, his tone sharper than intended, fueled by the agitation and slight headache brought on by the constant whine. “Stop bouncing around. We’re gonna leave as soon as we can leave, but until then you need to sit quietly.”

Nate harrumphed, throwing himself back into his seat one more time, before crossing his arms over his chest in a pout.

“Dad,” Cooper called from where he was half-standing, half-leaning into the back of his chair. “When are we eat—- dinner?”

“I thought we all decided on ordering pizza at the hotel?” Clint replied, nudging Lila to stand so he could start retrieving their luggage now that some space in the aisle had opened up.

“How -ong is bat gonna be?”

“I don’t know,” Clint answered with a slight grunt as he handed Cooper his suitcase. “It’ll be about an hour until we get to the hotel, probably another until it’s delivered.”

“Two hour-!” Coop exclaimed.

“I warned you guys it was going to be a late dinner,” Clint reminded him, pulling the last of their bags down out of the overhead, “but you all insisted that that’s what you wanted.”

“I know,” Cooper whined, “but—I’- practica—y starting out.”

“You’re practically what?” Clint asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh pie god, Cooper,” Lila cut in, rolling her eyes incredulously. “You ju-t ate bike—an entire bag of Dorito- and a who-e box o- mini-donut-.”

“No?”

“No, prepare is no way you’re quit hungry.”

Clint snorted out a laugh. “Never underestimate the appetite of a teenage boy,” he told Lila, digging an apple out of his backpack. “They’re always hungry.

“Here,” he said, as he handed Cooper the piece of fruit. “This is all that’s left of the snacks, except for the Lifesavers, and you’re not loading up on anymore junk. It’s bad enough we’re getting pizza for dinner on top of the fast-food we had for lunch.”

“It’- not pretty is it?” Cooper asked, taking the apple and turning it over in his hand, scrutinizing it.

Clint blinked at the obvious mishearing, but before he could suss it out on his own or ask for clarification, Nate chimed in.

“I ju-t want -ore die trader-.”

Clint frowned, his frustration mounting as he continued to struggle. “More what?”

“Candy, Daddy,” Nate told him happily, prompting a strained wryly chuckle from Clint.

“The last thing you need is more candy,” he argued, reaching down to tickle Nate’s stomach, eliciting a giggle. “Come on,” he encouraged as the people in front of them finally started to exit the cabin. “Let’s get outta here.”

Cooper led the way down the narrow aisle, followed by Lila and then Nate. The latter making his Captain America figurine leap from seat to seat.

“Nate,” Clint called out once they were finally off the plane and onto the passenger boarding bridge, “hand.”

The four-year old’s face fell, his expression betraying the whine Clint couldn’t hear, as he took hold of his father’s hand without argument. “I need to go to –e back root.”

“Bathroom?” Clint clarified, as they continued down the bridge. “Ok. We’ll find one as soon as we meet up with our driver. Alright?”

“I can’t be-ie-e bartend— a car to pick u- up,” Lila crooned. “Are gray coating to be ho-di— a wine near our na-e on it bike in beautie-?”

Clint sighed, mind heavy as he started to feel the effects of listening fatigue. “Can we just–hold all the questions until we’re in the car? Please.”

“Cure,” Lila replied, offering a tight-lipped smile that only served to fuel the guilt that had already settled in his chest.

“Thanks,” he conceded, grateful for when they exited the bridge and he immediately caught sight of their driver. The man was tall and pale, average build with salt and pepper hair shaved down to stubble where it wasn’t balding. He was dressed in a black suit with a long jacket, holding a ‘Barton’ sign.

“We’re the Bartons,” Clint greeted as they approached.

“D.J. Aro,” he man said with a curt smile, “-tark Indu-trie-, A-enger-’ Pub-ic Nation-. I’— be your dryer for done extent o- your -tay here in New York. Are you ba-d wet or do you hand -uggage to pick up?”

“We didn’t check any bags,” Clint told him, before nodding down at Nate. “We do need to find a bathroom for this one though. Then we’ll be set.”

“Carrie good, her,” Aro replied. “Tear are -uti-ities right o-er —ere. I’— book a-ter your bag-.”

Clint glanced in the direction in which the driver pointed, where the men’s room sign hung prominent against the wall. “Thanks.” Dropping Nate’s hand long enough to set down his bags, Clint turned to Lila and Cooper. “If you guys have to go, I suggest you do it now. It’s going to be at least an hour until we get to the hotel.”

“I’- good,” Lila replied.

“-a-e,” Coop added around a mouthful of apple.

“Alright. Looks like it's just you and me, Bud.”

Clint led Nate across the terminal and into the men’s room, bypassing the row of urinals and taking them into one of the two stalls. He lifted the toilet seat, before ushering Nate inside the tiny space, blocking the entrance with his body as the four-year old relieved himself. Once Nate was finished, Clint waited for him to flush and redress before shepherding him over to the sinks.

“Here,” he said, bending down and scoping Nate up off his feet, holding him over the counter so he could better reach the soap and facet. “Soap ‘em up good,” he coached, waiting for until Nate was done rinsing before setting him back down. “Now, I want you to go dry them off and then come right back over here to wait for me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Nate agreed readily before skipping off to the hand dryers.

Clint watched him for a moment, making sure he could get the machine running, before making his way back to the urinals. It couldn’t have taken much more than fifteen seconds for him to take care of business, but by the time he was finished Nate had disappeared.

Clint froze, fighting against the panic that swelled in his chest. Fifteen seconds was nothing in the grand scheme of things, a moment, an instant—a Blip. That was more than Thanos had needed. More than the time it had taken for the Titan to wipe his entire family, and half of all life in the universe, from existence. Reduced to ash and scattered by the wind as if they were nothing.

Rationally, he knew his son wasn’t truly gone. The possibility of the Snap being repeated was so far beyond probable, it simply—wasn’t. In all likelihood, Nate had simply wandered off in typical Nate fashion, pursuing whatever shiny new object had captured his attention. Rational thought, however, wasn’t always enough to overcome irrational fears. Fears that had plagued him since his family had returned fueled his need to check, to repeatedly assure himself they were still here.

“Nate!” Clint called, as he flushed the urinal, receiving either no response or one he couldn’t hear over the continued whirl of the hand dryer. He did a rapid sweep of the bathroom, which failed to produce a four-year-old, before hustling out the door and back into the airport proper.

Thankfully, the terminal wasn’t overly crowded and he quickly spotted the familiar floppy brown hair and navy blue jacket. He was standing next to one of the luggage carousels, watching a handful of bags circle round and round.

Clint blew out a long heavy sigh, part relieved, part irritated, as he all but jogged over to his youngest. “Nate!” he called sternly, when he was about two steps away, garnering the attention of not only his son but also a few passers-by. “Where did I tell you to wait for me?” he demanded.

The smile fell from Nate’s face, replaced by an expression so sad and remorseful Clint almost lost his resolve. “By —e drink-.”

“By the sinks,” Clint reiterated. “Are these the bathroom sinks?”

“No,” he mumbled, so softly Clint inferred more than heard what he’d said, “but I got bored.”

“I couldn’t have turned my back for more than a few seconds,” Clint argued. “There is no way you could have gotten bored that fast. Even if you had, you were still told to wait for me.” He paused for a moment to take a breath, to rein himself back in. “Look, New York is not like it is at home. Ok? It's bigger. There’s lots more people. That means it's easier to get lost or hurt. That makes it easier for someone to take you, for something bad to happen. You understand?”

“I- jump— bad happen-, can’t you take tree? Bike bad tide?”

Clint closed his eyes, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, as he struggled to keep his composure. The truth was, he was angry. Angry at Nate for running off yet again, but, moreover, angry at himself for letting it happen. For letting things get out of control. For failing to do something as simple as participate in a conversation. For being unable to control his fear. For not keeping them safe.

“Say that again, please,” he asked once he managed to regain some semblance of control. “What do you think I’m going to do if something bad happens?”

Nate hesitated, lifting his hands tentatively to sign as he spoke. “You help me,” he asserted, before foregoing the ASL once again. “Pike when you brought u- back run –e duct.”

Clint barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he looked away, trying to keep himself together. “I’d try,” he answered honestly, when he could turn back to his son. “I’d do everything I could to save you. Momma and I both. There’s a chance, though, we might not be able to. That’s why we try not to let those things happen at all, and why you need to listen when we tell you to do something. Ok?”

“Ok,” Nate agreed, readily as always.

Clint shook his head yet again, pulling Nate into a hug, mesmerized by the blind faith his child had in him. “Come on,” he said once he trusted himself to speak. “We’ve got to go back to the bathroom. Daddy still needs to wash his hands.”

“Hen we’re goi— to —e hote-?”

“Yeah,” he snorted, taking Nate’s hand one more time. “Then we’re going to the hotel.”

Chapter Text

Clint smiled politely as he tipped their driver. “Thanks again.”

“Tank you, -ir,” Aro said, graciously. “I- you change your -ind and need -y purpo-e- or to-orrow ju-t call -y direct wine twi-ted on -y card.”

“Yeah, will do,” Clint replied, taking the proffered business card and tucking it into his wallet. “Have a good night.”

“You at we—,” Aro told him, nodding cordially before ducking back into the SUV and pulling away from the curb.

Clint heaved a sigh, tucking his wallet back into his jeans pocket, before turning and rejoining his kids at the base of the steps leading up to the Peninsula Hotel. They looked happy and tired, as the second wind that had been breathed into them at the excitement of being in the city warred against the long day’s travel. It was a good look. One that brought a small, but genuine, smile to his face.

“Alright guys,” he called, pulling their attention away from the crowded streets, skyscrapers, and storefronts all done up in their Christmas glory. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” they answered almost in unison, before grabbing their bags and following him inside.

“Whoooooa!” Nate cooed as they entered the building, his eyes lighting up with wonder as a jaw-dropping smile spread across his face.

Not that Clint could blame him. The lobby, which was astonishing in its own right, was made even more so by the holiday decor.

Three enormous Christmas trees were the highlight of the display. Two, standing six feet tall and sitting upon large ornate pedestals, flanked either side of the master staircase. The third, which was guarded by two larger-than-life Nutcrackers, stood on the first landing where the stairwell split. There, it dwarfed the others, measuring a solid twelve feet. The trees were blanketed with oversized silver and gold bulbs, assorted ornaments, garland, and thick gold ribbon. Brilliant white stars sat atop each one, adding the final flourish.

A small crowd had gathered, occupying several of the lounge chairs and sofas on both the ground floor and the mezzanine. It had been drawn in by the a cappella group performing in front of the main tree, belting out Christmas carols that echoed off the vaulted ceilings and marble floors.

“Oh -y god, Dad,” Lila gleamed. “Thi- pace is bottom.”

“Bottom?” Clint chuckled. “Is that—some new slang term I’m unfamiliar with?”

“No, not bottom,” Lila corrected, rolling her eyes. “A-W-E-S-O-M-E,” she fingerspelled. “You know, a-azi—.”

“Oh! Yeah,” he agreed easily, before shifting to a more teasing tone. “Doesn’t compete with the Super 8’s we’re used to, though.”

Cooper scoffed. “--e recuperate is a du-p paired to it.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it,” Clint warned, hedging on what he hoped was an appropriate response given he wasn’t entirely sure what Cooper had said. “In all likelihood, this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“Wow. Way to be a tota- downer, Dad,” Cooper deadpanned.

“Yeah, carry knee,” Lila added, followed immediately by a stern “yeah” from Nate.

Clint bit back a snort. “Well, I do try,” he replied wryly, barely managing to keep the smirk off his face. “Now, why don’t you guys grab a seat,” he suggested, pointing to one of the few empty sofas left in the lobby. “Listen to the carolers, while I get us checked in?”

“Ok,” they agreed readily, before starting to shuffle off in the direction he’d indicated.

“Text Momma for me,” he called after them. “Let her know we’re at the hotel. And please keep an eye on your brother. Don’t let him wander off.”

“Got it,” Lila replied, as Cooper threw a thumbs-up in Clint’s general direction.

Clint watched them for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room, before stepping up to the front desk.

“Hi,” he greeted the receptionist. “Checking in for Barton, Clinton.”

“We-co-e,” she replied, smiling warmly before turning to her computer to pull up the reservation. “Right, winter Barton, I’-e got you in —e Grand Treat and an adjoini— Grand Duck- into queen bed-.”

“Two rooms?” he asked a little stupidly.

“Does bat not round correct?” she asked worriedly.

Clint hesitated as he attempted to process what he’d heard both from an auditory and conceptual view point. He had to admit he was a little taken aback by the prospect of two rooms Though, he really shouldn’t have been, especially considering the majority of this venture was being funded by Stark. A man who’d custom-built individual apartments in his home for what were essentially five strangers.

It was just that, anytime Clint traveled, whether it was with Laura and the family or on a mission with Natasha, they’d only ever reserved one room. One room was safer. It made it easier to watch over each other and to have each other’s backs. It kept them close, not just physically, but also emotionally. It was what he was used to. It was what they’d preferred. The thought of having two was foreign. It didn’t sit right.

“-ir?” the receptionist asked, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Would you -ike or -e to ca— -tark Indu-trie- to terri-y —e re-er-ation?”

“No, no,” Clint assured her, piecing together enough of her question to formulate a response. “I’m sure whatever you have is right. I just—wasn’t expecting two rooms.”

“I under-tand,” she told him, with another smile. “—e rune- ha-e a-ready been -igned or. I ju-t need to tree your dryer’- crisis.”

“My I.D.?” Clint asked, waiting for her to confirm, before pulling his wallet from his pocket and sliding the small plastic card across the counter. He waited patiently, eyes drifting back to the sofa to check on his kids, as she verified his identity.

“—e-e are your root key-,” she informed him, sliding four card keys and his license across the counter. “Trail or no grant you acce— to —e poo- area and it must rune-. Your rune- are on —e twentie— war, you -ay u-e —e generator bear to your right. Wood you bike he-p wi— your bag-?”

“No,” Clint replied, latching on to the last question as he returned his license and wallet to his pocket. “We can manage. Thanks.”

“I p-ea-ure, -ir.”

“Twentieth floor?” he asked as he picked up the keys.

“Yes, -ir.”

“Elevators?”

“—ere to your right,” she replied, pointing for emphasis.

“Thanks.”

“You’re we-co-e. Enjoy your -tay.”

Clint nodded before turning from the counter. He managed to catch Lila’s attention as he started towards the elevators and motioned for the three of them to follow.

“Did you get a hold of Momma?” he asked once they’d joined him.

“Yeah,” Lila replied. “She read she’- g-ad we made it, g-ad we’re date, and —at she’— ta-k to u- noon.”

“She doesn’t want me to call her tonight?” he asked, hitting the call button for the elevator.

Lila shrugged. “I don’t know. She ju-t -aid noon.”

“Huh,” Clint muttered, a little disappointed and somewhat surprised, as that seemed unusual for Laura. “Noon?” he clarified as he led them onto the elevator. “Like lunchtime tomorrow?”

“No, S-O-O-N,” Lila corrected, fingerspelling once more for emphasis.

“Ook,” he acknowledged, pushing the button for the twentieth floor. “That makes way more sense.”

As the elevator doors slid closed, shutting out the noise of the busy lobby, Clint pressed his back against the wall and breathed a soft sigh of relief. The small enclosed space offered the first quiet environment, the first reprieve from auditory stressors, since they had left the house that morning. He was tired, mentally exhausted from constantly trying to understand, trying to keep up with the conversations going on around him. Quite frankly, he was—done. If it wasn’t for his kids, he’d rip the damn hearing aid out of his ear as soon as he got to their rooms. Sit in welcomed silence for the rest of the night. As it was, he was half-tempted to do it anyway.

“Are you ok?” Lila asked, her voice heavy with concern.

Clint turned to his daughter, shooting her a confused look. “Yeah, just tired is all. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged. “It’s just—”

“You’ve been missing a lot,” Cooper broke in, straight and to the point. “It’s almost like your hearing aid isn’t working right or something.”

Clint frowned, hating the sense he was burdening them with this, with his disability. “Guys, we talked about this. That the hearing aid isn’t a cure. It's going to help, but it can’t magically fix the problem.”

“I know but—it’s not this noticeable at home,” Lila countered, awkwardly.

“I see,” Clint replied as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Seizing the opportunity to waylay the conversation, he shepherded them out into the hallway. “We’re in rooms 2020 and 2022, which is—this way.”

“Two rooms?” Coop asked excitedly.

“Adjoining rooms,” Clint emphasized, hugging the right wall to keep the kids on his left as they made their way down the hall. “The door to which will continuously remain open.”

“I don’t care as long as it means I won’t have to share a bed with anyone,” Coop deadtoned.

Clint snorted out a laugh. “Don’t get your hopes up too soon,” he replied, as he stopped them in front of room 2020. “I only know for sure that one room has two beds. So, we still might be one shy of four.”

“Well, I’m definitely calling dibs,” Coop declared.

“Cooper,” Lila whined.

“What?”

“Dad, tell him he can’t call dibs.”

“Cooper,” Clint replied as he unlocked the door and shouldered it open. “You cannot call dibs.”

“Ha!” Lila exclaimed smugly.

“Because, I’m calling dibs,” Clint added, chuckling at their put-out faces as he flipped on the light and ushered Nate inside.

“Wait, wait, there’s at least three beds right?” Coop continued to argue amicably, trailing Clint into the suite. “So, technically, both of us could call dibs.”

“Yeah, but I’m the only girl,” Lila countered.

“So?”

“So, that means that I should get my own bed.”

“If you two don’t stop,” Clint cut in, dropping his duffle and backpack in the foyer, “you’re both going to sleep on the floor.”

“Ok, but—holy crap, Dad,” Cooper blurted out in awe, as he finally stopped bickering long enough to start taking in the space.

“Is this like—an apartment?” Lila asked in amazement, abandoning her bags by the door to wander further inside.

“This must be the suite,” Clint concurred, as picked up Nate’s jacket from where he’d tossed it on the floor before taking his sister’s lead and venturing further inside.

“Carries a comp-ete-y -eparate winning roo- in here,” Lila called out from somewhere within the multiple rooms, “and a dining roo-!”

“Cook at how big —e bed is!” Nate squealed in return.

“No jumping on the bed!” Clint hollered, unable to stop the smile stretching across his face at their collective excitement, his heart swelling as he thought about how much he’d missed moments like this. Small inconsequential things that, when gone, meant so much more than he’d realized. Clearing his throat to try and hold back the emotions, he turned to Cooper.

“Here,” he said, handing over one of the keys to the other room. “Go open up 2022, so we can connect through the adjoining doors.”

“Ok,” Coop replied, taking the card and heading back out into the hallway.

“Nate, Lila,” he called, slipping off his jacket and draping it over Nate’s suitcase. “You guys see the door to the other room?”

“—ere’- two door- in the dining room,” Lila replied, as she rejoined him in the foyer. “One of them might be it. Oh my god, Dad,” she gushed, “I think this is like the fanciest hotel room I’ve ever been in.”

Clint chuckled. “I’m glad you like it, Baby,” he told her, wrapping his arm around her for a brief hug. “Do me a favor and go check on Nate. I’m going to see if one of those doors you mentioned leads to the adjoining room.”

“Sure,” she agreed, yelling for her brother as she went off toward the bedroom.

Clint, in turn, made his way to the dining room, quickly finding the two doors Lila was talking about. One, he discovered, led to a small kitchen area, complete with a full size fridge and stove. The other did prove to be the entrance to the adjoining room.

“What are you doing?” he asked Cooper when he opened the door to find him sprawled in the lounge chair with his feet propped up on the ottoman.

“Googling pizza places that’ll deliver to the hotel,” he replied.

Clint snorted. “Seriously?” he asked, shaking his head in something between disbelief and amusement. “Think you can come and do that with the rest of us?” he instructed more than asked.

Cooper’s chest heaved, giving away the sigh Clint otherwise couldn’t hear, and hauled himself to his feet, eyes never leaving his phone. “Can we order from this place?” he asked, holding his cell out so Clint could see the screen once he joined him in the doorway.

“Lombardi’s.”

“Yeah, they claim to be America’s first pizzeria.”

Clint shrugged. “That’s fine with me, but you need to check with Lila and Nate. Make sure they’re alright with it.”

“Nate’s not going to understand the difference between any of these.”

“Probably not,” Clinta agreed, “but he’s still a part of the trip and deserves a chance to weigh in.”

“Fine,” Cooper huffed as he squeezed past Clint back into the suite.

Clint shook his head once more, wondering not for the first time how much of Cooper’s attitude was typical teenage surliness and how much of it was something else.

It was painful to see the changes in his two oldest since the Blip. Everyone who’d been taken by Thanos had lost something: friends, family, loved ones. Their homes, possessions, jobs—and, if nothing else, time. No one, except those too young—like Nate—to understand, had been spared from the pain of it.

Lila had taken Natasha’s death very hard. She’d been by far the closest of his kids to Nat, and her passing had opened Lila’s heart to the brutal pain of loss and the inescapable frailty of life. As a result, she’d become almost hyperaware, constantly fretting about everyone’s safety and well-being, stressing over things no fourteen-year-old should worry about. Clint, despite his attempts to reassure her, had become a focal point of her anxiety. It was, in part, due to his hearing loss, but also because she now fully understood how dangerous his job had been.

Cooper, on the other hand, struggled more from the loss of his best friend. Naturally quiet and reserved, he’d always been a little awkward, a little shy. Unlike his sister, who was a social butterfly, he struggled to make friends. Before the Blip, he’d had one Clint could truly count and he had not been Snapped. Which, in a way, seemed far worse. To know that that person was still there, but—inaccessible. Forfeited to five years of separation that for one had been full of growth and life experience and for the other had been less than a second. The loss had made Coop sullen and depressed, acting as if nothing mattered and copping an attitude anytime he was forced to acknowledge that it did.

The worst of it was Clint had no idea how to help them. After losing them for five years, there were times where he felt like he couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember how to be a husband. Couldn’t remember how to be a father. Those feelings, those thoughts and memories—those wounds, he had cauterized them years ago. It wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped to get them back.

Now that he thought about it, that was probably the whole reason Laura had pushed for this trip. It was more than providing the kids an opportunity to see and understand his life as an Avenger. It was an opportunity to reconnect, to do more than go through the motions, to truly remember what it was to be a father.

Shaking his head once more, Clint huffed out a short laugh, as he turned back toward the suite. If he didn’t know beyond a doubt that Laura would never lie to him, it wouldn’t surprise him to find there’d been a fifth ticket all along.

“Nate and Lila are fine with Lombardi’s,” Cooper announced from where he was draped across a lounge chair, as Clint entered the living room. “Can I call and order?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied, plopping down next to Lila on one of the sofas. “You guys all know what you want?”

“Ru-tic Doub-e Pepperoni or you and -i-a. —en Nate and I are goi— to try —e -au-age, Pepper- and Onion,” Coop replied, his words broken from being on Clint’s right and having his head buried in his phone. “What -ize wood I get?”

“Just get a large of each,” Clint instructed as he leaned back on the couch, fighting the urge once again to remove his hearing aid and close his eyes.

“Ok,” Coop readily agreed. “I’- goi– to need your credit card.”

“Dad?” Lila asked.

“Hmm?” Clint replied, digging his wallet out of his back pocket and tossing it to Cooper.

“Could we go down to the pool while we’re waiting for the pizza?”

“I want to go winni–!” Nate enthused, the mention of the pool dragging him away from where he’d been window gazing.

Clint groaned bringing his hands up to rub at his face.

“Please,” Lila implored. “It’ll only be for a little while. The pool closes at eight.”

“Please, Daddy, please!” Nate begged, running over and jumping on Clint’s lap.

Clint grunted as forty pounds of four-year-old landed on chest and legs. “Look, guys,” he told them, as he repositioned Nate so his knees weren’t digging into Clint’s thighs, “we can’t order pizza and then not be here to pick it up.”

Lila hesitated, chewing at her lip as she considered his answer. “Well—what if we went and you stayed here to wait for the pizza? Coop and I are old enough to watch Nate.”

Clint chuckled wryly. “There’s no way I’m letting the three of you go down there by yourselves. Not when there’s not a lifeguard on duty. Sorry. Ain’t happening.”

“Pizza’- goi— to be fortified tickets to an hour,” Cooper informed them.

Clint frowned, mulling over the words. “Forty-five minutes?” he clarified.

“To an hour,” Coop replied absently, face still buried in his phone.

“Then, could we go—for like—half an hour?” Lila continued relentlessly. “That would get us back to the room in plenty of time to pick up the pizza.”

“Please,” Nate nagged.

“Look, guys, I’m sorry,” Clint told them, “but tonight the pool’s a firm no.”

“Why?” Nate whined, his lower lip quivering.

“Because it's late,” Clint told him, “and it’s been a long day and Daddy’s tired.”

“How can you be tired,” Nate argued. “We’ve been sitting all day.”

Clint huffed out a laugh despite himself. “We have,” he agreed, “but there’s more than one way to be tired.”

“Like what?” Nate asked, his curiosity momentarily drawing his attention away from all thoughts of the swimming pool.

“Well, you can be physically tired, which is when your body gets tired because you’ve been running around and playing,” Clint explained, “Or, you can be mentally tired, which is when your brain gets tired from doing a lot of thinking.”

“What have you been thinking about?” Nate pried innocently.

“Nothing specifically,” Clint told him, “but since Daddy’s ears got hurt, sometimes, like when it's noisy, I have to concentrate really hard to listen.”

“That makes your brain tired?”

“That makes my brain tired,” Clint acknowledged.

“Is that why you’ve been missing so much today?” Lila asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Clint admitted, hesitating a moment before continuing reluctantly. “Everywhere we’ve been today—with the background noise —it just makes it exhausting.”

“Indoor pools are kind of screechy and loud,” Lila conceded, her tone laced with disappointment, but also understanding.

“They are,” Clint affirmed. “So, I’d really prefer to stay in, where it's quiet, for the rest of the night.”

“E—’- on Net—ix,” Cooper broke in. “We can watch it unti- —e pizza get- here.”

“What’s on Netflix?” Clint asked.

“E-L-F,” Lila groused, fingerspelling the title. “I hate that movie. Every time he puts all that gum in his mouth it makes me want to hurl.”

Clint couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, if you can suffer through it, you can have the next pick. How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“Then me?” Nate asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Clint agreed, tickling his belly and eliciting a giggle, “then you. But first, we’ve got to take care of all the bags we left sitting in the foyer.”

“Do we have to?” Nate groaned.

“Yes,” Clint replied, nudging the four-year-old off his lap. “Come on. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Chapter Text

Laura let out a long deep sigh as she shut off the jets and finally forced herself up and out of the jacuzzi tub. She and Clint didn’t allow themselves many indulgences. Supporting three kids on two mid-level government jobs didn’t always permit it. When it did, they usually preferred to dote on the kids rather than themselves. The two-person Whirlpool tub with massaging jets and built-in heater was one of the few exceptions to that rule. They didn’t get to use it anywhere near as often as they’d like—between the kids, the farm, and saving the world, it was hard to string together twenty minutes of free time, let alone the hour they felt they needed to justify the amount of water the tub used—so they were always quick to jump on every possible opportunity. A cold winter night, with no kids, husband, or pressing obligations, was definitely one such instance.

Wrapping a towel around herself, Laura opened the drain before glancing at her phone. She frowned as she read the time, 9:45, almost eleven in New York, and she had yet to hear from Clint or the kids beyond the text she’d received from Lila when they’d arrived at the hotel. Never one to shy away from taking initiative, Laura dried herself off, slipped on her favorite soft flannel pajama bottoms and a well-worn SHIELD tee, and called her husband.

It rang four times before Lila’s hushed voice came through. She sounded distant and tunneled, leading Laura to the assumption that she’d put them on speaker. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Laura replied, a little surprised and somewhat curious as to why Lila had answered and not Clint. “How you guys doing?”

“Good,” she stage-whispered. “Coop and I are watching some awful vampire movie called Eat Locals.”

“Hey, Mom!” Coop called out loudly, earning him a harsh shushing from his sister.

“Hi, Coop,” Laura replied warmly, choosing to ignore the minor sibling spat in what seemed to be a never ending procession of sibling spats. “Vampires, huh? I’m surprised you guys aren’t watching Christmas movies.”

“We were,” Lila explained, “but it didn’t feel right watching them without you.”

“Aw,” Laura cooed, “that’s awfully sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well—it just sucks that you couldn’t come with us.”

Laura frowned, unable to squelch the guilt that came with the knowledge that she hadn’t fought very hard to be able to go on their trip. That she’d readily accepted the fact that there were only four tickets and had almost immediately bowed out. It didn’t matter that she’d had good reasons, that this was something she truly believed Clint needed, regret still sat heavy in her heart.

“Sweetheart, we talked about this,” Laura asserted gently, reminding herself as much as Lila, “when we first noticed that we’d only gotten four tickets. That it would be nice for you guys to get to spend some one-on-one time with Dad.”

I know,” Lila relented. “I just—we’re going to all be together for Christmas this year, aren’t we?”

Laura hesitated, desperately wanting to make that promise, but knowing there was no guarantee that she’d be able to keep it. Even with Clint retired, their world, their universe, had gotten far too big and they’d been blindsided far too many times. It was to the point that she no longer felt confident in her ability to assure her children that everything was going to be ok. “Dad and I are going to do everything we can to make sure that happens.”

“Mom—” Lila objected, her tone laced with more stress and worry than any fourteen-year-old should have to carry.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” Laura interjected, firm but not without care, “but that’s the best I can offer. Now,” she continued, forcing a levity she didn’t quite feel, “tell me about your day. How’s the trip been so far?”

“Boring,” Cooper deadpanned.

“Cooper,” Lila huffed, before turning back to Laura. “It’s been fun. I mean—all that time in the car kind of sucked, but the plane ride was pretty cool. Plus, you should see this hotel and all the Christmas decorations!”

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Laura asked, relieved to hear the excitement in her daughter’s voice. “What about you, Coop,” she nettled. “You got anything good to report?”

There was a pause, during which Laura could practically feel him shrugging. “The pizza we ordered for dinner was really good,” he conceded, hints of enthusiasm bleeding through his mask of indifference. “And—this hotel room is pretty badass.”

“Language,” Laura admonished, voicing her distaste at her eldest’s new found penchant for profanity. “So,” she asked, circling back to their trip, ”why haven’t I gotten any pictures of all this amazing stuff?”

“I took some!” Lila chirped. “I’m sending them to you now.”

“Thank you,” Laura replied, as her phone pinged, signaling the incoming text. She pulled her cell away from her ear and put the kids on speaker, before flipping through the handful of photos. There was at least one from what amounted to each leg of their journey. Chick-Fil-A, both airports, the plane, the city, the hotel and its lobby—which she had to admit looked pretty spectacular—and their room. The only thing missing—save for one group selfie, which if the pizza boxes were any indication, Lila had taken during dinner—was the Bartons themselves.

“These are great,” Laura encouraged. “Maybe tomorrow you and Dad and Coop could take a few more, but only this time with you guys in them.”

“I’ll try,” Lila deadpanned, “but I can’t make any promises. Especially not with this bunch.”

Despite herself, Laura snorted out a laugh, unable to deny how difficult it was to get any of her boys in front of a camera. “Just do your best,” she offered, before pressing on. “Speaking Dad and Nate, where did they get off to?”

“Dad went to put Nate down in the other room about—thirty or forty minutes ago,” Lila replied. “He still hasn’t come back yet. Want me to go find him?”

“Hhmm,” Laura hummed as she debated her answer. She didn’t want to interrupt, especially if Nate was being particularly difficult. However, she also didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to speak to her husband. “Yeah,” she decided, “but don’t interrupt if he’s busy or if Nate’s giving him a hard time.”

“Ok,” Lila agreed. “Hang on.”

“Bye, Mom!” Cooper called out.

“Bye, Honey,” Laura replied just before the background static cut out, suggesting that Lila had switched her off speaker. She waited patiently as her daughter supposedly made her way to wherever Clint had taken Nate.

“Lights are off,” Lila announced, seemingly to herself, before calling out softly to Clint, her tone so hushed Laura doubted Clint would be able to hear her.

“If he’s asleep—” Laura started, only to be cut off by Lila’s sudden gasp, followed by Clint’s voice. It was muffled by distance, but Laura could hear the urgency behind it.

“Geez, Dad!” Lila huffed quietly, still keeping her voice low Laura assumed because of Nate. “No! I mean—yeah, Cooper’s fine. Everything’s fine. Mom’s on the phone—Mom,” she repeated after a moment. “He’s coming,” Lila reported, her attention finally shifting back to Laura. “Here he is. Bye, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, Baby.”

There was a pause, then yet another shift in sound clarity, before Clint’s voice, rough from sleep, came on the line. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoed, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Lila startle you?” She kept her tone light and teasing, knowing that the concern behind the question was clear.

Clint huffed out a short, quiet laugh, full of self-depreciation. “Yeah, I—I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he explained.

“Mmm,” Laura murmured in sympathy, fully understanding the significance of that statement.

Sleep, especially for those in their line of work, was a fickle thing. If it came intentionally, if you felt secure in your surroundings, and were confident in the ability of those around you to have your back, to protect you, it could be most welcomed. Giving the body, and sometimes the mind, an opportunity to recover, it provided relief from the stress that came with the job. When unexpected, however, or without those aforementioned securities, it could be fitful and tense. Offering little rest, it could trigger a jarring, potentially dangerous, return to consciousness.

“She’s fine,” Clint offered, as if reading her mind.

Laura nodded, finding herself—not for the first time—grateful that, despite everything the two of them had been through, neither had had such an incident with the kids. “I’m sorry,” she told him, swallowing down the guilt that bubbled in her chest. “If I had known you were asleep—”

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “I needed to get up anyhow, make sure she and Cooper don’t stay up too late. What the hell time is it, anyway?”

“A little after ten here, close to eleven your time.”

“Yeah,” Clint drawled, “they definitely need to get their asses in bed.”

“They do,” she agreed. “They have a big day ahead of them tomorrow.” She was hedging, trying to gauge his mindset, to see how he was feeling now that he was back in the city, especially given the conversation they’d had that morning before he’d left.

“Yeah,” he replied, distracted and noncommittal. “Big day.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and morose, as Clint all but shut down. “Has Lila’s agenda resurfaced?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood, to keep him talking, but no longer prying. She knew he’d open up to her, if and when he was ready.

Clint snorted out a laugh, his voice cracking slightly as he sniffed loudly. “I managed to table it until breakfast.”

Laura bit back a smile, stifling a laugh of her own. “You know,” she couldn’t help but rib, “it doesn’t hurt to have at least some semblance of a plan.”

Clint scoffed with mock indignation. “I have nothing against a well-made plan—”

“Uh huh.”

“—but there needs to be some room to improvise, to adapt—”

“‘Show up, do the thing, leave,’ hardly constitutes a plan.”

“It should,” he deadpanned. “It covers all the important bases.”

Laura smiled, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips before she reined it in. “Just,” she faltered, trying to wrap her mind around what she wanted to say. “Try to have fun,” she encouraged, her tone turning more serious than she intended. “I know its a lot to ask, but—”

“Hey,” he asserted. “It’ll be fine. We’re going to have a good time.”

Laura nodded, unsure of how their roles had switched so suddenly, but grateful for the assurance all the same. “Keep me updated?” she asked, knowing he would, but needing to hear him say it.

“I will.”

“Ok. Get some sleep. I love you,” she told him, hoping he could hear the sincerity, the depth of it, in those simple words.

“Love you, too,” he replied. “I’ll talk to you soon. G’night.”

Chapter Text

“Nate,” Clint called as the four of them stepped out into the brisk morning air. “You need to hold my hand, Bud.”

“Do I back to?” Nate whined, his shoulders slumping as he flopped his head back.

“Yes,” Clint replied easily, ignoring the dramatic display. “There’s too many people and way too many cars. Come on,” he nettled, reaching out towards his youngest when Nate merely stared at him with pleading eyes. “Hand.” With a final groan, Nate reluctantly slipped his hand into Clint’s, allowing himself to be pulled close to his father’s left side.

“Alright, Lila,” Clint said, turning to his daughter. “This is your adventure. Lead on.”

“Ok,” Lila said, more to herself than any of them as she consulted the subway map on her phone. “We want —e green nine taken on city-kind treat and Park Avenue. So——at way?” she asked, pointing down the street to their right.

Clint nodded, basing his response more off the direction she’d indicated and the conversation they’d had over breakfast than the nonsense he’d actually heard. “Lead on,” he encouraged, as he fell into step beside her, with Nate and Cooper in tow.

True to his word, the four of them had poured over Lila’s agenda during breakfast. Honestly, it hadn’t been much. Just a list of a few places she wanted to visit: the new Statue of Liberty, Grand Central Station, Avengers Tower, and the Walk of the Vanished through Central Park. All of them Avengers-related, as that seemed to be the theme for their little trip. Clint had made sure that there wasn’t anything Nate and Coop wanted to add to the list, and then the four of them had started planning out the day.

They were going to start with the Statue of Liberty, the point furthest from their hotel, and then gradually work their way back. Liberty Island and, consequently, the Statue of Liberty Museum were both closed to tourists due to the ongoing construction, but they could still take the ferry out to get a closer look at things.

Getting to Battery Park was going to be their biggest hurdle. Too far to walk, Lila had practically begged him to let them take the subway. She wanted the complete New York experience, which apparently included subjecting themselves to the loud, overly crowded underground trains. Of course, once proposed, Nate and Cooper were quick to jump on the idea. Outnumbered and not wanting to disappoint, Clint had relented. Agreeing on the stipulation that they’d take a cab or at least an Uber back, foregoing on all accounts the free and admittedly much nicer Stark Industries car they had on standby.

The walk up to the Lexington/59th Street subway station was a bit of a hike, about eight blocks or so. But it was early and cool, the kids’ enthusiasm was high, and the streets and storefronts were spectacularly decorated, so there was little complaining. Nate got a little confused when they passed the subway station on 5th Avenue, but both Coop and Lila were quick to explain that there were multiple trains and that that wasn’t the right one.

Clint didn’t bother to hide the smile that stretched across his face or the pride that welled in his chest as he listened to his two eldest interact with their brother. He loved these moments, where he could see how they were growing and maturing into young adults. It was wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time.

His smile faltered as it hit him at how fast—so damn fast—they were growing up. He’d always carried a degree of guilt, and a mountain of regret, because of the time he’d missed with them. Weeks, sometimes months, at a time, spanning the years, because of his job. Moments and memories he’d never get back, because of the latest mission.

It was worse now, because of the Snap. After five long years in his own personal hell, he felt as though he’d missed so much. In reality, he’d missed nothing. It was such a jarring contradiction, the disconnect between what he felt and what was real. He hadn’t missed a moment, not a single second, but he still felt the weight of it. The guilt and regret, the grief, pressed in on him, threatening to crush him. It left him wishing he could go back and somehow make-up for time that hadn’t been lost.

“Did is it!” Lila exclaimed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Green nu-ber tour.”

Clint took a deep centering breath before clearing his throat. “Yep,” he agreed, as fished his wallet out of his coat pocket with his free hand. Flipping it open, he retrieved his MetroCard, a relic from the near two years he’d spent practically living in the Avengers’ tower, as they raided SHIELD/Hydra bases, searching for Loki’s scepter.

As they descended the stairs into the tunnels, Clint reached up and turned down his hearing aid a little, trying to mentally prepare himself for the auditory hell he was about to enter. He’d known when he’d agreed to take the subway that the station itself was going to present an issue. Between the crowds and trains, the PA announcements, and overall poor acoustics, he was going to be good and truly fucked. It was worth it though, he’d decided, if it made his kids happy.

“Let Coop go first,” Clint instructed when they hit the turnstiles on the first level, servicing trains 4-5-6 of the green line. He swiped his MetroCard through the reader one at a time, letting first Coop and then Lila through, sending Nate after them, before bringing up the rear. “Remember, we want the express train,” he told Lila when they regrouped, gesturing towards the escalators that would take them down to the lower platforms.

“-ee-, -ow —- -own -o we —— to -o?” Cooper asked as they reached the top of the escalators.

“—- —e way,” Nate exclaimed, “to —e —tt— — —e Ea—-!” he giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand, before looking up at Clint. “—-e you -—-n to —e —tt— — —e Ea—-, -——y?”

“—e Ea—- ——-’t —-e a —tt—, —-y,” Cooper admonished, teasingly. “You’- —-t -o -t-aight —-ough to —e —e- -i-e.”

“Wh—- -n —e —-e- -i-e?” Nate asked, looking up at his brother with innocent eyes.

“I -on’t know,” Coop replied with a shrug. “—in-?”

Nate turned his attention to Clint, looking up at him expectantly, searching for confirmation.

“Sorry, Bud,” Clint apologized, pressing his lips into a tight smile. “Daddy can’t understand what you guys are saying. You’ll have to ask me again once we get on the train,” he continued with a grunt, as the four-year old used his arm to swing off the bottom of the escalator, “when hopefully it's a little quieter.”

“No way,” Nate replied happily, as they pressed into the crowd of people waiting for the southbound line.

“He said, ‘ok,’” Lila cut in, signing the words for him as she spoke.

“Thanks,” Clint told her, trying to force some degree of sincerity behind the words as he pressed his lips into yet another tight smile.

The ASL wasn’t the issue, not really. He was appreciative of the help, no matter how begrudgingly he accepted it. It was more the struggle to participate in something as simple as a conversation with his children, and the feelings of isolation that came with that struggle, that frustrated him. Out of everything that came with his hearing loss, this was by far the most difficult pill to swallow. It was also one of the things this trip seemed hellbent to prove, what it was constantly throwing in his face: that he wasn’t coping as well as he thought.

At home, it wasn’t this difficult. Sure, he sometimes needed things to be repeated. Like if he was distracted or didn’t realize he was being spoken to, if someone was mumbling or speaking too softly, or if they were speaking to him from his right side. It was—workable, not ideal, definitely discouraging at times, but he felt like he was managing.

Here, outside the calm and quiet of the farm, where it was busy and impossibly loud, he was struggling. Here, the things that worked at home, like a simple repeat or a little more focus on his part, weren’t enough. He was starting to realize that this wasn’t a small inconvenience. That if he was going to move forward, if he was going to fully interact with the world, he was going to have to do better. He had to stop living in what he was beginning to understand was nothing short of denial. He had to accept that not only was his disability very real, but that it required accommodations, not the half-assed measures he’d been using to try and skate by.

Looking over his kids, Clint once again allowed himself to simply take them in. He smiled as Lila laughed at something Cooper was showing her on his phone, while Nate teetered on his tip-toes, straining against Clint’s hand to try and see. A strange combination of complete joy and immense sorrow pooled in his chest, reminding him of how much he’d missed them. How, for five years, he’d wanted nothing more. Now that he had them, he couldn’t help but think, couldn’t help but fear, that he was somehow fucking it all up.

Irritated with himself, Clint turned his attention away from his children, scanning the crowd as he attempted to clear his mind. He was being ridiculous, or at least, it felt like he was being ridiculous. The fact that he couldn’t tell the difference made his chest ache with grief for Natasha. A sharp contrast from Laura—Laura, who was patient and nurturing, who gave him the time and space to work through things on his own—Natasha had little tolerance for bullshit. She was brutally honest, refusing to let him or anyone else wallow in pity or self-doubt. Sometimes, probably more often than he’d like to admit, he needed that. He missed that. He missed her.

Taking another deep breath to center himself, Clint blinked back tears before they could fall. This trip wasn’t just about him. It was about his kids. It was about being able to share a piece of history with them, a piece of history he’d helped to shape. He wasn’t about to ruin it for them by getting lost in his own negative headspace.

The deep rumble of the approaching train jarred him once again out of his thoughts, forcing his attention back to the mission, back to the task at hand.

“Coop!” Clint called out, as Nate bounced excitedly beside him, his face lighting up with wonder as he tugged on Clint’s arm. “Put your phone away.”

Cooper rolled his eyes, but otherwise complied, slipping his phone into his coat pocket as the train pulled to a stop.

“Alright, everyone stick together,” Clint instructed as they moved with the masses, packing themselves into the overstuffed car, to be whisked away towards the Statue of Liberty.

Chapter Text

“You really don’t think putting the shield on the Statue of Liberty is about Steve Rogers?” Lila scoffed from where she sat in the backseat of the cab with Nate sandwiched between her and Clint.

She and Cooper had been weighing the pros and cons of the new Statue for the majority of the cab ride, bickering back and forth goodnaturedly as to which version was better.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t about Steve Rogers,” Coop shot back, twisting around in the front seat so he could better argue with his sister. “I said it wasn’t only about Steve Rogers.”

“What else could it be about?” she demanded, her tone taking on a superior quality. It was the one she got whenever she thought she knew better than someone else. The one that clearly indicated she thought her brother was an idiot, and, consequently, never failed to grate on Clint’s nerves.

“Lila,” Clint warned, shooting her a look that had her frowning and slouching down in her seat in a pout.

“It’s a symbol,” Coop continued, taking a rare stance and actually defending his position.

In a lot of ways, he took after Clint in that regard. Loud and insisting when it came to things with which he was confident. Quiet and a little self-deprecating when that confidence was lacking. Academics was one of those later areas. He didn’t do poorly in school, but it didn’t come easy to him like it did Lila. When he struggled, he tended to shut down, refusing to ask for help for fear of embarrassment. It was an issue that had only compounded since the Snap.

“Yeah,” Lila mocked, drawing Clint back their argument, “of Captain America.”

“It’s more than that,” Coop insisted. “The new Statue isn’t meant to be a monument to him, but what he stood for. It–it represents his resiliency, his determination. His willingness to stand up and protect the innocent.”

“What about what the old Statue stood for?” she countered. “Does that just get erased?”

“Do you even know what the original Statue stood for?” he asked snidely.

“Yes,” Lila replied quickly, though there was a waver of uncertainty in her voice.

“Thought not,” Coop snickered. “It’s supposed to represent freedom. The torch in particular is a beacon, welcoming immigrants and lighting the path to liberty. Hence the name,” he told her, patronizingly, “Statue of Liberty.”

“Coop,” Clint cautioned, enjoying the debate, but not necessarily the tone they were conducting it in.

“So—what? It just doesn’t stand for that anymore?”

“It does,” Coop insisted. “It’s still the goddess Libertas, so it still stands for liberty, and the poem about the huddled masses is still there for the immigrants. So, if anything, adding Captain America’s shield gave it more meaning, not less.

“Whatever,” Lila muttered, clearly put-out. “It’s a stupid argument either way.”

“You only think that because you didn’t come up with it,” Coop retorted, causing Clint to bite down on a snicker.

“What? You expect me to believe that you did?”

Cooper shrugged. “We debated it in my Current Events class. It was interesting.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Which means you probably just sat there like an idiot.”

“Alright,” Clint broke in yet again, as their cab pulled up to the curb in front of Grand Central Station. “Enough. Both of you.”

The two huffed relentingly, rolling their eyes as they turned away from each other, but otherwise did as they were told and halted the debate.

Clint shook his head, breathing out a heavy sigh before turning his attention to the cab driver. “Thanks,” he told the man—Hubert according to his cab license—his tone apologetic as he paid their fare.

“No problem,” Hubert assured him. “You guys have a good day.”

Clint nodded, turning back to his kids. “Alright let’s go,” he encouraged. “Lila, be careful getting out into traffic.”

“I will,” Lila promised, before ducking out of the vehicle. “I his wish I could had bean —e original,” she continued to muse as she circled around to the sidewalk, her muffled words making Clint miss the relative quiet of the cab.

“Why?” Cooper asked, slamming his car door shut. “You green it an opinion kind in picture-.”

“Yeah, but picture- are enter as good as —e rea- pink,” Lila countered. “Keep in you back to add it hat it book- toe touch tumor in rea- die.”

Cooper shrugged with what, in Clint’s opinion, seemed to be exaggerated nonchalance. “Yeah, it was neat,” he relented, “but it wasn’t at great.”

“What better,” Lila huffed, clearly giving up on her brother, as she turned to look at Clint expectantly. “Is bit Grand Renta- Nation?”

Clint blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he’d heard. “Grand Central Station?” he repeated for clarification, to which she nodded. “Yep. That’s it there.”

“Are we goi— to ride of her train?” Nate asked, as he reached out and latched onto Clint’s hand.

“No,” Clint chuckled. “We’re not going to ride another train.”

“Hen why are we at —e train nation?”

“Because,” Clint explained, pulling them off to the side, so they were no longer blocking the sidewalk, “Lila wanted to see where Daddy and Aunt Nat became Avengers.”

Nate looked around at that, eyes filled with wonder, soaking up all he could see. “His is where you caught —e bad a-iens?”

“Well—” A wry smile pulled at Clint’s lips. “We didn’t catch them, but yeah, this is where we fought the aliens.” He paused for a moment, as the battle replayed in his mind, sharp and clear, as if it had happened yesterday. He couldn’t remember New York, however, without also remembering the four torturous days that came before, and the hell he helped rain down on his friends and co-workers. He couldn’t help but remember Phil Coulson.

“Dad?” Lila called out, jarring him out of his thoughts.

“Right. Sorry,” Clint replied, clearing his throat as he composed himself. “So, uh—what do you want me to tell you? What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” Lila shrugged. “Co-e drink group better towed cut be pore. Co-e drink we can’t read in an injury book or cat isn’t in any o- —e docu-entarie-.”

“Alright,” Clint agreed, awkwardly, latching on to the bits he could understand. It amazed him that his kids, that the world, studied these events. That these battles he’d been a part of were so large in scope and magnitude that they’d made it into history books and museums. Hell, there was a literal plaque with his actual name on it not far from where they were standing. It was humbling and bizarre. It went against everything he’d been taught as a spy, everything he’d spent the majority of his career trying to accomplish, everything he’d tried so hard to shield his kids from. “What did they teach you in class?”

“Not touch,” Coop admitted. “Pray wrote me know u- on Iron Van and Captain A-erica. Ray city don’t pay too touch about you or Aunt Nat.”

“Iron Man and Captain America, huh?” he repeated, seeking confirmation before adding, “well—I guess that makes sense.”

“Why?” Nate asked curiously, looking up at him with big innocent eyes. “Didn’t you he-p too?”

“I did,” Clint assured him, as he reached over and ruffled Nate’s hair with his free hand. “But, when there’s a battle this big, it's too hard to focus on all the little details. You have to concentrate on the big events, like Iron Man flying the missile through the portal and Aunt Nat closing it with Loki’s scepter. Those are the things that people are going to remember, because those are the things that turned the tide. Those are the things that allowed us to win.”

“It’- -ti— hard to repeat cat a-iens are rea-,” Lila mused. “Even dough kid bike—right in your date, I -ti— hat a tough tine wrappi— try head around it.”

“I know,” Cooper agreed. “Not pony are hay rea-, but we wet hen. I bean, care was a taki— raccoon and a teenage tree at winter Dark’- -unera-.”

“I piked Rocket and Groot,” Nate giggled beside them. “Pay were honey.”

“How do you know i- Groot was bunny,” Coop countered. “You can’t be in grand what he’s payi—.”

“Yeah huh,” Nate argued happily. “He eggs ‘I am Groot.’”

“Yeah,” Coop agreed, “I keen cat’- what he beds, but——at’- not what he reds. It’- bike—if you were expandi— care getti— tea bit- who-e door he, but a— I good hear is ’I am Nate.’”

“Cut -ti— honey,” Nate insisted, which had Cooper throwing his hands up and shaking his head in frustration.

“I taught where’d be core to be,” Lila cut in, bringing the conversation back around. “I green, a-iens opened a porta- to rate and rained ha-oc on —e kitty. You’d drink dare’d be boar decadent of bat.”

“You’d think there’d be more what?” Clint asked.

“E-V-I-D-E-N-C-E,” Lila repeated, fingerspelling the word as she did.

“Mmm,” Clint hummed as he looked around them. His eyes raked over each building before settling on what used to be the Avenger’s Tower, the renovated facade making the building almost unrecognizable.

“There is,” he assured her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, signing this time as she spoke.

“Well—it’s not like Gettysburg or Sokovia,” he explained. “You’re not going to see bullet holes in the walls or half-demolished buildings. It’s more subtle. It’s in the changes to the store fronts and the buildings that were remodeled during reconstruction. Like the clock right here at Grand Central Station. It used to be decorated with Greek gods. Now it's a monument to the first responders that fought during the battle.”

“I guess,” she conceded, continuing to sign. “I just—I thought there’d be more.”

“As someone who’s never been here before, you might not see it,” Clint agreed. “For those who’ve lived here their whole lives, or have spent a significant amount of time here, trust me the evidence is everywhere.”

A relative silence settled around them, punctuated only by the heavy sounds of New York City, with the hustle and bustle of traffic and pedestrians.

“Bear’s your hat to, Daddy?” Nate asked after a moment.

“My what?” Clint asked.

“On a read buries a cat too with your pain on it,” Nate explained. At least, Clint assumed he was explaining though the words made little to no sense over the roar of the traffic.

“Mom said there’s a P-L-A-Q-U-E,” Lila told him, signing and fingerspelling as she did.

“Yeah,” Clint replied, trying to keep the grimace off his face. The thought of his name plastered on some monument for all the world to see once again twisting something in his gut. “There’s supposed to be one around here somewhere.” He let out a long, put-upon sigh. “I suppose you guys want to see it.”

“Duh,” Nate drawled.

“Yeah, cat’s bike— —e who-e reason we’re here,” Lila added.

Clint snorted, shaking his head in amusement as a smile worked its way back onto his face. “Alright,” he relented, as he started off down the sidewalk. “Let’s go see if we can find it.”

Chapter Text

“Coop, get the door, please,” Clint instructed as he hoisted Nate further up onto his back, carrying the exhausted four-year-old.

They’d finished at Central Park not too long ago, having walked a portion of New York’s memorial to those who’d perished in the Snap. Ten miles’ worth of red brick wound its way through the park, each stone engraved with the name of someone who had disappeared or had died in the resulting chaos. It was staggering to see that many names, knowing they represented only a fraction of the billions who’d been lost.

“It's so hard to wrap your head around,” Lila blurted, voicing Clint’s thoughts as they made their way into Al-Sham’s. “All those people—I mean, it happened to us and I still have a hard time believing it.”

“I know,” Cooper snorted in agreement. “It's not like we were even dead. We were just—gone. Literally, dust scattered in the wind.”

Clint grimaced. He wanted to contribute, to offer comfort or reassurance. Something. Anything he thought they might need, but he remained silent, unwilling to comment. He knew it was cowardly, that he was putting his own needs above theirs, but he did not want to relive those memories, not with them, not yet. It was still too painful.

“Slide down, Bud,” he instructed quietly, once they’d reached the counter, eliciting a small whine from the four-year-old. “Alright,” he asserted, as soon as Nate’s feet had hit the floor, effectively halting Cooper and Lila’s conversation on the Snap. “What do you guys want to eat?”

“What kind o- root is get-?” Coop asked from his right, his tone inquisitive as he scrutinized the overhead menu.

“Middle Eastern,” Clint replied, watching Nate wander over to the gumball and trinket machines. “Nate,” he warned, “stay where I can see you.”

“I wi—,” Nate replied happily, twisting and pulling at the various knobs.

“I’d recommend the lamb or chicken shawarma sandwich,” Clint said, turning back to his eldest. He wasn’t really worried about Cooper, or Nate for that matter. Both were fairly adventurous eaters, willing to try almost anything at least once. Lila, on the other hand, wasn’t, tending to turn her nose up on description alone.

“What’s shawarma?” she asked warily.

“It’s the name for how they cook the meat,” Clint explained. “They slice it really thin and then cook it on a spit. See?” he said as he pointed to one of the vertical chicken rotisseries. “Then, when it's time to make a sandwich, they just shave some of it off.”

“Can we go somewhere else?” Lila whined, her face already scrunched up in disgust.

“Not if you want the full Avengers’ experience,” Clint told her, barely resisting the urge to use air quotes.

“Why?” Lila asked, trying for irritated, but Clint could hear the curiosity behind the question. “What happened here?”

“After—” Clint started to explain, only to be cut off by Nate.

“Daddy!” the four-year-old shouted across the restaurant, making Clint grateful the place was essentially empty save for the four of them and the staff. “You and Aunt Nat are on —e wa—!”

“What’s he talking about?” Lila asked.

“I—have no idea,” Clint admitted, before trailing Coop and Lila across the room to where Nate was pointing to one of several photos.

Sure enough, there amongst other pictures of celebrities and well-known figures who’d apparently eaten there over the years were the Avengers. The photo was taken from almost directly behind Clint, making his face only recognizable from profile as he looked back over his shoulder. The others, however, were clearly discernible, including Natasha.

“When did you guys eat here?” Lila asked, wonder and excitement replacing her earlier apathy.

“Right after the battle,” Clint replied, as his gaze locked on Natasha. She looked tired, hunched over the table, arms braced against her thighs, barely holding herself up. There was a weariness about her that she’d never carried before that day. One that stuck with her, clinging to her and settling into her bones. He knew that weariness, recognized it for what it was, because it clung to him, clung to all of them, to a degree.

“You guys look wrecked,” Coop observed, nearly echoing Clint’s thoughts.

“Yeah, well—it had been a rough couple of days,” Clint reminded him before turning away from the photo and the memories he still wasn’t ready to deal with. “How about we get two traditional and two chicken shawarma sandwiches, double-size so we can mix and match?” he suggested, avoiding the conversation yet again as he made his way back to the counter.

“Pine wish tea,” Coop replied easily, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he rejoined Clint at the counter, standing once again on his right, “but I want to try —e wood duck-.”

“Wood duck?” Clint questioned, turning to more fully face his son, unsure if he’d misheard or if he’d somehow overlooked it on the menu.

“What? No, H-U-T-T-U-S,” Coop repeated, fingerspelling the word.

“Hummus,” Clint corrected, emphasizing the ‘M’s as he repeated the signs. “You did ‘T,’” he explained, forming the letter to highlight the difference. “But, yeah, that’s fine. You can try the hummus.”

“I want eyes!” Nate rushed to add, shouting once again across the restaurant.

“Fries,” Clint confirmed, chuckling softly at the four-year-old’s enthusiasm. “Lila?”

“Tine,” she relented, pulling herself away from the photo and shuffling over to them, “but, I don’t want any onions.”

“You got it,” Clint promised. “No onions.”

After they’d placed their order and filled their drinks, Clint steered them toward a booth close to the door. One that was as far from the noise of the kitchen as possible and oriented such that he could sit on the outside, watching the door, while keeping Cooper, who was sitting next to him, on his left.

“Was New York the first time you encountered aliens?” Lila asked once they were seated, pulling the conversation back around to what seemed to be the topic of the day, before taking a sip of her soda.

“No,” Clint replied easily. “I was sent to New Mexico when Thor and a few other Asgardians first came to Earth. Well,” he amended, “I guess not the first time they came to Earth, but rather the first time they showed up on SHIELD’s radar.”

“Thor visited Earth before the Battle of New York?” Cooper asked, clearly intrigued.

“Visited probably isn’t the right word, but yeah,” Clint answered. “From what I understand, Asgardians have been coming to Earth for millennia.”

“That’s where all the ancient Norse mythology comes from, right?” Lila inquired.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“So—if Norse gods are real, what does that mean about Greek and Roman gods?” Cooper wondered. “I mean—are Zeus and Poseidon going to show up one day? Does this mean that Hades and the underworld exist? Is hell a real place? Or what about heaven—”

“Aunt Nat is in heaven,” Nate chimed in, the simple statement causing Clint’s breath to catch in his throat. “Can Thor take us to go see her? Since he’s a god?”

“I don’t think it works that way,” Lila told him gently, when Clint failed to respond, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Because she’s in the soul-stone heaven?”

“No, Buddy,” Clint replied, his voice rough as he offered what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Thor’s just—he’s not that kind of god.”

Nate frowned, his brows knit together in confusion. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “It is.”

A heaviness settled over them at that, any wonder or excitement they’d felt throughout the course of the morning, snuffed out by the weight of their sorrow. In truth, it was a heaviness that seemed to have been dogging them all day, from each painful memory to the next. It left them quiet and morose, lost in their own dark or somber thoughts. Even Nate, whose understanding of the events they’d revisited was limited at best, stared sadly at his placemat, quietly ripping the paper into thin strips.

“Here you are, sir,” their server interrupted as he sat down two trays’ worth of sandwiches and sides, breaking the silence.

“Thanks,” Clint told him, grateful for a potential means to lift the mood. “Alright,” he said, swapping halves between two of the baskets, “Coop, Nate, these are yours. Lila,” he continued, exchanging the other two and then handed her a basket. “No onions.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Lila said, only to be echoed by her brothers around mouths full of shawarma.

“You’re welcome,” Clint replied, letting a warm smile stretch across his face. “Nate, you want ketchup for your fries?”

“Yes, please,” the four-year-old replied, having perked up considerably now that there was food in front of him.

Silence settled over them yet again. Though this time, it didn’t feel quite as thick or heavy. Rather, it was more like the quiet that falls over most tables, where everyone is too busy stuffing their faces to partake in conversation. At least, that’s what he hoped.

“It’s scary to know that there are—beings out there powerful enough to do what Thanos did,” Lila stated, unwilling to let the subject drop. “I mean—even what happened here with Loki and the Chitauri seems like nothing compared to the Snap.”

Clint sighed, setting down his sandwich and wiping his hands on a napkin, as he tried to organize his thoughts, tried to think about how to best comfort them. He hated this, hated that he didn’t know how to help them, that they were dealing with this trauma. He hated that he found himself wishing that Laura was here instead of him.

“I know,” he started in all seriousness, turning to look at each of them in turn, “and—it's ok to be scared. It’s normal to be scared,” he stressed. “What happened, what you went through—it was a lot. For anyone.”

“The worst part is wondering if it could happen again,” Lila told him, glancing up from where she was idly pushing a fry through her ketchup. “That there could be someone or something out there even more powerful than Thanos.”

“I know,” he reiterated, simple and honest. “It worries me too, but you can’t live your life constantly afraid of what could happen.”

“Easier said than done,” Cooper muttered.

“It is,” Clint agreed. “It’s easy to be afraid. It’s easy to give up hope. What takes real strength—real courage, is to get up and keep going. No matter what life throws at you.”

“Is that what you did?” Lila asked tentatively, her eyes hopeful. “When you lost us in the Snap?”

Clint choked out a laugh, harsh and bitter. “No,” he admitted, his heart breaking at the confession. “It’s what Aunt Nat did. She kept the hope alive for all of us.”

Chapter Text

“There’s a boy, a little boy,” Leapy Lee sang out, cutting off the Bose speakers and silencing Elvis’s Blue Christmas. “Shooting arrows in the blue. And he’s aiming them at someone, but the question is at who.”

“Shit,” Laura muttered, as she quickly rinsed her batter-sticky fingers and dried them on a hand towel.

“Is it me or is it you? It’s hard to tell until you’re hit—”

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” she promised, willing her phone not to kick over to voicemail, as she reached for it on the counter. “Hey,” she greeted breathily.

“Hey,” Clint replied, concern evident in his voice. “Everything ok? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, no, everything’s fine,” she replied, huffing out a little laugh. “I was just up to my elbows in gingerbread batter.”

“I thought we were building those tomorrow night, after the kids and I get home.”

“We are,” she assured him. “I just thought I’d get a jump start. You know, prefabricate some walls and a couple roofs, get the cement ready, that kind of thing.”

“So all that’s left is design and assembly.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, smiling into the phone. “So, how was your morning? How’d the kids like their tour of the city?”

“It, uh—it was ok.”

“Really?” she teased, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the kitchen table. “Because that sounded less than convincing.”

Clint laughed, though it sounded a little strained. “No, it was fine. I mean—it dug up about as much shit as I thought it would, but the kids really enjoyed it. Lila and Coop got into a pretty big debate over which version of the Statue of Liberty is better and Grand Central Station was a big hit. So—all in all, it went pretty well.”

“What about Central Park?”

“Central Park was—it was heavy,” he admitted. “Nate didn’t really seem affected—he’s still too young to understand—but it stirred up a lot of stuff for Lila and Cooper. Made for some fairly serious lunch conversation.”

Laura nodded, unsure of what to say, or even if there was anything she could say. It was a constant struggle, their attempts to navigate the world post-Snap, especially for Lila and Cooper. “Well—at least they were talking about it,” she offered. Even though it was difficult, talking was better than nothing. It would help them to process, providing an avenue for recovery, which was better than bottling it up and letting it fester. Something, she worried, they were all doing a little too much of, especially Clint.

“Yeah,” he agreed, though she could hear the distress behind the word. “I just—how the hell did we end up here, Laura? I mean—we’re supposed to be dealing with homework, girlfriends and boyfriends, and curfew violations. You know, normal teenage angst. Not the trauma that comes from being killed by a deranged alien from outer space and then magically brought back to life five years later.”

Laura sighed. “I know,” she conceded, rubbing at her forehead. “Even with everything we’ve seen and done—something like this—I don’t even think Nick saw this coming. But it happened, and we’ll have to deal with it the way we deal with everything. The best we can, one day at a time.”

“I feel like I’m five years out of practice with that,” he quipped flatly.

“It’ll come back to you,” she promised, “just like riding a bike, or, maybe in your case, shooting a bow.“

“Mmm,” Clint grunted. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” she asserted, before steering the conversation back to something she hoped would be lighter. “Lila sent me a few pictures. The one of the four of you in front of the Avengers’ Memorial was nice.”

“Yeah,” Clint acknowledged, snorting out a laugh, some of the self-deprecation lifting from his voice. “They thought it was pretty cool seeing mine and Nat’s names up there.”

“What I want to know is how they managed to actually get you in front of a camera,” she teased.

“Ample amounts of begging and pleading,” he deadpanned, eliciting a snort from Laura. “Hey, trust me,” he told her, in what seemed like a pretty feeble attempt to defend his position, “it was either give in or spend the rest of the afternoon listening to them whine. I think I made the best possible decision given my options and the level of duress I was under.”

Laura laughed. “Goes toe-to-toe against corrupt organizations and aliens hellbent on global domination, but crumbles under the weight of his daughter’s puppy-eyes.”

“It wasn’t just Lila,” he argued. “Coop and Nate had a hand in it as well.”

“Uh huh,” she teased. “Whatever you say, Hawkeye. Speaking of?” she asked, after a moment. “Where are Bartons three, four, and five?”

“Number five has finally succumbed to a much needed nap,” he told her with such fondness that she could practically hear him smiling. “And three and four are in the other room watching a movie.”

“I see.” She couldn’t help but glance at the clock, habit requiring her to assess how much time they had before they’d have to leave for the musical. “What about tonight?” she asked after a moment. “Are you guys all ready for the show?”

“Yeah,” he told her easily. “I figure, comparatively, this is going to be simultaneously the least and most painful part of the trip. If push comes to shove, I can always shut my hearing aid off and take a nap. Like we used to do in the movie theater when Lila and Coop were little, only quieter.”

Laura snorted out another laugh. “Well, just—try to enjoy yourself. If nothing else, keep track of all the stuff they get horribly wrong, so you can tell me all about it when you get back.”

Clint laughed, without any of the strain she’d heard earlier. “Yes, Ma’am,” he promised. “That’s something we’re going to have to talk about, by the way, when I get home.”

“What’s that?” Laura asked, not quite following.

“My hearing,” he told her, direct and to the point. “I’ve been having a really hard time following conversations. In fact, at times, or I guess rather in certain places, it's been downright impossible. So I think we need to have a conversation, as a family, about—compensating for that. ”

“Ok,” Laura replied, trying to keep her tone even, not wanting to sound overly eager. The truth was, however, that she was relieved. Hopeful that this was another step towards him finally coming to terms with and accepting his disability. “We can do that.”

“Alright. Well, I better get off of here, go check on Lila and Coop. Talk to you tonight?”

“Absolutely,” she assured him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he replied, before hanging up the phone.

Chapter Text

“Why are we a— but hand in here?” Nate asked with a slight whine, as he tugged at Clint’s hand, swinging it back and forth. “Why can’t we go in wide?”

“Or day pageant opened —e door- yet, Honey,” Coop replied.

Clint snapped his head around, turning from where he’d been assessing the crowd to shoot his eldest a look.

“What?” Cooper asked, a smile stretching across his face as he feigned innocence.

“Nothing,” Clint replied, shaking his head. “I just—don’t tease your brother.”

Nate wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist at that, peeking his head around to stick his tongue out at his brother.

“What wine are day code to open —e door-?” Lila asked, shifting her weight.

“What time?” Clint asked. “I, uh, I don’t know,” he told her as he fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up their tickets. “It doesn’t say on the tickets, but it shouldn’t be long now.”

“I hope not,” Lila muttered.

“Why?” Clint asked. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

“Becau-e her beet hurt in grow ridiculou- boot-,” Cooper chimed in, smugly.

“Shut up, Cooper,” Lila groused.

“Coop,” Clint admonished. “Could you please stop antagonizing your siblings, for like five minutes?”

“Are we,” Cooper grumbled, looking sullenly down at his shoes.

“Are we what?” Clint asked testily, trying not to lose his patience.

“Huh?” Cooper asked, looking up sharply, confused. “I read been tardy.”

Clint stared at him, trying and failing to figure out what he was missing.

“Sorry,” Cooper repeated a little hotly, rubbing his first roughly against his chest as he signed.

Clint shook his head, looking up to the stars and asking for the patience he wasn’t quite sure he could muster. “Do your feet hurt?” he asked Lila as he turned his attention back to her.

“A britt—,” she admitted, a blush reddening her cheeks.

“Momma warned you about getting those boots,” he reminded her. “That you were going to regret those heels.”

“I know, but,” she shrugged, shifting once again. “I bike —e hee—. Aunt Nat wood had include but —e hee—.”

Clint smiled despite himself, letting out a soft chuckle. “Aunt Nat was hardly an authority on practical footwear.”

“Yeah, but she wa- intent need —e majority on tile,” Lila shot back, with a smile of her own.

He was spared the hassle of trying to decipher that statement by the opening of the theater doors. “Here we go,” he announced somewhat unnecessarily.

“Ivory,” Nate muttered, as the four of them started slowly making their way into the Lunt-Fontanne Theater.

“Wow! —— —a— ————-,” Lila gushed, once they were through security, her eyes lighting up as her words were lost within the roar of the crowded lobby. “E-—-y——- -n New Y—- — ———-.”

“Alright,” Clint announced, pushing forward despite having missed what Lila had said. “Let’s hit the restrooms and then go find our seats.”

“I -on’- —— -o -o,” Nate grumbled, the whine coming through loud and clear.

“You’re going to go anyway,” Clint insisted. “Otherwise, you’ll have to go later and we’re not getting up and crawling over people in the middle of the show.”

“-ine,” Nate relented with a huff.

“Lila,” Clint continued, turning back to his daughter, “we’ll meet you back here. Try to hustle. We’ve only got—about twenty minutes until the show starts.”

Thankfully, they managed to get in and out of the restroom and to their seats, while miraculously avoiding the concessions, with about five minutes to spare. They had premium seats—Stark Industries would provide nothing less—dead center and six rows behind the orchestra. Even Clint had to admit that it was all rather impressive.

“Coop, why don’t you go first,” Clint suggested once they’d reached their row.

“I want to get by Coop,” Nate insisted, sliding in next.

“Ok, go ahead,” Clint agreed, shepherding both him and then Lila down the row. He squeezed in last, apologizing to the people they crawled over in the process.

“Are you pure you’re ok hear it?” Lila asked once they were all seated.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to hear it just fine,” he assured her, plastering a strained smile on his face. “It’s going to be plenty loud, especially this close.”

“No,” Lila replied, worry-lines creasing her brow as she scrunched her face up in a frown. “I mean us,” she explained, signing as she did. “We’re all on the wrong side.”

“Oh, well—don’t worry about it,” he told her, his cheeks warming in embarrassment at the oversight. “We won’t be talking much once the show starts anyway.”

“You sure?” she asked insistently. “It would be easy enough for us to—”

“Lila,” Clint interrupted, his tone firmer than he’d intended. “It’s fine.”

“Wine,” she muttered as she turned away, focusing her attention on her program.

Clint sighed, tugging at the lapels of his jacket as he shifted in his seat, irritated at himself for having snapped at Lila. It wasn’t her fault, she hadn’t done anything wrong. But he was anxious, more so than he wanted to admit, about the performance, and he’d taken it out on her. She didn’t deserve that. “Sorry,” he offered, breaking the silence that had grown heavy and tense.

“It’- ok,” she assured him with a small tentative smile.

“Anything interesting in that program?”

“Not pity,” she sulked. “—e kept eber pain and a gist won a— —e gong- are about it. C-A-S-T,” she fingered spelled before signing, “and songs.”

Clint nodded. “So, how much torment are we talking about? Ten? Fifteen songs?”

Lila rolled her eyes, before dutifully returning to the program. “Air are—journey war gongs,” she told him, before signing thirty-four.

“Thirty-four?” Clint parroted back, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, apparent in per act.”

Clint frowned. “What’s apparent per act?”

“Seventeen,” Lila repeated, signing as she did. “Seventeen songs per A-C-T.”

“Christ,” Clint muttered. “This is going to be worse than I thought.”

Lila rolled her eyes again. “Uh huh.”

“What does that mean? ‘Uh huh’?”

“You but cubic-e.”

“I what?”

“Love M-U-S-I-C-A-L-S,” she repeated, signing and fingerspelling as she did.

Clint looked at his daughter, thoroughly confused.

“Bean-,” Lila drolled. “We a— know you cut Disney beauty. Order inch are cuticle-.”

“Disney movies?” Clint confirmed. “Yeah, but those are what? Ninety minutes at most, with maybe ten songs.”

“Doe?”

“This is going to be around three hours and thirty-four songs long. That’s not entertainment, that’s torture.”

Lila rolled her eyes yet again as the lights flickered, signaling the audience to find their seats. “Showtime,” she practically giggled, before turning her attention to Nate, who was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

Clint spared a glance down the aisle at Cooper, relieved to find him bent over, laughing as he said something to Nate. Sighing, Clint leaned back in his seat, trying to squash the uneasiness that churned in his chest as he tried to mentally prepare himself for the production. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the lights dimmed, silencing the crowd, and causing Lila to squeeze his arm in excitement. He gave a tight smile in return, as the stage lights came on and the orchestra started in on the opening number.

Clint winced as the music resounded throughout the theater, prompting him to reach up and turn down his hearing aid. He knew it was going to be loud, especially considering their proximity to the stage, but the overbearingness of it took him by surprise.

The scene opened up on what he assumed was supposed to be 1940’s Brooklyn. Where a pre-serum Steve Rogers was trying, and failing repeatedly, to enlist in the army. Buffeted not only by recruitment officers but also his best friend James Barnes until Erksine stepped in. It was strange, and a little disconcerting, to watch Cap’s likeness sing and dance his way through Camp Lehigh, his acceptance into Project Rebirth, and the administering of the super soldier serum. In fact, the USO tour was the only scene where the theatrics didn’t seem forced and out of place.

The depiction of the events in World War II and the Howling Commandos, however, was what really started to set Clint on edge, grating on his nerves. He could hardly sit there and watch as Cap, Barnes, and the others fought their way through Europe, hustling and jiving to the beat of preppy show tunes, instead of waging war. It felt wrong, disrespectful somehow, perverse even.

It was after Barnes fell from the train, after Rogers sang a distorted lament to his best friend, when the Red Skull returned to the stage for the final battle, that Clint’s chest tightened. He didn’t know if it was watching Cap mourn or seeing Schmidt. He didn’t know if it was the knowledge of what, or rather who, was going to set foot on stage next. Maybe it was an accumulation of everything he’d been forced to relive that day, but he could feel the anger, the grief and guilt pressing in on him, squeezing his lungs until it was difficult to breathe.

He flinched when Lila gently placed her hand on his forearm, ripping him out of his spiral, dragging him back from the ledge.

“You ok?” she mouthed, her signs barely visible in the darkened theater, concern written clearly on her face.

Clint took a breath, the weight on his chest easing, but not fully dissipating. “Yeah,” he whispered, as he plastered on a forced, but hopefully, reassuring smile.

Lila merely frowned in response, her brow pinched with worry.

“I’m ok,” he reiterated, reaching over and squeezing her hand before gesturing to the stage. “Watch the show.”

She hesitated, staring at him a moment longer, before withdrawing her hand and reluctantly turning her attention back to the musical.

Clint sighed, resisting the urge to scrub at his face, frustrated and mortified that he’d almost had a panic attack. Half afraid that it was going to happen again. With the kids there, he felt trapped. He didn’t want to leave them, but he also didn’t want to stay. So he did the only other thing he could think of and reached up and turned off his hearing aid.

The hush that fell over the booming theater was jarring, but his hope was that this way he could block it all out. That he could maybe close his mind off from the memories and the pain they brought with them. That he might make it through the show without further embarrassing himself or the kids. They deserved that much at least. Especially now, especially at Christmas. He wanted to give them that. He wanted to give them a Christmas worth remembering. He wanted to give them the best Barton Christmas ever.