Chapter Text
Clint curled into a ball on the plush couch in his apartment after Coulson vanished with fear in his eyes. He pulled his arms around his knees, running his hands over the firm threads of his jeans, rubbing them and feeling the muscles under the fabric tighten as he pulled his legs to his chest. He squeezed his arms and his knees press into his chest, the muscles in his legs pulling, stretching, burning. He let out a heavy sigh and clenched his eyes shut for a moment.
He was an adult. Even now, as a sixteen year-old, he was an adult who had been making his own choices and keeping himself together for a long time, ever since getting his headliner act, really. He hadn’t had much help.
Here, though, in this place, Clint had obviously found help. A chuckle escaped his throat and he threw his head toward the ceiling, shaking it. Dating an ultra-competent, grounded, successful, kind, good-looking guy who said he’d loved Clint for four years. Living in a tower owned by a quirky and kind billionaire, friends with superheroes who were also grounded and clearly good people for about a year.
How the fuck did he manage this?
More importantly, how could he manage to keep it? He would be throwing so much away if he stayed young. He’d gain certain things, sure. Maybe he’d end up looking less rough than the guy in that photo by his bed, maybe he’d go to school, find a good-looking, stable guy or girl to spend his life with, and be safer than he was before.
But maybe not. Who knew what staying here would be like? Life was kind of a bitch overall, so who knew what he’d gain? Maybe he’d screw up whatever trust these people seemed willing to extend and they’d throw him out on his ass and he’d be right back where he started? Maybe he’d get scared and just run? He didn’t exactly have a track record of making smart choices; just because these kind people were around to help didn’t mean he wouldn’t screw it up like usual.
He looked over as Natasha knocked on his door and stuck her head in, pulling him from his reverie. Her eyes looked tired, her hair a little more disheveled than Clint had seen it before, but she smiled, and said, “Hey. It’s time you told that asshole downstairs what you want him to do with you.”
Clint didn’t move from the couch.
Natasha crossed her arms, and lowered her chin, and Clint was overwhelmed at how, dressed in black slacks and a green marbled sweater, she looked like a portrait framed by the door. He wondered what they really were to each other. “I’m not one to give you advice, Barton, but you look like you’re staying where you are.”
He looked at her, saw her working to be neutral, and figured if a punk like him could see her working, she must be really thrown off her game by all this. He’d better get it over for everyone so they could at least get some god damned rest. He sighed and stood, stretching a little. “I’m coming down.” She just held his gaze for a moment and then led him to the elevator.
He rubbed his face as the door shut in front of him, and glanced over at Natasha. She was openly watching him, a glint in her eyes. “What?” he asked.
She shrugged. “People don’t change all that much over the years, is all,” she answered, looking a little smug.
He gave her a grin. “I’m prettier this way.” She just smiled at him and he sighed. Grownups were so weird. The doors opened to the common room floor and Clint wanted to shrink back into the elevator walls. Everyone snapped their gaze to him and his nerves must have shown because Natasha gently tugged his elbow to get him to follow her out to the living room.
Coulson was hunched into a corner of the couch but he stood up now, trying to give Clint a reassuring smile. It came out hollow instead, but Clint didn’t blame him. For all he knew he was about to lose his lover to a teenager. Clint blew through puffed cheeks and straightened up himself, striding over as confidently as he could to the alien sitting at the wooden dining table. He knew what he was going to say and he needed to do it without any chance of being interrupted or held up, or he might back out. He might take the golden opportunity dangling in front of him, the chance no one had ever given him before, and the support he’d never had.
But he couldn’t. He just. . . couldn’t. “Change me back. Now,” he said, sparing a glance out the window to see the afternoon sun beginning to wane.
The alien stood up gracefully from the table, gazing up and down Clint’s body deliberately and with a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Are you certain?” he asked. “This is a chance you never had. You could have a better life.” He paused and took a step closer. “You deserve a better life, it seems.”
Clint stepped away from him and shook his head. “No. Do it. Now. Make me who I was before and get it right. This is my life and I want it back,” he said, sweeping his hand toward his teammates and friends.
“Clint,” Coulson said. “Are you sure?”
Clint wasn’t going to explain himself. If his grown up self could find any insight later, he could share it with his lover, but not now. Now Clint just wanted to get this over. He was already starting to lose his nerve and seeing the uncertainty that filled Coulson’s eyes didn’t help. He saw what he’d built for himself in those eyes. He wanted it back, but hesitation wasn’t going to help. “Do. It.” he said, ignoring Coulson.
Ingvar nodded once and pulled a small, glowing sphere from his robe. It was green, and it seemed that when Clint looked at it his eyes just slid away from it, like it was slippery. The others gathered around Ingvar in a tight circle, except for Banner, who stepped cautiously toward the door to the stairwell. Clint took a deep breath and met Ingvar’s gaze. He wanted to ask if it would hurt, but that would waste time that was starting to strangle Clint like a jealous lover.
Ingvar nodded once, looked at Thor, and then held the small orb above his head. He closed his eyes and muttered something in a language Clint didn’t know, and the orb glowed brighter and brighter. Clint wanted to shout ‘stop!’ and duck away, more than he’d ever wanted to run in his pathetic life, but he planted his feet and straightened, staring at the light. When it flashed as bright as a sun he heard a thunderous boom, felt a sharp pain in his head, and felt his knees give out as darkness rushed to greet him as quickly as the floor.
Phil watched the young, smooth-faced Clint Barton step confidently toward the alien, his hands hanging loosely next to his jeans and his chin held high. Despite this confidence, Phil wanted to grab Clint and drag him away, back to the elevator, back to his room where he could watch the sun go down so Clint could start a new life, one without so much violence and fear.
But he didn’t. He let his own cowardice win and watched Clint cross the room, heard his demand for his own life back, and saw him raise his chin to meet his fate. He was so proud of this scared young man, he had to clamp down on his own fear and ask Clint if he was sure. Clint didn’t even acknowledge Phil’s question, though, and suddenly Ingvar had a small orb held high above his head. The whole team stepped closer, and the light burst forth and enveloped Clint for only a few breaths, and then the light faded around a grown Clint, who crumpled to the ground in a messy heap.
Phil’s heart leapt to his throat and a cry escaped his lips. He practically fell to Clint’s side and pressed his fingers to Clint’s throat. He felt relief flood his body as he found the pulse, strong and steady. Natasha was there by his side, and they rolled Clint to his back and Phil picked up his hand and gripped it like a lifeline. It was cool to the touch, but there was sweat on Clint’s forehead and Phil could feel a slight tremble in his fingers.
As Phil kept his fingers wrapped in Clint’s, Tony rushed Ingvar with a growled, ‘you motherfucker,’ and landed a solid punch across the alien’s jaw, dropping him to the floor. Nobody moved as Tony drove a kick to his ribs, but when Ingvar cried out and curled in on himself, Steve stepped forward and pulled Tony away. Tony’s face was flushed in anger and he thrust a finger down at Ingvar. “Get the fuck out of my house and back where you came from before I let Bruce let the Hulk loose on you.”
Phil glanced over and drew a sharp breath when he saw the green dancing in Bruce’s eyes and the forceful scowl on his face. “Stark,” he said, letting go of Clint’s hand and standing up. “Stand down.” He knew what Tony felt. He felt it, too, rage burning in his chest at the audacity of what this man had done to Clint. But nothing good would come of this. Coulson’s calm ways were what they all needed right now, so he shoved his own anger down and stepped over to Tony, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking over at Bruce. “Thor will get him out of here and SHIELD will work with Asgard to move forward on dealing with Earth and our people in a humane way.”
“I was trying to help him!” Ingvar thundered, standing and stepping toward Phil, but Thor moved quickly, gripping Ingvar tightly around the shoulders, enveloping him in a steely grasp.
“But you didn’t ask,” Thor shouted back, “And these Midgardians are not to be toyed with like children! You took our friend and fellow warrior as we knew him and would have kept him from his life forever, without consent. These things must not be allowed to happen. You will suffer for your arrogance and presumptions. My father and I will make sure of it, and we will make sure the others know that this arrogance toward Midgard is a grave mistake.”
The room fell silent for a moment, but then Clint gasped and, as Phil saw Natasha slip a knife she’d pulled in the shuffle back into her boot, he sat up and looked around shakily. Phil knelt down next to him and put a hand on the small of Clint’s back. “Hey there. You okay?”
Clint looked at him, taking a deep and shuddery breath. He nodded. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice gravelly. “I think so.” Natasha pulled him to his feet and Clint set his eyes on Ingvar, who suddenly looked smaller as he stood hunched next to Thor and wilted under Clint’s hard gaze.
“Get the hell out of here,” Clint snarled, “And never come back, unless you want me to let my friends do what they really want to do right now.”
Thor gave Clint a sturdy nod, and then pulled Ingvar to the elevator. “I will see him to Asgard and then return to check on you, my friend. I am glad you are back to yourself.”
Phil watched as Thor left and the others crowded around Clint, Steve putting a hand on his shoulder and Bruce gripping his arm for a moment. Tony crossed his arms in front of him and said, “You feel okay, Barton?”
Clint rolled his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah. Tired, but I’m okay. Thanks, guys, for looking out for me.”
Tony shook his head exasperatedly and chuckled. “You were one punk kid, that’s for damned sure.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Bruce asked, gently gripping Clint’s elbow. Phil moved to his other side and slid his hand into Clint’s, twining their fingers together, savoring the feel of Clint’s calloused, weathered skin.
Clint ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair, which was one of Phil’s favorite things to watch. It was a nervous tell, but the brief vulnerability it showed always made Phil’s chest tingle with protective adoration.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I remember it all.” He looked at the floor and then back up at Bruce before sharing a glance with everyone else, too. “I was pretty scared, so thanks.”
Phil rubbed his back again and felt a small shudder run under his fingers. “You should rest,” he said quietly.
Clint looked over at him and then at Natasha as if he could read their minds. “Yeah,” he answered. “I’m pretty tired.”
Steve asked, “Breakfast tomorrow?” The unspoken ‘we need to be with you’ was loud and clear.
Clint nodded. “Sure. That’s a good idea. Thanks again, guys.”
Clint, Phil, and Natasha headed for the elevator as Tony muttered to Steve, “You should have let me kick him some more.”
The elevator doors closed and Clint sagged into Phil’s side, laying his head on his shoulder with a groan. “Can I just sleep for, like, four days?” Phil just pressed closer and relished the feel of Clint’s body against his.
Natasha ruffled Clint’s hair with a smile. “I think you both should. And then we’ll work on your technique for losing a tail to make sure that horrid job you did as a teenager hasn’t lingered.”
Phil felt Clint sigh into his shoulder. “I sucked as a teenager.”
Phil heard the self-deprecation that had oozed from teen-Clint’s pores and squeezed Clint tighter. “You were pretty remarkable, I thought.”
Natasha nodded. “You handled it, Clint.”
“I freaked out a few times and nearly ran off and got myself killed. Not sure that counts as ‘handling’, Tasha.”
“We were looking out for you,” she answered. “Same as always.”
Clint nudged her in the ribs as the door to their floor opened. They stepped out but Natasha stayed put. “I’ll see you guys at breakfast tomorrow,” she said as the doors closed, but Clint shrugged away from Phil and stuck his foot in the door to keep it open. He leaned in and pulled Natasha into a hug, murmuring into her ear.
Phil stepped back to give them the pretense of privacy, watching Clint’s sandy blond hair rest against her fiery red. Natasha closed her eyes briefly at whatever Clint told her, and then she leaned back and kissed his cheek. “Go, rest,” she urged, and Clint nodded, stepping back to Phil as the doors closed.
They headed into Phil’s apartment that was now their apartment and Clint threw himself down on the couch with a groan. “Soooo tired,” he said, throwing his arm over his face. Phil knew he would have headed straight to the bedroom if he intended to sleep, though, so Phil went to the kitchen and pulled some mugs out of the cupboard and set to making them both some hot chocolate. Pouring the hot milk into Clint’s “See Rock City” mug and adding chocolate and marshmallows carefully, he savored the familiar motions as they settled his own still-rattled core. He carried the mugs out a minute later and Clint sat up and scooted, making room for Phil to sit. They each held their mug and sipped, letting the comfortable silence stretch a bit.
“You chose to come back,” Phil finally said, figuring it would give Clint an opening if he needed it.
Clint sighed and laid his head on Phil’s shoulder. “It wasn’t really a choice, Phil.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is my life. This is how it went.”
Phil felt a shiver run down his spine and he turned to look at Clint, who was still leaning on him. “You could have changed it,” he whispered, wondering if he should just leave well enough alone.
Clint straightened up and took Phil’s hand in his. “This is my life,” he repeated, meeting Phil’s gaze steadily, his green-blue eyes shining bright and a smile tugging at his lips. “This is how it went and I’m lucky. Taking that asshole’s offer would have been like winning the biggest lottery ever and then gambling all of it on a pot of the same size. Stupid. This is how it went. There wasn’t a choice to be made.”
He leaned over and kissed Phil, long and slow, and Phil savored the chocolate on his lips and the certainty on his tongue. He let it seep into his own body and was grateful.