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Bow at the ready, Clint stalked through the dark warehouse, ducking around piles of dusty, broken machinery. He moved silently, following the directions Sitwell fed into his comm as he received infrared and satellite info about the neighborhood, and zeroed in on the coordinates from Coulson's tracker.
The team had been enjoying a lazy evening in the tower when JARVIS had interrupted them to tell them that Agent Coulson had activated a distress signal in his residence, and they'd been in the process of mobilizing when Fury called to tell them the same thing.
One of Stark's helicopters had been carrying them toward the coordinates of Coulson's tracker, which had gone worryingly still somewhere in an industrial district in Jersey, when SHIELD reported that there were signs of a struggle at Coulson's residence, including one dead man their databases identified as associated with AIM.
Swearing, Clint had picked up speed, Iron Man a bright blur beside the helo.
Now, the team was attempting to secure the perimeter of the building while Nat was searching for answers and Clint went after Coulson himself.
Clint tapped the comm in his ear three times, silently asking for an update on Coulson's location.
"About five meters ahead on your right," Sitwell answered, "Still broadcasting steadily."
Clint tapped once in acknowledgement and then eased around the corner, bow at the ready.
There were no guards in the corridor or at the door of what looked to be a break room or office, and Clint rolled his eyes and crept slowly forward.
The muffled voices he could hear suddenly rose in volume, and there was the high, frightened whine of a child.
"Shit, they've got a kid in there!" Clint muttered in alarm, and threw himself toward the door.
There were five men in the room, all looming over a young boy tied to a steel chair, shouting at him. The child was crying, struggling against the ropes as the man directly in front of him raised what looked like a very large, very deadly energy weapon. Clint shot him first.
He jolted and dropped the weapon, which shattered on impact, flinging pieces and sparks everywhere. The two men closest yelled and jumped out of the way, while the other two spun toward the doorway.
The next few seconds were a blur of gunfire and arrows, with the kid yelling and cringing back against the chair. It wasn't actually bolted or secured to anything, and he managed to tip it over, knocking it into the steel table behind him, which wobbled, but didn't fall.
When all the men were down, Clint pulled another arrow from his quiver and moved into the room. There was no sign of Coulson, only the kid.
"Friendly, kid, I'm friendly. I swear," he hissed, but clearly, the boy was not reassured when Clint pulled his knife.
"Stay still unless you want to get cut," Clint said sternly, and the kid froze, tears seeping from his eyes as he whimpered. Clint took a deep breath and softened his voice. "Look, it's okay. You're okay. I'm not with them. I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear, I just need to get these ropes off you."
He sliced through them and pulled the kid free of the tangled mess, flipping the steel table onto its side and then grabbing the boy as he tried to crawl away.
Clint hefted the struggling boy around the waist and pulled him back behind the table, which was the best cover the room had to offer. "I need you to stay here. There are dangerous men out there, and they're gonna be looking for you. So stay here, okay? I swear, I'm not trying to hurt you, kid. I'm trying to keep you safe, but I need to find someone, so you need to stay here. Please."
He should've left the kid tied to the chair and pulled the whole thing behind the table, but he didn't want the kid to hurt himself trying to pull free of the ropes.
"Please, stay here, okay? It's way more dangerous out there."
The boy finally nodded, tucking his knees to his chest, curling his arms around them, and dropping his head into his arms as he cried.
"Boy, younger than ten," he murmured into his comm as he stood up and looked around. "Seems to be uninjured. Little freaked out. No sign of Coulson."
"His tracker says he's right there, Barton."
"Yeah, well, he ain't. Coulson," Clint called softly, checking the shadows. For a brief, terrifying moment, he thought he might've shot the man in all the confusion, but a quick check of all the bodies showed that wasn't the case. "Coulson!" he called, slightly louder.
"'s my name," a small, wobbly voice said, and Clint froze. He moved back toward the table, kneeling next to the boy, who was still sitting with only the top of his head visible.
"What's your name, kiddo?" Clint asked, ignoring the suddenly sinking feeling in his gut as he realized the kid was wearing a very familiar adult-sized dress shirt, and nothing more. "Can you tell me?"
"Ph-Phillip Coulson," the boy whispered, peering over his arms.
Clint breathed out slowly, stifling the curse that wanted to emerge. He studied the boy, trying to see the man he knew in him.
His hair looked to be the right color, maybe a shade darker though it was hard to tell in the dim light, and it was buzzed close to the kid's head, army recruit style. His nose was slim and straight where Coulson's had a distinctive curve from a life spent fighting, and there were only the barest hints of his cheekbones and jawline in the round baby face of the boy before him.
But his eyes were clear and blue and Clint would recognize them anywhere, even if he'd never seen them like this, wide and scared and bright with tears.
Panicked dismay flooded through him, and he flicked a glance at the large energy weapon that had hit the ground and shattered into pieces. He took a deep, calming breath, and smiled reassuringly.
"Hi, Phillip. I'm Clint. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"
"Where are we? I want to go home! I want my mom!" His breath hitched on the last word and more tears spilled free, sliding down his flushed cheeks. Clint's chest ached at the sight.
"I'm going to do everything I can to get you back where you belong, all right? But I need you to listen to me and do what I tell you. Okay?" He kept his voice quiet and calming, but made sure there was no room for argument.
The boy -- Coulson -- Phillip -- nodded, swiping at his cheeks and his nose with the back of his hand, smearing grime and snot on the cuff of the shirt he wore. Clint grimaced, and then tapped his comm.
"I'm gonna need backup in here," he said quietly. "I found him, but there's been a... complication. And I'm gonna need a tech retrieval team."
"On my way," Nat said in his ear. "The premises is nearly clear."
"Everyone else hang back," Clint replied. The team galloping in in their unsubtle way and crowding around would scare the crap out of the kid. "Sitwell, we're gonna need transport."
"On it. Quinjet with additional field teams and a tech team is on its way. ETA seven minutes."
"What has befallen the Son of Coul?"
"He's fine," Clint lied. "We'll meet you out front as soon as Nat clears a path. Just be ready for us to get out of here."
Wide-eyed, Phillip was watching him talk to himself.
He couldn't -- wouldn't -- pull his comm out during an active op, not when Coulson was vulnerable, not even to reassure him. Instead, he dug in the pocket of his fieldsuit, pulling out a spare. He held it in the palm of his hand, showing Phillip.
"It's a radio," he said in explanation. "It lets me talk to my team and keeps my hands free. They're gonna help me get you out of here and get you home."
The boy poked suspiciously at it with a shaky, grubby finger. "It's so little."
The sound of running feet came from the corridor and Clint shoved Phillip's head back into his knees. "Don't move," he hissed.
He leapt across the room into the shadows, prepared to do everything he could to draw attention away from the overturned table.
There was the sharp report of gunfire, four shots, and the running stopped.
"Corridor clear," Nat said on the comm. He heard the quiet echo of it from just outside, and he hurried back across the room to duck back behind the table.
"We're clear in here."
Phillip's breath was hitching, his eyes wide in his tear-stained face as he peeked over his folded arms.
"Is someone shooting guns again?" he whispered.
"No," Clint reassured him. "Not anymore."
He poked his head and arms over the table just tn time to see Nat cautiously come around the door, weapons at the ready, and he waved her in. Finally confident there was someone to cover them, he re-quivered his arrow and slung his bow over his arm.
"I need you to come with me. You can either take my hand or -- "
He broke off with a grunt as Phillip flung himself into Clint's arms. Clint held him tightly, rubbing his trembling back and trying to breathe with the boy's thin arms strangling the air out of him. He stood, and Phillip's bare, skinny legs wrapped around his waist as he buried his damp face in Clint's neck, his breathing still shaky and uneven.
Natasha stood between them and the door, and only the barest widening of her eyes betrayed her shock.
"Phillip, this is Natasha. She's on my team, and she's going to help us get out of here. Nat, this is Phillip Coulson."
Nat went very still. Phillip had lifted his head from Clint's neck and was warily eyeing Nat's weapons.
Her gaze shifted, and Clint saw her take in the bodies and the sight of the broken energy weapon on the floor. She exhaled quietly -- from anyone else, it would've been a massive sigh.
"Hello, Phillip," she said calmly.
"Hi," he whispered.
Nat stepped out of earshot to give an update to SHIELD and the rest of the team over the comm, and Clint turned away from her murmured report and the alarmed answers that came after, focusing instead on Phillip.
He kept turning so that Phillip was facing the rear wall of the room, and cupped the boy's head in his hand.
"I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" he repeated, "But I need you to listen to me, and when I tell you to close your eyes, I need you to close them and keep them closed until I tell you to open them again, all right?"
Phillip didn't need to see the bodies sprawled all over the place if he hadn't already seen them. Nat was retrieving his arrows now, which made the scene a little less gruesome, but it still wasn't a sight for kids.
The boy nodded, and Clint could feel his eyelashes against his neck as the boy closed his eyes. His chest tightened at the thought of the trust Phillip instantly had in him.
It was obvious that Coulson at this age had been surrounded by adults who'd loved him and would never have hurt him. Clint couldn't imagine, at the age Coulson currently was, trusting any adult, especially an unknown one in a strange or scary situation.
"You don't have to close them now. I'll tell you when. How old are you, Phillip? Ten? Fifteen?"
The boy's giggle was weak, but Clint was glad to hear it. Kids were resilient, especially when the adults around them stayed calm. That was his job. Stay calm.
"Seven and a half," Phillip said softly, and Clint grinned despite himself. The half was crucial at that age.
Slotting his used arrows back into his quiver for him, Nat gestured toward the door. Clint nodded and took a bracing breath.
"All right, big man, let's go. Keep your eyes closed now until I tell you, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
He carried Phillip through the room, stepping over bodies as he took one last glance at the remains of the broken weapon he suspected was responsible for this. It was in at least half a dozen pieces, and he desperately hoped that Tony, Bruce, and SHIELD R&D could put it back together and make it work.
"Tech team on its way to your current location," Sitwell reported. "Premises should be clear, but watch your backs. Quinjet is waiting for your arrival."
"On our way," Natasha responded. She moved into the corridor and gestured for Clint to precede her once she was certain the area was clear.
"You're covering the entrance," Tony cut in suddenly, and when Cap confirmed, he added, "I'm going with the tech team to make sure nothing gets left behind. I don't trust these kids to wipe their asses."
The three of them moved through the building swiftly and silently, skirting sprawled bodies here and there. When Nat nodded, Clint said, "Okay, kid, you can open your eyes now."
He opened his eyes, blinking a little in the dim light filtering through the high and mostly-broken windows.
"You can put me down," he said. "I'm not a baby."
"I know you're not, but you don't have shoes, and I don't know what's on the ground around here or out front. I'm just gonna keep hold of you for now. Believe me," he said, grunting dramatically as he shifted the boy's weight, "I'd put you down if I could, you must weigh a thousand pounds."
Phillip gave him a tiny grin for his efforts, but it wavered and disappeared as SHIELD agents in tac gear ran past to secure the building. He whimpered as they brushed by Clint.
"It's okay, they're good guys. They're on our side," Clint said reassuringly.
They stepped through the front door -- hanging crazily off its hinges, clearly Thor, Tony, or the Hulk had gotten hold of it -- and into the night, and Phillip gasped.
"That man's dressed like Captain America," he whispered in Clint's ear.
Clint grinned; he hadn't thought about this moment until just now, actually. Maybe it would help keep the kid from freaking out about his situation.
"He's not dressed like Cap. He is Cap," he said. He waved the others over. "Captain, Thor, this is Phillip Coulson."
They weren't caught unaware, since they'd heard Natasha's report, but it was obviously one thing to hear about it and another thing to actually see it.
Steve paused, glancing around to make sure the situation was secure, before he stuck his gloved hand out.
"Nice to meet you, Phillip," he said in his very best Cap voice.
The boy stared at him, mouth open, blinking in shock. He unwound one hand from around Clint's neck and shook dazedly.
Thor strode over, and Phillip stared worriedly at him. "This is Thor. I know he's big, but he's cool," Clint told him.
"Is this magic?" Thor asked, his voice troubled, and Clint caught his eye.
"We're not sure yet. I don't think so. C'mon, it looks like the teams have this under control. Let's get going, I don't like him being out here in the open."
He glanced around. "Where's Hulk?"
"Doing a perimeter sweep, I think, looking for things to smash," Steve said, smiling in reassurance at Phillip, who was once again staring at him.
They were moving toward the jet idling in the vacant lot across the alley when terrified screams ripped through the night. Whimpering, Phillip clung to Clint and buried his face in Clint's neck again.
"Sounds like Hulk found something to smash," Natasha said.
Three men came running around the side of the building, screaming, straight into the grasp of the milling SHIELD agents. Hulk roared as he rounded the corner behind them, and Phillip yelped in terror.
"It's okay," Clint soothed. "He's not -- "
He was drowned out when Hulk roared again, realizing he'd been deprived of his prey. Phillip jumped in Clint's arms, and Clint rubbed his back, and said, "It's okay, he's a friend. I know he sounds scary, but he won't hurt you."
He realized the boy was crying. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"
"He scared me and I had an accident," he whimpered, and Clint realized with dismay that yes, he was wet now. His fieldsuit was not fluidproof, sadly.
"It's okay," he murmured.
"Don't tell anyone!"
"I won't," he promised. "Come on, in the jet now."
He walked up the ramp into the jet, still holding Phillip so that the others wouldn't see the soaked state of the once pristine shirt the kid was wearing like a dress.
Phillip glanced around, gaping in awe at the inner workings of the Quinjet. Nat, Thor, and Cap climbed on behind them, followed by a few of the teams of SHIELD agents.
After a moment, Tony came in, boots clanking on the metal flooring, the biggest piece of the broken energy weapon cradled in his suited hands. The SHIELD tech team followed him on, carrying the other bigger bits and bags containing the smaller pieces.
"Jesus, Hawkeye," Tony said, his voice distorted by the suit's synthesizer, "What'd you do, purposely throw it against the wall?"
"He was aiming it at Phillip," Clint shot back. "I dropped him, he dropped it. Looks like it was cobbled together with tinker toys anyway."
"Worked, didn't it?" Tony answered. He leaned close to Phillip, who cringed back, eyes wide. "This is obviously Mini Agent. Who'd've guessed he'd have less hair?"
"This is Phillip," Clint said warningly.
Tony popped up his face mask. "Hey, kid."
Phillip jumped, then stared. He glanced from Tony in the suit to the Quinjet control panel and back again.
"Y-you're half robot," he said, "and th-this is a spaceship, and you talk to each other on teeny tiny radios. Is this the future?"
They all glanced at each other.
"Yeah, well, that's my cue," Tony said briskly. "The kids are gonna take the pieces back to the labs. I'll wait here with the ground teams until Bruce de-Hulks, and we'll meet you there. Medical, I assume."
"We'll keep you updated, but we need to go," Natasha cut in. "We're a target here, and we're starting to attract attention."
Sure enough, Clint could see the distant glow of cell phones beyond the perimeter SHIELD had established.
He swung Phillip down into one of the seats, quickly rearranging the shirt he was wearing to hide the wet patch, and strapped him in. He quickly stowed his weapons and sat beside the kid, strapping in. Nat moved toward the controls, waving the pilot back to the seats. Tony clanked back off the ramp just as it began to rise.
"Is this the future?" Phillip asked again, staring after Tony.
Clint debated for a moment before answering, but it was the simplest explanation. He nodded, and Phillip gasped.
"We're going to get you back where you belong, I promise," he vowed, because it was true. He knew no one would rest until Coulson was back to normal.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They were most of the way to base when Phillip who'd been eyeing Steve the whole time, finally spoke up.
"You can't be the real Captain America," he said accusingly. "Captain America died a really long time ago."
Even behind the mask, Steve looked pained, but before Clint could jump in, Steve said, with a glance around at the curious SHIELD agents, "It's a very long story."
"That's what grownups say when they don't want to tell the truth," Phillip shot back, and the angle of his chin was so Coulson, Clint had to take a deep breath.
"We'll talk about it later," Clint said, and then blinked, because Jesus Christ, that almost sounded parental.
"He shouldn't pretend -- "
"Later, I promise," Clint said, half-amused by baby Phil's fierce protectiveness of his hero, and half-sorry for Steve who was looking pretty upset. "We're landing now. Look."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Phillip sat on the exam bed in a medical bay, fidgeting in the paper gown, which swam on him just as the dress shirt had. He held Clint's hand tightly, eyes wide as he stared at the doctor.
It was just the two of them and the doctor -- the others had peeled off on their way to Medical to change and debrief, but Clint was not letting the kid out of his sight.
"Agent Barton, are you sure you wouldn't rather wait -- "
"I'm not going anywhere," Clint growled. "Just finish."
The doctor sighed and then continued with the basic examination. After a moment, he turned and pulled forward a tray, the contents of which made Phillip whine a little. He clutched Clint's hand so tight that Clint worried momentarily about his circulation.
"He's just gonna take a little bit of blood for a test," Clint told him, keeping his voice calm. "Just look at me, and it'll all be over soon. You've been really, really brave."
He held the boy's gaze, squeezing his hand back when Phillip flinched and whimpered a little, but the doc was good, and quick.
"See?" Clint said with a smile. "Quick. You were so good, I bet we can find you a cool bandaid."
He knew for a fact that there was a box of Captain America bandaids in Coulson's locker, and it jolted him when he realized...
Panic tried to rear its head at the reminder that this was Coulson, and the Coulson he -- knew, the Coulson he knew, he was going with that -- might never come back, but he shoved it down. Bruce and Tony would solve this. Coulson would be back before morning.
The curtain waved and Nick Fury stepped through, huge in the tiny exam bay. The doctor caught his eye and cleared out immediately.
"Young Mr. Coulson," he said seriously. "Do you know who I am?"
Phillip's eyes were wide, and he crowded close to Clint as he shook his head.
"No, sir," he whispered.
Fury glanced at Clint and then back at the kid. He could clearly tell Phillip was terrified. His gaze softened and he grabbed the doctor's rolling stool, sitting on it so he was less of a looming threat. He smiled kindly at Phillip which -- frankly -- terrified Clint. It wasn't an expression he was used to seeing on the man, but he figured if anybody ever saw it, it was Coulson, the man's army buddy and good friend.
"My name's Nick," he told Phillip. "Are you sure you don't remember me? Think really hard."
The boy screwed up his face in concentration, and Clint couldn't help but grin at the more than familiar creases in his forehead as he thought.
"No, sir," he said again.
"What do you remember about coming here? Can you tell me?"
"I went... I went to bed, and my mom tucked me in." His voice wavered, and Clint squeezed his hand. "And then -- I -- " his breath hitched. "I -- woke up and people were y-yelling at me and they had guns and -- "
Tears spilled down his cheeks. "I th-think they were gonna shoot me," he finished in a whisper.
"Boss, he doesn't -- " Clint started, but Fury held up a hand, and he subsided.
Phillip sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his free hand.
"Then... then Clint came in and saved me," he finished shakily. He looked up at Clint with stars in his eyes, and Clint was so very glad he remembered it that way rather than being frightened by the violent way it had happened.
"He's good at that," Fury said with a smile. "Are you sure you don't remember anything between going to sleep in your bed and waking up here? Anything at all?"
Phillip shook his head, and Fury nodded and stood.
"Okay, son. Thank you. We're working on getting you home, okay? My people are the best, and you're safe here."
He ran a hand gently over the bristles of Phillip's hair, and the boy smiled up at him, lips still trembling.
"Okay."
Clint stood too, letting go of the boy's hand. He looked plaintively up at Clint, and Clint smiled in reassurance.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," he said. "I just need to talk to... Nick for a second, okay? I'll be right there, you can call me if you need me, and I'll hear you."
Phillip bit his lip and nodded, and the familiarity of the gesture was like a punch in the gut. Clint breathed out shakily and then joined Fury.
"I don't know how they did it, but that is definitely Coulson," Clint told Fury.
Fury grinned tiredly. "He looks just like Coulson's nephew. Or, Coulson's nephew looks just like him, I guess."
Clint bit back the hot stab of jealousy at the thought of Fury being that well-acquainted with Coulson's family. They'd been friends for years -- of course they knew each other's families.
"He doesn't know anything," he said, and Fury nodded.
"Banner and Stark are already working on piecing together that device; they returned to the tower while you were in here; we diverted the tech team to the tower labs with the pieces, since the plain fact is, Stark's got better equipment there. We're got teams scouring the warehouse to see if they can come up with anything."
"I think we should take him back to the tower, too. The carrier is no place for kids, sir."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "And Stark's tower is?"
"There's a bed. And TV. It'll feel more normal for him, and he'll be surrounded by the team. Nothing's gonna get through us, sir."
"He seems to have attached himself pretty thoroughly to you, Barton."
Clint blew out his breath nervously. "I have no idea what I'm doing, sir. I don't know how to handle kids."
"Keep doing what you're doing. And stay with him."
"Every minute."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The trip back to the tower was quiet as a SHIELD helicopter dropped just the two of them off. Phillip stared out at the brightly lit skyline from the top of the tower, stifling a yawn. Clint bit back his own. It had been a long, exhausting day.
"You hungry, big man?" he asked, and Phillip tilted his head, considering. Everything he did was so familiar, it made Clint's heart ache.
"A little bit," he said. He was wearing a pair of SHIELD workout shorts -- a women's extra small, with the drawstring all the way cinched, and an extra small workout shirt that covered the shorts like a long dress. Clint wasn't sure if finding something that fit him would be giving in to the idea that he might be staying. He knew it wasn't logical, but it felt like it might be.
"I'm sure we can find you something to eat," Clint said. "What do you like?"
"I like pizza. And spaghetti."
They entered the penthouse and Clint crossed to the elevator to take them down to the communal level. The rest of the team was probably back now, though Bruce and Tony would be working in the lab.
Sure enough, when they exited the elevator on the communal floor, Steve and Thor were sprawled on the couch, Natasha curled in an armchair on one side. The flatscreen was on, but none of the three of them looked like they were watching it, all of them turning instantly to watch Clint and Phillip as they walked closer.
Phillip stared in open-mouthed shock at the television.
"That's the biggest TV I've ever seen in my life," he said in awe. "It's bigger than the screen at the movies!"
Clint grinned, and Natasha said, "Not quite, but don't tell Stark that, he'll make sure to get one that is."
Phillip frowned. "Who's Stark?"
"Tony," Clint told him. "The guy in the armor who was on the jet."
But Phillip wasn't listening. He was staring at Steve, and he raised a shaky hand to point.
"He -- he... that's..."
Steve smiled ruefully, and Clint ruffled what there was of Phillip's hair. "Told ya."
"But... how... I thought..."
"I was asleep for a really long time, and when I woke up, I was here."
Phillip's eyes got even wider. "You... you woke up in the future too? Are you stuck here? Am I gonna get stuck here?" He turned huge, pleading eyes on Clint. "Am I ever gonna see my mom and dad again?"
"You're not gonna get stuck here," Clint promised him. "We'll get you back where you belong, okay? Trust me."
Phillip stared at him for a moment, his eyes amazingly adult -- and freakily Agent Coulson-like -- before he nodded. He turned back to Steve, worrying his lip between his teeth in that achingly familiar way.
"I'm sorry I called you a liar."
Steve smiled. "It's okay -- "
"No, it isn't! I'm really sorry, you're -- you're my favorite superhero, you're way better than Batman or Superman, you're the best, and I'm -- I'm glad you aren't dead."
Steve's grin turned wry. "Thank you, Phillip."
The show playing on the flatscreen minimized, and the view was suddenly replaced by Tony's face. "Everyone home? How's the littlest Avenger?"
Phillip looked at Clint. "What's a 'venger?"
"We are, squirt," Tony answered. "Superheroes. You're kind of an honorary one. Well, you are when you're bigger. Not much bigger, though, actually."
"Short jokes, Stark?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised. "Really, you of all people want to start that? When he isn't here to defend himself?"
"He wouldn't defend himself anyway. He'd just act supremely unamused and blink threateningly at me."
"The Son of Coul is more than an honorary Avenger, Tony," Thor rumbled, grinning at the boy. "He has acquitted himself in battle as bravely as any of us, and has sacrificed much in the fighting."
"How come he talks like that?" Phillip whispered to Clint, and Clint laughed.
"That's just Thor. He's not from around here."
"That guy says you're all superheroes," Phillip said, pointing at the TV.
Clint rolled his eyes. "Tony likes to be dramatic."
"Oh?" Tony raised his eyebrow. "And just how do you explain it, Cupid?"
"We're a response team."
"He's an infant. He doesn't understand that. Superheroes, he understands, right, kid?"
Phillip scowled at him. "I'm not an infant. And don't call me kid."
Tony stared at him for a moment. "Wow, it really is him, isn't it? Listen, ki -- uh, Phil...lip, Barton there may try to deny it, but that's what we are. We're superheroes. We fight bad guys, and we keep people safe. I'm Iron Man, with or without my armor, but you can call me Tony. You know Cap there, and Thor, and the lady glaring at me is the Black Widow. And the one whose hand you're holding -- not that I think he minds, but you're a little young to get that -- "
"Stark -- "
"That's Hawkeye."
Phillip was staring warily at Natasha. "I don't like spiders," he said, his lip wobbling.
She smiled at him, and it was the kindest smile Clint had ever seen from her. Normally, that'd make him worry, but just like with Fury, something about baby Phil seemed to just bring out the friendly side of every badass he knew.
"It's only a name, Phillip. I don't keep them as pets."
"You're all superheroes?" he asked, and he stared up at Clint. "What's your superpower?"
Never before in his life had he wished to be a super -- it caused too many damn problems, and he was more than capable of holding his own without anything extra. But now, with Phil Coulson -- Coulson at any age -- staring up at him with stars in those beautiful blue eyes, he wished desperately that he could impress the kid. But he was just a guy with good aim that shot pointy sticks at people, and what was that next to Captain America?
"Extra sass -- " he started cockily, but Steve cut him off.
"Hawkeye -- Clint -- sees things that no one else does, Phillip, and he always hits what he aims for."
"Do you have x-ray vision?"
Clint laughed, throwing a thankful glance at Steve. "Not x-ray. Just really, really good vision. Right now, I can see a seven and a half year old that's hungry. And tired."
"Do you think if I go to sleep, I'll wake up back home?" he asked Clint.
He felt the gaze of the rest of the team on him and wondered how he'd managed to be the one responsible for answering things like this. Not that he'd ever not want the responsibility of making sure Coulson was safe, but still. Jesus.
"Maybe," he hedged, because it was true. It was possible Tony and Bruce and the SHIELD R&D department would get everything working while the kid was asleep and then the whole mess would get sorted out, but it wasn't all that likely. The thing had been in pieces, and he didn't want to get the boy's hopes up only to have them crushed in the morning when he woke up. He was taking this whole thing incredibly well, and Clint did not want to sabotage that. "Guess you should eat something and then get some sleep and we'll find out, hmm?"
Phillip's stomach growled on cue. "Guess so."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Clint waited until the boy's breathing had evened out into deep sleep before leaving him alone in the guest room of his suite and returning to the living room. The kid had nearly fallen asleep in his spaghetti, and Clint had carried him back to his suite and bundled him into the bed without even undressing him. He went out in seconds.
"JARVIS, can you get me Tony?" he asked quietly as he rubbed the back of his neck. It had been a very, very long day.
"Certainly, sir," JARVIS answered, just as quietly, and Clint grinned tiredly. Tony built the best AIs, even if they were kind of creepy sometimes. And he'd never, ever say that out loud.
"We're busy, here, Barton," Tony said from his flatscreen. "Get bored playing nursemaid?"
"Fuck you, Stark."
"Guess he's asleep then, if you're bringing out the potty mouth."
"Any luck?"
"This thing is shredded. We're working on it, and the SHIELD goons found some notebooks in one of the SUVs parked behind the warehouse, but they're encoded and in Chinese and in some sort of shorthand -- or possibly just very screwed up handwriting -- and it's slow going. We'll figure it out, but only if you leave me alone so I can get back to work."
"Keep me posted."
"Sure thing, Cap," Tony said briskly, throwing in a sarcastic salute, and Clint had just enough time to flip him off before the flatscreen went dark again.
Yawning, he dropped onto the couch. As tired as he was, he wasn't about to go to bed while Coulson was vulnerable and he was responsible for watching him. He'd have to trade off with Natasha or someone in the morning, though, if Stark and Banner couldn't figure things out, or he was going to be useless as a protector, his reflexes slowed too much by exhaustion.
He thought of going back into the guest room to watch over the boy from the bedside, but he didn't want to frighten him with an unexpected presence in the room when he woke up. From here, he could hear everything, and he'd check in from time to time to make sure Phillip was sleeping peacefully
His stomach felt hollow and empty, despite the few bites of spaghetti he'd managed. All of his fears and doubts came rushing in through the quiet night. What if they couldn't get Coulson back? What if he was stuck like this and had to grow up all over again? It was a devastating thought.
They'd nearly lost Coulson to Loki's spear, and Clint could not fathom how he would handle losing Coulson all over again, especially if this version of him was constantly around, reminding Clint with every familiar look and gesture of everything he'd lost.
Not that he'd even have the right to feel like he lost anything. He was too much of a damn coward to say and do what he wanted to say and do.
He'd been in love with Coulson for years, and he was pretty sure Coulson felt something more than friendship for him, though how deep the man's feelings ran, Clint had no idea, because he was too chickenshit to actually do anything to find out.
He vowed that if -- when -- they got Coulson, the real Coulson, back, he would not back out again. This time, he was going to say something.
Clint nearly fell off the couch at the sudden terrified wail that rose in the guest room. He scrambled upright and dashed into the room, flipping on the light.
Phillip was sitting up in bed in his oversized clothes, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed.
"What is it, what's wrong, are you hurt?" Clint asked, his heart in his throat.
"I had a bad dream!" the boy cried. "I want my mama!"
The last word was a drawn out wail, and Clint's heart twisted as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"I know, buddy, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry you're scared, and I'm sorry she's not here. I'm here, though, and I won't let anything hurt you, I swear, okay? Look at me. I promise. You're safe here until we can get you home."
"Can I -- "
The boy bit his lip and sniffled, hands twisted in the blankets so hard that his knuckles were white.
"What is it, kiddo? Ask me, I'll do whatever I can."
"My mama always hugs me and sings to me when I have bad dreams," he mumbled.
"C'mere," Clint said, settling more firmly on the bed and resting his back against the headboard. The boy scrambled into his lap, and Clint wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tightly. "You're safe, Phillip. I promise you. Okay?"
"'kay."
"Let's see..."
"You don't have to sing."
Clint grinned. Even adult you likes my singing, he thought wistfully, remembering the way Coulson's lips quirked up at the corners even as he complained about the noise.
"Hey, Jude," he sang softly, "Don't make it bad -- "
"I know that song!" Phillip interrupted. "My mama loves that song!"
His little face crumpled again, and Clint asked him quickly, "Do you want me to sing another one?"
Phillip shook his head, sniffling. "No... will you... will you sing that one? Please?"
"Okay, if you're sure." He squeezed the boy again and rocked him gently as he sang. "Don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Clint woke up to a knock on the door of his suite. He glanced down, but Phillip was still curled on his side, deeply asleep.
Nat had come into his rooms in the early morning hours after she'd caught her own nap, well aware that Clint wouldn't sleep unless he had someone he trusted to watch over Phillip. She'd settled down in the living room, and he'd stretched out on the bed at Phillip's side, so that he'd be right there if the kid had another nightmare.
Thankfully, there had only been the one.
Now, he heard the door open, and then shut, and after a moment, she appeared at the door of the guest room, carrying a parcel.
"What's that?" he murmured.
"Clothes," she said with a quick grin. "You know Stark, and how much shall we bet that there's at least one Iron Man t-shirt in here?"
There were two Iron Man shirts, a Iron Man ballcap, two pairs of Iron Man pajamas, a pair of Iron Man swimming trunks, and a pair of Iron Man sneakers. There were also jeans, shorts, a single Captain America shirt, a pack of Avengers underwear, and socks.
"Thorough," she said, examining all of it.
"Wonder how he figured the sizes," Clint mused. They glanced at each other, and said simultaneously, "JARVIS."
"Indeed," JARVIS said softly. "Given what I know of Agent Coulson's tastes, I took the liberty of adding the Captain America shirt to the otherwise quite singleminded order."
Clint laughed. "Great job, JARVIS. Thank you. Hopefully, he won't need all of it."
Natasha nodded in agreement as she piled all the clothes on the desk at the side of the room. "Sleep a while more," she told him. "You might as well rest while he is."
Clint stretched out again, and knowing she was there, fell instantly back into slumber.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Clint was jolted awake when Phillip woke and flailed himself to a sitting position. The boy glanced around wildly and his face fell as he registered his surroundings.
"I'm still here," he said sadly.
Clint gripped his shoulder reassuringly. "They're still working on it, buddy. Won't be long, I'm sure."
"I miss my mom. And my dad. And my dogs."
"I know, big guy. I'm sorry. Want breakfast?"
Phillip yawned so wide his jaw cracked. "Yeah. Yes, please," he corrected himself, and Clint grinned.
"Shower first -- bath? Whatever you want, and then breakfast. Hey, look what you got."
He grabbed the Cap shirt off of the desk and showed it to Phillip.
The boy's eyes went wide, and he grabbed it, cuddling it like a plush toy.
"Wow!"
Clint didn't even bother with the Iron Man stuff.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Cereal?"
"Yes, please."
Cereal was about the one thing all of the Avengers ate, and they went through cases of it. They all had different tastes, so there were half a dozen boxes crowding one of the cupboards at any given time. Clint grabbed them all and arrayed them out on the table.
Phillip's eyes grew wide at one of Clint's own selections.
"You have Lucky Charms!"
Grinning, Clint grabbed the box and a bowl and started pouring, remembering only at the last minute to cut down the portion size since he wasn't pouring for himself. He dumped some milk in, shoved a spoon in it, and set it in front of the kid.
"I'm not supposed to," Phillip said guiltily.
Clint eyed him for a moment and shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll eat it, then -- "
"No!" he cried, curling his arm around the bowl to keep it there. "Just once would be okay, I guess."
Clint grinned as he poured his own bigger bowl.
"What are we gonna do today?" Phillip asked him around a mouth full of oats and marshmallows. Clint probably shouldn't find it adorable that baby Phil talked with his mouth full, but he couldn't help it. Coulson was a stickler for table manners.
"I think we should stick around here," Clint said vaguely. He did not feel safe taking Phillip out of the Tower, but he didn't want to alarm the kid. "There's plenty to do -- hey, we can go swimming?"
Coulson was a swimmer, he knew, but he didn't know how early he'd started.
Phillip's forehead crinkled. "It's December."
Clint winced internally. The last thing he wanted to do was remind the boy that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. "Actually, it's August, but it doesn't matter anyway. The pool's inside. Wanna see?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After breakfast, Phillip went to wash his hands -- unprompted, some things had already stuck -- and change into his swim trunks, and Clint changed into his own trunks and then called Tony.
Both Bruce and Tony looked exhausted, and Clint knew they had worked through the night. Clint was torn between telling them to take a nap and urging them to keep working. It would be useless anyway, he knew -- they'd keep working until the problem was solved.
"The tech teams went to Coulson's place to investigate," Bruce said, glasses in one hand as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "They registered an unknown energy reading in the living room, where the struggle took place."
"We're theorizing they zapped him there -- but not before he took one of them out -- possibly to make it easier to transport him," Tony continued.
"So when I killed the guy aiming the thing at him, they were actually just about to change him back so they could interrogate him," Clint realized, his gut churning as he sank onto the couch. Dammit. This was his fault.
"They were aiming a weapon at a child," Bruce reminded him, voice soft. "No one faults you for your actions, Clint."
Except me, Clint thought angrily.
"Good: that increases the probability that the device will work to change him back. Bad: we have no idea how, yet. We're making progress -- " Tony told him, and then he was interrupted by a shower of sparks and a cry from one of the SHIELD techs in the background. "Shit, gotta go," he said hurriedly, and the screen went dark.
Clint tried to put his screw-up out of his mind as he pulled a t-shirt over his head -- there were several scars he really didn't need baby Phil to ask him about.
The only real experience Clint had with kids was during his circus days when he'd been a kid, but kids chattered, he knew. Phillip was just as quiet and watchful as his adult self, and Clint didn't know if it was due to the circumstances, or if he'd always been that way.
Phillip came out of the bathroom in the Iron Man swim trunks, clutching the Captain America shirt like a security blanket. Clint pretended not to notice that part.
Now that he was awake and fed, the boy seemed more alert to his surroundings. He glanced around curiously at all the electronics, tilting his head as he stared at the wooden longbow mounted over the couch.
"Do you know how to use that?" he asked, and Clint grinned.
"Sure. I made it."
His eyes got saucer wide. "You did?"
"Mmhmm. I'll show you later, if you want. After lunch, maybe." It'd been a while since he'd given the longbow any use.
"Okay!" Phillip grinned lopsidedly at him, and Clint's gut clenched. Coulson didn't smile widely very often -- he preferred tiny, wry grins Clint had to work his ass off for -- but when he did, it still looked just like that.
The boy wandered to the window and stared out. Disappointment creased his brow as he turned back to glance at Clint. "No flying cars?"
Clint chuckled. "No," he lied. "No flying cars, not yet."
He imagined Phillip would get just as much of a kick out of Lola as Coulson pretended not to, and since the carrier was currently docked, the boy had missed out on that treat too.
"Ready to go swimming?" he asked, and Phillip nodded eagerly. Clint grabbed a couple of towels and led the way out of the suite, Phillip behind him like a duckling, still carrying his Cap t-shirt.
He was quiet as they rode the elevator to the training level, but he seemed upbeat rather than worried.
"Do you think..." he started, and then he trailed off, biting his lip as he looked nervously at the ground.
"Sometimes," Clint said easily. "I try not to think very often, though."
"No!" the boy said with a giggle, and Clint grinned at him and crossed his eyes. "I mean... does Captain America go swimming too?"
Ah.
"Sometimes," Clint said again, hedging a little. Steve did use the training level with the rest of them, of course, but given the man's unusual absence in the kitchen at breakfast time, he had a feeling Steve might be purposely staying out of the way while baby Phil was around.
It had taken both Steve and Coulson a while to get over the embarrassment of their first meeting and form an easy working relationship, and nobody wanted a return to that awkwardness, as adorable as it had been -- except maybe Stark, of course.
"Oh," Phillip said, disappointed. "I wanted to ask him about Bucky and the Howling Commandos."
And that was the other reason. The things Phillip wanted to hear weren't just stories for Steve -- they were recent, painful history, and Clint couldn't blame him for not wanting to bring them out for show and tell.
The elevator doors opened onto the vast training floor and Phillip sucked in a breath.
It was an impressive setup, sprawling across the entire floor, the ceiling two full floors above them. The pool, hot tubs, and sauna were off to the left, basketball and racquetball courts, resistance machines and free weights to the right. Heavy bags, speed bags, and tumbling and sparring mats and rings spread down the center. The practice trampoline -- mostly used by Clint and Nat, though the others took a turn every now and then -- and the cardio equipment was to the rear.
It was by far the nicest training setup Clint had ever had, and SHIELD did not go cheap when it came to training their agents.
"Wow," Phillip breathed.
"Ah, the mighty Hawk and the young Son of Coul! Tidings!" Thor called from where he was lifting free weights -- mostly from boredom, Clint assumed. Thor's godly build seemed to be genetic and maintenance free. His voice boomed, echoing across the floor, and Phillip flinched a little at Clint's side.
"Hey, Thor," Clint replied as Thor racked his weights and wiped his face with a towel before ambling toward them.
"Good morning, Mr. Thor," Phillip said politely, and Thor beamed and swept a courtly bow.
Phillip looked nervous and Clint gripped his shoulder reassuringly.
"Do I hafta bow back?" he whispered. "I don't know how."
Clint laughed. "No," he assured the boy. "You can just wave."
Phillip did, and Clint and Thor grinned at each other. Phillip tugged at the hem of Clint's shirt, a question in his eyes, and Clint leaned down so the boy could whisper in his ear.
"Is it rude to ask someone's super power?" he asked, and Clint stifled a chuckle.
"Thor is a prince of Asgard," he told Phillip. "It's... a different realm."
When the boy looked confused, Clint said gently, "He's not from Earth."
Phillip's mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide as saucers as he glanced rapidly from Clint to Thor to Clint again.
"Y-you're... he's... you're an alien?" he whispered, crowding very close to Clint, who wrapped a steadying arm around his shoulders.
Thor's smile was kind, and fond. "Aye."
"A very friendly one," Clint hastened to add. "He's got a really cool hammer that comes to him when he calls it, and he can use to call up thunder and lightning and even fly."
"Perhaps I will introduce you to the mighty Mjolnir this eve," Thor told him. "For now, I must go, as the Lady Jane awaits my call. Until our paths cross again, brothers."
With another grand bow, Thor strode for the elevator.
Phillip craned his neck to stare after him. "You live and work with aliens and Captain America and a man who's half robot," he said in awe. "You have the best life in the whole world!"
Clint laughed, wistfully realizing this little boy glee was what occasionally sparkled in Coulson's eyes when he talked about setting up and working with the Initiative.
"It is pretty awesome," he agreed.
"What does the spider lady do?" Phillip asked curiously.
Clint blinked, surprised. "Nat? She, uh, she kicks a... butt and she can get anyone to tell her anything, even if they really, really don't want to."
"Like Wonder Woman? And her golden lasso?"
"Kinda," Clint said with a grin. He was gonna have fun telling Nat that.
Phillip was staring toward the back of the room. "Is that... is that a trampoline? Can we see?"
He started toward it without waiting for an answer and Clint followed him.
"My neighbor Kyle has a trampoline," he told Clint, "But I'm not allowed to play on it 'cause Kyle's little brother Charlie fell off it and broke his arm, and my mom says they're dangerous."
"They can be," Clint allowed.
"Can we... I just want to try it."
Baby Phil was a little rebel, Clint realized with a grin. He wondered how often Coulson really had gone against his parents' restrictions when he wasn't at home.
"You can try, if you want. I'll stay with you, and we'll be careful."
Grasping the boy by the waist, he lifted him onto the edge of the trampoline and then pulled himself up after. They both sat on the edge to take their shoes off, kicking them to the floor beneath.
Phillip looked up at the small, staggered ledges stretching high above the trampoline, ladders spidering between them. It was how Clint and Nat practiced their falls.
"Can we -- "
"Nope, buddy, those are for grownups. We can jump a little, though." He bounced on his butt, which made Phillip bounce a little, and the boy grinned, his disappointment fleeting.
He got unsteadily to his feet, and made to jump, but Clint held him still with a hand at his waist.
"Move toward the center where you won't bounce off and fall on your head," he said, and Phillip nodded. His walk across the surface was wobbly, and Clint grinned at the look of cautious concentration on his face.
He bounced gingerly, arms shooting out to his sides to steady himself when Clint got to his feet and moved toward the center as well.
They bounced together a little, both of them laughing, Phillip's giggles turning to shrieks when Clint's movements bounced him higher and higher.
He gained confidence and jumped, actually leaving his feet, laughing when Clint pretended to overbalance and landed on his butt, which only bounced Phillip more.
Pretty soon he was jumping freely, blue eyes sparkling, cheeks pink with pleasure. Clint sat with his legs outstretched and his arms braced behind him, and just watched. He couldn't wait to get Coulson back, but this was a hell of a memory to keep.
After a few minutes, Phillip abruptly stopped bouncing, surprised alarm flickering across his features.
"What's wrong?" Clint asked him, sitting up as Phillip wrapped his arms around his stomach.
"I don't..." the boy started, and then he took a deep breath. Clint swore as he went green and scrambled toward the edge of the trampoline. "I don't feel so good."
He made it all the way to the edge before dropping to his hands and knees and leaning over the edge to get sick all over the gym floor. Clint winced, patting him uselessly on the back and murmuring aimlessly.
The boy was crying when he finished, and Clint carefully pulled him into his arms, wary of more nausea.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed, burying his head into Clint's chest and flinging his arms around him. "I didn't mean to!"
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay," Clint told him, rubbing his back. "You're okay now. It's my fault, it was stupid to let you jump around like that right after breakfast. Swimming would've been dumb too, aren't you supposed to wait like an hour or something? Christ, I'm crap at this. You're okay, Phillip. You feel better?"
The boy nodded miserably into Clint's chest, and Clint shook his head, laughing angrily at himself.
"Poor little dude," he murmured. "C'mon."
He made sure he had a firm hold on the boy in his arms and then jumped lightly down from the trampoline, avoiding the mess on the floor and leaving their shoes behind.
"JARVIS..." he started.
"I will send someone from building services up immediately," the AI said promptly.
"Thanks, JARVIS. Apologize to them for me."
"No apologies necessary, Agent Barton. May I suggest cartoons on the couch and something lightly carbonated to drink to settle young Master Coulson's stomach?"
Clint grinned. "Great idea."
He nosed at Phillip's temple and only just refrained from kissing it, and wow, where the hell had that come from? "Sound good, big man? Bet JARVIS can find some Captain America cartoons."
"Who's Jarvis?" he murmured wretchedly, his eyes still shut tight, lashes spiky with tears.
"JARVIS is the computer that runs the building."
That got his eyes open. "Really?"
"Say hi, JARVIS."
"Hello, Master Coulson. Agent Barton is correct. I have several different full series of Captain America cartoons in my database, including the wildly popular Saturday morning series from the 1960s, with which I believe you are likely familiar."
Phillip stared at the ceiling in awe. "Wow," is all he said.
Clint laughed.
"Come on, let's go watch cartoons."
"You can put me down now. I'm not a baby."
"Of course you're not. I'm very sorry."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was during their fourth or fifth episode -- Clint had to admit, he was enjoying it too, he'd loved the cartoon as a kid, even if he'd only ever gotten to see a few episodes -- when he realized Phillip had fallen asleep against him.
The boy had drunk his Sprite and curled up on the couch next to Clint, burrowing under his arm and cuddling up to his chest in a way that had startled the hell out of Clint. Clint knew he was sad, and scared, and not feeling well, and he'd grabbed Natasha's blanket from the easy chair she loved, knowing she wouldn't mind if they used it.
He hadn't tried to force Phillip to talk, knowing there was really nothing to say that wouldn't make things worse. So he'd just held the kid and told JARVIS to keep playing episodes.
He looked down, studying the sleeping boy. He was so small, and so vulnerable, and Clint ran a tired hand over his face.
The flatscreen paused. "Where's the kid?" Tony asked.
He looked like death. Not even death warmed over. Just death. But Clint knew that after this was over, both he and Bruce would sleep, probably for the better part of a couple days, and then they'd both be fine. The whole team was accustomed to going without sleep when it was necessary.
Clint pointed at the sleeping Phillip, and Tony nodded.
"We figured it out."
Clint forced himself not to jump up, knowing it'd wake the boy.
"Seriously?" he asked, his voice strained.
Tony nodded. "The thing has a memory chip, you just have to pick a discharge and hit the reverse trigger. We figured it out once we got everything put back together. Thankfully, the chip didn't get fried when the thing shattered."
He hefted the weapon, and Clint swallowed. "That... that is a very large gun, we can't just aim it at him, it'll scare the crap out of him! And how do you know it'll work, I think we should test it first, like, maybe on you, Stark."
Tony rolled his eyes. "We tested it on a culture of algae. It works perfectly. Look, I don't know how long this chip keeps its settings, we need to do this soon."
"Okay, but... can you rig up a screen or something? So he can't tell you're aiming a BFG at him?"
Bruce popped his head onscreen, looking just as exhausted. "We can do that, yeah."
"He's sleeping, if I can get him down there while he's still sleeping, it'll probably be for the best, don't you think?" he asked uncertainly, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
"Sure, might as well, try." Bruce told him with a tired grin. The flatscreen went back to the cartoon.
"JARVIS, pause, please," Clint asked quietly. He shifted Phillip so that he was leaning against the arm of the sofa, and stepped to the other side of the room, pulling out his phone.
"Fury."
"Banner and Stark think they've figured it out."
"The tech team just reported in here, too. It looks solid."
"Your call, sir."
There was a moment of silence, and Fury said, "We've got to take it. With this half-science, half-magic shit, you never know what the consequences are for waiting, and their solution does look solid."
"I still think we should test it on Stark first," Clint said, and Fury's exhale was definitely a laugh.
"Do it," he ordered, and Clint closed his eyes.
"Yes, sir."
He slipped his phone back into his pocket with a sigh, scooping up the sleeping boy. Phillip murmured and shifted in his arms, but didn't wake, and Clint headed for the labs.
He got nearly all the way there before Phillip woke up.
"Where're we going?" he mumbled, and then he jolted awake. "Mama?"
"Still me, buddy," Clint told him, setting the boy on his feet. "But, hey, we found a way to get you home!"
Phillip blinked up at him. "Really?"
Clint smiled, and tried to tell himself that getting Coulson back was all that mattered. Tried to tell himself he wasn't going to miss this tiny version of him.
"Yep, right in here."
JARVIS let them in, and Clint was relieved to see there was a dark screen with a small hole in it, facing a single chair set against the wall.
Panic threatened. What if it didn't work? What if Coulson stayed Phillip. Worse, what if something happened to injure or -- or, what if they lost both of them?
He took a steadying breath. He had to stay calm, for Phillip's sake.
From the door on the other side of the lab, a SHIELD medical team of a doctor, an orderly, and a nurse slipped in, waiting by the wall. Clint didn't know who'd called them, but he was really glad they were there.
Tony popped around the edge of the screen. "Hey, kid, remember me?"
Phillip stared at him. "You're not a robot. I thought you were half-robot."
Tony grinned tiredly. "No. Just me in a really badass suit of armor. Ready to go home?"
Phillip nodded eagerly.
"Okay, here's the deal. Sit your butt right there and close your eyes, and count to five when we tell you, and then you'll be home."
Clint led him to the chair and tried not to feel like he was leading him to his doom. Just before he sat down, Phillip flung his arms around Clint and squeezed with all his might. Clint's breath caught, but he knelt and hugged back.
"I'll miss you, Clint," Phillip whispered, his voice wavering. "Thank you for rescuing me and taking care of me. Do you think you'll be here when I grow up?"
Clint closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he could answer. "I promise I will. I'll be here. Time for you to go, kiddo."
Phillip sat down and then looked up at Clint. Fear flashed in his wide blue eyes. "Is it gonna hurt?"
"No, of course not," Clint said. He ran a shaking hand over the boy's bristled hair and prayed he wasn't lying. "Quick, and then you'll be back where you belong, okay?"
"'kay. Will you say bye to Captain America for me?"
Clint's laugh was just a little watery. "Definitely."
"Okay, squirt, close your eyes and count!" Tony called from behind the screen.
Phillip closed his eyes and Clint backed away, swallowing roughly as he saw the barrel of the weapon slide through the hole in the screen.
Phillip counted, his childish voice clear in the silent room. When he hit five, there was a bright, blinding flash, and when Clint blinked his eyes clear, Coulson -- adult Coulson -- was slumped in the chair, naked except for the remnants of the Iron Man trunks and the Cap t-shirt, listing slowly to the side, clearly unconscious.
Clint jumped forward to support him, and Bruce and Tony hurried from behind the screen to help him lay Coulson flat on the floor. Bruce draped a lab coat over his lap as the medical team moved into examine him, and Clint moved back, clutching a scrap of Phillip's torn t-shirt in his hands.
"Vital signs are stable," the SHIELD doctor confirmed after a quick examination. "We should transport him to base for further examination. Director Fury sent transport."
"I can confirm there is SHIELD transport waiting on the roof," JARVIS broke in.
They bustled around, preparing a stretcher and hurrying for the roof. Clint followed, shoving the scrap of fabric in his pocket.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Clint sat in the quarters still assigned to him on the carrier, staring at the red, white, and blue fabric in his hand. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but after spending every minute with Phillip, things were way too quiet.
Medical had kicked him out before too long, but he'd learned enough to realize that Coulson was going to be fine. He'd been awake and responding to their questions, though confused about why he was where he was. Fury had slipped in, closing the door and shutting Clint out.
Aimlessly, he'd wandered back here.
There was a knock on the door, and he looked up.
"Clint?" Coulson's voice echoed through the door, and Clint stared for a second before getting up to let him in.
"Hey," he said as he opened the door. He realized the scrap of t-shirt was still in his hand, and he shoved it in his pocket. "Should you be up and around, sir?"
Coulson rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Can I come in?"
"Uh, sure." His quarters were tiny, but considering he no longer lived here anymore, at least they were clean. He gestured to the couch. "Have a seat. Um, I don't have anything to offer you to drink or anything, sorry."
Coulson sat, looking around the room, and Clint realized Coulson was avoiding his eyes. He swallowed roughly, wondering if he'd somehow done something wrong. He should've maybe passed Phillip off to someone else, this was going to be so awkward. But Phillip had trusted him, and he hadn't wanted to --
"Thank you," Coulson said quietly, looking down at his hands.
"Sir?"
Coulson's laugh was wry. "Considering you saw seven year old me puke all over the floor, and sang me to sleep, not to mention, I wet my pants on you, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Phil, Clint, please."
"Seven and a half," Clint said with a faint smile.
Phil nodded. "Yes. Of course. Seven and a half."
"Do you remember it all?" Clint asked, "Or are you relying on JARVIS and reports?"
"Oh, no. I remember. Every minute of it, unfortunately. I want to thank you, Clint. You did an admirable job of... well, of taking care of me. You went far above and beyond."
Clint took a deep breath, and tried not to see red. "I didn't do it out of duty," he said, willing his voice to stay calm. "I did -- Jesus, Coulson -- Phil -- you were a kid! A tiny kid! You're telling me you'd have watched over me in that situation out of duty?"
Phil shook his head. "No. Of course not. Not duty. Friendship, then?"
Clint closed his eyes and tried not to let that stab so deeply at him. "Yeah. 'course. Friendship."
Then he remembered the promise he'd made to himself. "No. Not friendship."
Phil stared at him, surprised, and a little hurt, and he took a deep breath.
"Look, Phil, I... you died last year -- "
"I didn't -- "
"You did, okay? For me, you were dead for nine excruciating hours. And when I found out you were alive, I swore to myself then that I would say something. And then I ignored that promise, because it was easier. Because I'm a coward. Because I don't want to fuck this up, this thing between us."
Phil was staring at him, eyes wide, and Clint laughed softly. It was so easy to see it now. To see the boy he'd been in the man he was. He tried so hard to hide it, to be unflappable, but there was no way for Clint to unsee it now. And he didn't want to.
"I'm done hiding. And look, I'm sorry if this makes things awkward, but I... when JARVIS told us you'd activated your distress signal, all I could think through the panic was, I fucked up. I didn't say anything, and what if you were... gone again, and -- "
He broke off as Phil cupped his cheek with a steady hand.
"I... I took care of little you because I wanted to," he said, staring into Phil's eyes and hoping he could believe in what he saw there. "I want to. You know. Take care of you. Kinda always."
Phil smiled, his eyes incredibly soft and bright. "For someone who calls himself a coward, that was a damn brave thing to say," he murmured, and then he was kissing Clint.
Clint's startled cry was muffled against Phil's lips, and then he shifted closer, closer still, until he was practically in Phil's lap. Phil wrapped strong arms around him and held him close, and Clint sank into the kiss until there was nothing left in his mind but Phil.
When they broke apart, Phil rested his forehead against Clint's. "I want that. To take care of you always too. Whether or not you ever turn into a seven year old."
"Seven and a half," Clint murmured against his lips with a smile. Phil smiled back and kissed him again.
END