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Chapter Text

Explosions were always one of Clint’s favorite parts of his job. There was something satisfactory about their finality, their deadly beauty when enacted by his hand. There was nothing better than watching an arrow fly straight and true, hit it’s target dead on, and then light up in a plume of smoke and shrapnel. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

“The tower’s down!” Clint shouted into his com link. “You’re welcome!”

“Hawkeye...” Steve’s voice crackled over the link a moment later, clear and flat in its tone as it echoed across the battlefield. “That was the wrong tower.”

Clint grit his teeth, a groan sliding out between them as the plume of smoke in front of him continued to reach for the sky. Ok, so explosions could go wrong really quickly. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you guys tell me? Stark’ll pay for that, right?”

“I’m not going to be paying for anything if we can’t get these servers back online!” Clint rolled his eyes at Tony’s yell, the voice sharp even across their communicators. “Shoot better Katniss, this is literally going to cost me billions of dollars!”

“Not like you’re not good for it...” Clint muttered, knocking another arrow. He thought he heard Tony try to respond, but his voice was cut off by repulsor fire that Clint could hear without the help of his com link. The fight was getting close; that meant he was running out of time. He couldn’t believe he had blown up the wrong tower, Natasha was never going to let him hear the end of that one... even the thought of it made him groan. “Alright then, does anyone have a clue where the right tower is?”

“If we knew, do you really think we wouldn’t have told you?” Tony pointed out after he had finished blasting. 

Clint grumbled under his breath, pulling his arrow back and aiming it at the ground below. There were only about thirty towers in this stupid power plant; how was he supposed to know the biggest one wasn’t the one hacked? Weren’t hacked servers supposed to have some obnoxious blinking red lights or something? How was he supposed to just guess? 

None of the towers looked out of the ordinary, at least not from where he was standing. Clint lowered his bow, looking around for a better vantage point. He had to move quickly; even with Tony and Steve taking care of most of the goons, they didn’t have long. Every minute that the virus in these servers stayed where it was, more data was lost. Mostly Stark Industries data. Tony said there were a few backup servers, but the infected one would eat through those firewalls soon enough and destroy the secondary and even tertiary copies of the data till it was completely gone. Or something like that. Tony had used a lot of bigger words that Clint didn’t totally understand. But he had gotten the gist of it, and the fact that blowing it up would supposedly solve the problem.

That was, if he could figure out which tower needed to be blown up. 

Clint darted along the cat walks over the power plant, sharp eyes scanning the ground below for some sort of hint as to his target. He had really thought it would be the biggest one. Maybe it would be the smallest? But if he was wrong again not only would Tony yell at him, but he could do serious damage to the company if he hadn’t already. He wouldn’t really feel bad doing that to Stark, but his employees were another matter. And Pepper Potts. He did not want to make her mad. 

“Are we even positive that the virus is in one of these towers?” Clint asked over the coms as he continued to study the area. He could hear the fighting, could even see flashes from Tony’s repulsors in the distance. He did not have much time to stall.

“Yes, of course I’m sure!” Tony said, the sound of repulsor blasts echoing in Clint’s ears. “I told you, the signal’s coming from this plant! It’s a singularity, the virus lets out a very select signal on a specific wavelength that—“

Tony cut off, probably thrown against something by an enemy. Clint bit back a sigh of relief. It would not help his concentration to listen to Tony's explanations at the moment. 

“Hurry up, Hawkeye,” Steve said. He sounded almost breathless, a rarity for the super soldier. “These guys are stronger than we expected. You probably have five minutes—“

Steve’s statement cut off with a grunt and a hard thump.

“Holy crap, watch out,” Tony’s voice crackled over the coms with more static than usual. “One of them slipped past us, he’s headed your way. Cap, where are you?”

Tony cut out again, and Clint didn’t hear an answer from Steve. That probably meant that the bad guy was coming right for him. Great. So much for five minutes. 

He needed space. And a better visual. The catwalks were great, but not a great place to be cornered. He glanced around, hoping for some sort of vantage point. The towers themselves seemed to be the tallest things in the power plant, far taller than the chain link fence surrounding the area and far, far above the one brick building in the center. The catwalks were only about halfway up the towers, and Clint was quickly considering attempting to scale one of them, though that was probably not the best plan if he was planning to blow one— or more— of them up.

But then out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a ladder. And following it up, he saw that the ladder led up to some sort of tiny observation deck a few yards above his head.

Bingo.

It took him seconds to dart across the catwalks, just as easily as he would have run across the ground. In fact, probably even easier since he knew where he would have to put his feet. Tripping wasn’t an option on a catwalk either, and survival instinct always did wonders for his coordination. The ladder was connected to another tower, but this one wasn’t an electrical one. It looked like some sort of observation tower; perfect. He scrambled up the ladder quickly, and was soon perched on the platform.

It was so much better. The platform was small, jutting out just a few feet from the wall of the observation tower. There was a steel door set into the metal that probably led to a safer way up than the ladder he had taken, but after a quick check he found that the door was locked. He would be able to see anyone coming from below, which meant he should have plenty of time to figure out his target before he was inevitably attacked. He could see all of the towers at once, and he was high enough that they were now all completely below him. He went ahead and knocked his arrow again, pulling up his bow as he started to examine the terrain below.

Back to the problem of figuring out which of these stupid towers had the virus. But at least he had a better vantage point now. Not only could he see all of the thirty or so server towers, but he could also see both Tony and Steve fighting. They looked like tiny action figures with how far below they were. They were also fighting more people than Clint had expected. This was just a small, Stark-hating gang who wanted to usurp Stark industries’ hold on the world or something. The only reason that Steve and Clint had even come on the mission was that Fury had insisted they made sure that Stark’s weaponry files didn’t get leaked to this group— not that they really seemed interested in that, they were more interested in just destroying the information all together. But the sheer number of goons— Clint could count at least twenty five scattered like ants throughout the plant— made him think that Fury may have been right not to let Stark run in alone. 

Wait... there were twenty-something bad guys. Five of them were fighting Tony, more than that were on Steve, at least ten were just knocked out on the ground... but then there was also a group away from the fighting. At least five guys were all clustered around one of the towers, one in the middle of the plant with some of the lights at the top blinking red...

That had to be it. Clint pulled up his bow with a grin. If he got it wrong again, well... hopefully he wouldn’t be the one to face Pepper.

He was about to let the arrow fly when suddenly there was a crash behind him. He whirled around, cursing as he saw a man tearing away the door to the observation tower. Of course, Tony had said one of the goons was after him. So much for locked doors and his entire plan. Instinctively Clint pulled his bow up, drawing the arrow back, only to remember that the arrow in his hand  was an exploding arrow and he was literally three feet from the guy.

This was not a good situation.

The goon finished ripping through the cheap aluminum door and charged through, leaving Clint with about three seconds to make a move. He was at least two stories above the ground, only a thin railing between him and the drop, not enough time to draw a non-exploding arrow, and a guy who just busted through a metal door charging at him. Even if there was a good option here, there wasn’t enough time for him to find it.

He let go of the arrow and threw himself off of the platform. 

There was a short scream above him, cut off almost instantly as the explosion was triggered. Clint was in free fall, already reaching back toward his quiver, but the explosion hit him hard enough to stun. For a moment his ears are screeching, the sound of the explosion blasting through his eardrums in a deafening cacophony that almost makes him scream out loud. And then, just like that, silence. In a single moment the only sound he could hear was the ringing in his own ears. The thought made him wince, even in freefall. There was another drawback of explosions. He hoped his aids were ok, or at least not completely fried. Eighty percent deaf was not an ideal position to be in during the midst of a battle. 

Neither was splattered on the ground, which was what he would be in probably thirty seconds.

He tried to snap out of the daze that the shockwaves had thrown him into, forcing his muscles to reach back toward his quiver. Half of his arrows were gone, but he managed to get his fingers around one, one that had a smooth, thin stalk. It cost him an additional two seconds to register that it was the wrong one. He didn’t think any more than that, just let go and continued grasping until he caught another one. Bulkier, heavier, a bulge around the middle. Yes. He didn’t waste another second, just yanked the arrow out and did his best to knock it, to draw the string back despite the gravity pulling at him. It had to look awesome, firing the arrow in the middle of a free fall, little bits of debris raining down, the orange glow of the explosion still on his face, but it didn’t feel awesome. His muscles were strained and aching, his head pounding, ears ringing and sounds muffled... it sucked . 

But the arrow hit home, buried in the side of the observation tower. The thin cord of rope that had streamed out after it drew taught in his hands, and Clint held on for dear life as he was jerked to the side, up and away from the ground and instead straight into the side of the tower. He had about half a second to brace himself before he hit. The tower was made out of aluminum or something... whatever it was, it was flimsy enough to dent when he slammed into it with a bone-jarring thud. The impact was rattling enough that Clint’s hands slipped, and suddenly he was back in free fall. Thankfully, the zip line arrow had done its job of slowing his fall, and he was just a few feet above the ground. But he still hit hard, the air completely knocked out of him, every single muscle stinging in pain.

Yep. That sucked .

Clint groaned, trying to get his bearings. His vision was blurry and he shut his eyes against it with a wince. Was the blurriness from the force of the impact or the dust from the explosion or just the ringing in his head? He had no idea. And the ringing hadn’t cleared up yet... he needed to check his aids, to see if the sound was coming from them or just his head, but he couldn’t quite make himself move. Everything was in pain— he definitely had at least one broken rib— and moving would definitely make it worse. He had to move, he knew he did, but for just a moment...

He cracked his eyes open again, just a sliver. Then they shot open, his heart rate skyrocketing. The tower was practically bent in half, the explosion sending debris raining down around him as the metal structure swayed. It was probably groaning in warning, but of course he couldn’t hear that. 

To say this was bad was a massive understatement. 

Clint finally got his body to respond enough to attempt sitting up, but the moment he did pain flooded him. He let out a cry that he couldn’t hear, gritting his teeth as he kept pushing. But he only got halfway up before he realized that he physically could not sit up. His arm was trapped, pinned under a piece of debris. His heart slammed into his ribcage, his pulse pounding in his veins. He tried to pull it out, but the pain was unbearable and he had to stop, his vision blurred again and sweat trickling down his forehead. Or maybe that was blood, he had no way to tell the difference. The moment his vision cleared he looked up again. The tower was teetering more dangerously by the second. No, no, it was not just teetering. It was falling, who knows how many tons of metal hurtling toward him and he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t run no matter how much he jerked his arm, couldn’t turn his probably damaged comm on in time, couldn’t do anything but brace himself and pray...

Suddenly, seconds before the mass of metal crashed down around him, it exploded. Some sort of red light flashed across Clint’s vision, knocking the structure away from him and shattering it into smaller pieces that rained down a few feet away from where he was pinned. 

Clint blinked, then blinked again as he realized that he was still alive. Somehow. He probably shouldn’t be.

What had just happened?

His eye suddenly caught sight of a movement on the edge of his gaze, and he twisted his neck to see a figure moving toward him. For a second he saw the blue suit and thought it was Steve, but as they came closer he quickly realized it was none of his teammates. The man was wearing a blue, tight suit, but unlike Cap’s it was missing the red and white and instead had yellow accents. There was a tiny bit of red on a symbol across his chest, but it was surrounding an X instead of anything patriotic. Plus, the man looked totally different from Steve with short brown hair and muscles that were much less defined than the Captain's— not that anyone could really measure up to the super soldier’s physique. He was a lot shorter too, though again, no one looked tall next to Captain America. Except maybe Thor, but that was it. On top of that, the man was wearing a strange red and gold visor that covered his eyes and made him look like some sort of retro superhero from the 80’s. Definitely interesting. 

Clint groggily realized that the man was talking, registered the sight of his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear a word. His aids were definitely damaged, if not totally broken. Fantastic. Plus, he couldn’t get his brain to work enough to read the man’s lips, and he had a good feeling this guy didn’t know sign language.

“Just a sec,” Clint interrupted, his voice barely audible to his still ringing ears. “Can’t hear right now.”

The man paused, and for a second Clint wondered if he had actually spoken out loud or if it was just in his head. That was honestly a solid possibility with how discombobulated he felt. But then the man nodded and stepped forward, his lips pursed together as he looked at Clint’s predicament. He made a face, which was understandable; the injury was probably pretty ugly. But he didn’t hesitate to reach down and grab the piece of metal, his face twisted in effort as he heaved at it. Clint bit back a cry of pain as his arm was jostled, instead gritting his teeth. The moment the weight had lifted he yanked himself away and scrambled to his feet. He was almost knocked over by the wave of nausea that followed, his arm hanging limply at his side and burning as he steadied himself. 

“Thanks,” he croaked out, turning to the other man as he did. The brown-haired hero shrugged, but before he or Clint could say anything else the man whipped around. Clint followed his gaze, groaning as he saw what he was looking at. Three people were running at them, all three wearing all black and dumb robber masks. Some of the goons that were working to hack the towers. Perfect . Exactly what he needed. 

Clint caught sight of his bow a few feet away and quickly reached for it, ignoring the pain screaming from his limp arm. He had no idea how he was supposed to use the weapon while he was down one arm, but he knew he would at least feel like he could do something if he had it. But before the weapon was even in his hand he saw a flash from the corner of his eye. He jerked up, bow in hand, to see the man who had pulled him out with a hand to his temple, bright red light exploding from his strange visor in a fearsome beam that had the goons scrambling. One of them was hit by the laser-like beam and let out a shout as they were thrown to the side, instantly going limp as they hit one of the metal towers. Unconscious, hopefully. Meanwhile the other two, a man and a woman, had gotten close enough to tackle the guy. The beam cut off as he moved into hand-to-hand combat. He was holding out well for himself, but Clint jumped into the fray anyway. His arm was in way too much pain for him to draw his bow, so instead he just pulled it back and hit the other man over the head with it. The goon stumbled but didn’t fall— not that it mattered, as Laser-Eyes quickly aimed a kick to his chest. That made the man crumple.

Meanwhile the woman had turned her attention to Clint. He was quickly put on the defensive, his usual offensive strategy essentially useless this close range, especially with his arm out of commission. He was off balance, in pain, and therefore not exactly doing great. 

Clint grunted as the woman slammed him to the ground, his head bouncing painfully against the concrete. He could probably go ahead and add concussion to his list of injuries. But just as his head hit suddenly something screamed in his ears, slicing through the dull ringing that had been echoing around in his headspace. Sound burst through in crackling bursts as his hearing aids somehow shuddered to life. 

Huh . That was one way to make them work.

He barely managed to roll out of the way of one of her punches, the thud from the impact echoing through his ears. He managed to get a knee up into the woman’s stomach and she grunted, but didn’t move. Her fist hit his injured arm and he bit back a scream as much as he could, filtering it into a strained whimper that honestly was probably even less dignified. He could see the woman smirk under her mask as she pulled back to aim for that spot again, but then she was tackled from behind by the other hero. Clint let out a gasp as the weight was pulled from his pained body, and took a few moments to breathe before jumping up. The sounds of the fight were clear in his ears now, grunts and thuds and then a short zap as another red flash of light shot from the man’s visor. It sent the woman flying back a few paces, and she was limp where she hit the ground.

“Neat trick,” Clint panted, nodding at the other man. “Are they knocked out, or...”

“Knocked out,” the man said simply. Then he frowned. “Wait, uh... can you hear? Or do I need to...”

“I hear you,” Clint said, though it was admittedly difficult. The aids were working, but there was a thick layer of static and the sound was choppy, cutting in and out once and awhile. And what he could hear was surprising, enough to almost make him fumble his bow. From the other man’s fighting he was expecting a deep, heavy voice. But that was not what he was hearing at all. 

He realized the man was turning away, and he quickly blurted out a statement. 

“Thanks. You kinda saved me there.” The man hesitated, turning around to give a shrug in response. Clint decided that he had nothing to lose by asking a quick question. “What was your name? Why’re you here anyway?”

The man gave a little frown, still only half facing Clint, his brown bangs falling across the top of his visor as he looked at the Avenger. The smoke from the tower that Clint had shot and the one that he had fallen from both streaked the sky, the grey whisps staining the otherwise blue sky just as soot stained the unfamiliar man's blue and gold costume. The frown on his face stayed where it was, firm and unmoving, and when he spoke his voice was infused with a confidence that came with repetition, as if he had prepared to say the words a hundred times before. “I’m Cyclops. Leader of the X-Men.”

With that he turned and sprinted away, leaving Clint standing in the middle of a group of knocked-out goons and smoking debris, dumbfounded. Not because that only answered half his question. Not because he had no clue what the X-Men were. Not even because of how much pain he was in. 

That voice . It wasn’t just the static from his hearing aids, it couldn’t be. Something was off about the voice, it’s tomber, it’s pitch, everything about it . It was like no other hero that Clint had ever heard before, or even any other SHIELD agent. It was something that was distinctly, painfully, out of place in the fight that had just occurred.

Suddenly, Clint realized how small the other man was. Not just in comparison to Steve or Thor; he was probably shorter than Tony. And then there was the way his hair seemed just a bit too long, how it hung over his strange golden visor. There was the stuttering, the awkwardness that had shone through for just a moment before he had realized Clint could hear him. And again, his voice was a bit too high, just off enough to be noticable.

Clint sucked in a sharp, painful breath, ignoring the way his aching lungs screamed at him for it. 

That wasn’t a man.

That was a kid . 

Chapter Text

“Hey there, hotshot.”

Clint winced a bit as his hearing aids squawked out Natasha’s voice. The noise was shrill, sharp, far harsher than it would be if the things were  In the hours since their mission he had managed to sort of get them back into working order, but he was definitely ready for the chance to get a professional to look at them. Or even Tony. Really anyone who knew what to do with them a bit more than just hitting them until there were no more sparks. 

But of course, he had injuries to deal with first; his ribs were aching, his head pounding, and his arm had numbed to a dull throb. He couldn’t decide whether that was a good sign or not. 

Based on Natasha's expression, it was not. “You look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks,” Clint said with a roll of his eyes even as his own mouth twitched into a smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still on that assignment in Bengal?”

“I got it dealt with a bit sooner than Fury expected.” Natasha’s face twisted into a small smirk, and Clint suddenly felt a flash of sympathy for whatever crime syndicate Nat had been pitted against. “What about you? I heard Tony lost a few hundred thousand from a misfire.”

“It’s not like he’s not good for it,” Clint muttered, heat climbing his face. “And I got the right tower in the end.”

“Yeah. After...” She gestured to his roadkill-esqu state and he let out a groan. “Seriously, what did you do? Fall off one of the towers?”

Clint didn’t say anything, which only made Natasha snort out a little laugh. “I can’t believe you Clint.”

“Hey!” Clint protested. “I actually jumped off, for your information.”

“That does not help your case.” Nat shot him another small grin before crossing her arms, her critical gaze sweeping over him again. She hummed knowingly. “Someone’s not going to be too happy about this.”

Clint’s heart dropped in his chest. He ran his working hand through his hair with a groan. “Crud. I promised her a month of no serious injuries, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“Can’t you stand up for me?”

“Nope.”

Clint groaned again.

“Come on Hawkeye,” Nat turned, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as she started down the hall. “Let’s get you to Bruce. Hopefully he can clean up the damage a bit before Laura sees you.”

Clint didn’t protest, instead falling in step with Natasha as they walked through the halls of Stark tower. Well, Avengers tower now, apparently. Stark had rebranded it after the Battle of New York a few months ago. Since then it had become a sort of base of operations. Clint hadn’t really expected anyone to stay there but, to his surprise, it was actually really convenient and actually pretty nice. Steve and Bruce had basically moved in since the invasion. Sure, Steve had an apartment in town that he usually stayed at but he spent most of his days in the tower, and Bruce flat-out lived there now that his hide away in New Delhi had been found out; there honestly didn’t seem to be a better place to hide from the government than with Tony Stark. Tony of course was always in and out of the tower, especially now that Pepper was running the company. And over the past few months Clint and Nat both crashed there more and more often between missions. It just made sense; it was in the middle of New York, had state-of-the-art medical equipment and shooting ranges, a direct call line to SHIELD, not to mention an always-stocked kitchen. It was actually a pretty perfect base. The only “Avenger” who didn’t frequent the tower was Thor, who no one had seen hide nor hair of since the battle. Not that Clint totally minded; he liked the guy and all, but the longer he stayed on Asgard the less likely his brother was to escape. Clint did not like Loki. At all.

But apart from that, well, the five of them were actually operating somewhat as a team.

“Hey Nat,” Clint said absently, the thought of teamwork sending his mind wandering back to the fight from earlier. More specifically, the man who had saved his butt. The man who he could still have sworn sounded like a kid. “Have you heard of the X-Men?”

“The mutant hero group?” Natasha stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning forward to pull open the door so Clint could walk into the med bay without trying to maneuver his arm. She shrugged. “Hasn’t everyone?”

“Um, no,” Clint said with a frown as she stepped through the doorway. He tried to turn so that he could use his right arm to hold open the door for Nat, but by the time he did she had already ducked in behind him and the door was shut. “I have no clue who they are.”

“Turn on the news once and while Clint. It’s been all over the place. As soon as the alien threats died down, people found something else to turn their attention to.” Natasha held up her hand in a small wave, and Clint followed her gaze to see Bruce standing over by one of the five medical cots, Tony perched on the cot and muttering something about the cut on his forehead. The other man looked in much better condition than Clint, and Steve apparently hadn’t even been injured badly enough to warrant a visit. Sadly enough, this setup wasn’t out of the ordinary. 

“So, what’s their deal?” Clint asked as he gingerly sat down on a cot across from Bruce and Tony. “What do they do?”

“They’re basically glorified mutant rights activists,” Natasha explained. She didn’t bother to sit down, but leaned against a nearby wall as she watched Bruce move over to look at Clint. “But they just surfaced recently. Within the past few months, I think.”

“Who, the X-Men?” Tony chimed in. The billionaire moved to get up, but Bruce shot him a look.

“Stay still Tony, I’m not done yet,” he said in his quiet, calm voice. It always kind of surprised Clint to hear. It was definitely not the voice of someone who could turn into a giant rage monster. 

Tony snorted, slumping back in defeat before cutting back into the conversion. “I think they’re basically copycats. They saw what we’re doing as the Avengers and wanted in.”

“Maybe,” Natasha said with a shrug. “They might have started before we did, actually. We don’t really know anything about them. Just that they’re all mutants— that’s the only thing they’ve told the press, or anyone for that matter.”

“Wait, how could they have started before the invasion?” Clint asked, pausing to suck in a breath as Bruce moved over to start working on his arm. “I thought mutants were caused by the wormhole gasses or something?”

“That’s actually a common misconception.” Bruce stuttered a bit as he jumped in, his face flushing at the interruption. Banner was still pretty jumpy around, well, everyone, but he was slowly getting comfortable enough to awkwardly insert himself into conversations when he had something to add. “Mutants have been around for thousands of years, they’ve just been far quieter than they are now. Scientists have found evidence of the X-gene dating back to 100 B.C.”

“X-gene?” Clint cut in. Bruce moved away to grab some anesthetic. “That’s what they call it?”

“It’s the gene that dictates whether a person develops a mutation or not,” Bruce explained. “Most stay dormant for a person’s entire life, but some are apparent at birth or may come out if a traumatic event happens before puberty.” Bruce was talking faster, his eyes widening behind his wire rim glasses. “It’s actually fascinating. The gene is completely unique in the human genome; it changes entirely depending on the host. It adapts in order to fit the organisms’ needs, so no two mutants are the same.”

“Yeah, cool,” Clint said, though honestly Bruce had completely lost him at this point. “So, how old are they? Not mutants, the X-Men.”

“How old?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow at Clint. “That’s a weird question.”

“No it’s not,” Clint said automatically even as his face flushed. “I was just wondering.”

“Come on birdbrain, if no one even knows how many of them there are no one is going to know their ages.” Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“From the news reports I’ve seen it’s nothing exciting anyway,” Natasha supplemented. “Probably not much younger than us. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Why’re you so interested anyway?” Tony leaned back, his eyebrow quirking up. “I never pegged you as the inquisitive type.”

“Because Cyclops was at the fight today,” Clint deadpanned. The other three turned to him, their faces drawn in disbelief while Clint smirked briefly. Beating around the bush seemed pointless, and his teammate’s expressions were totally worth it. If Bruce had dropped the needle he was holding, it could have been heard across the tower. Well, maybe not by Clint, but by everyone else for sure. 

"Cyclops?" Natasha echoed. "As in their leader?"

"Yep," Clint said firmly. "At least, that's what he told me."

Tony barked out a laugh. “Yeah right! No way was he there.”

“Yeah, he was!” Clint protested indignantly.  

“Don’t you think Capsicle and I would have seen him? I’m calling your bluff.”

“No, none of us mentioned Cyclops,” Natasha pointed out. “Clint wouldn’t be able to actually retain a name, even if he did take the time to turn on a newscast. This is something he might remember.”

“ Thank you Natasha!” Clint said even as Tony snickered. 

“But why would he be there?” Bruce interjected as he injected a needle into Clint’s right arm. The archer sucked in a breath at the sudden stab and sent a little glare toward the doctor. “From what I’ve seen, the X-Men only show up to mutant-related crises. That doesn’t correlate.” 

“No, recently they’ve been doing more,” Natasha said. “Remember the earthquake a few weeks ago? They were seen pulling people out, and there was nothing mutant-related there.”

“Nothing proven,” Tony cut in. “These days you never know what’s a mutant problem and what’s not.”

Clint listened to them bicker as Bruce started binding up his arm. Half of his attention was on the pain, but most of his mind was occupied with the thought of the X-Men. He had to have been hearing things. His aids were totally jacked up, not to mention how out of sorts the whole fight had him. He was probably just imagining how young the man sounded. 

Bruce had just finished with his arm and started on his other injuries when Clint’s phone buzzed in his pocket. At this point Tony and Natasha had turned to some completely different topic, but both turned to look as he checked the caller ID. The name was simple, unmarked, nothing that would attention, and yet made Clint's heart jump in his chest. 

Laura.

“I gotta take this,” Clint said quickly. Bruce opened his mouth to protest, but Clint was already standing and heading toward the hallway.

“Ooh, someone’s got Barton in a hurry,” Tony called out. “Who is it? Fury? Your secret girlfriend?”

Clint rolled his eyes, turning back just long enough to catch Natasha’s knowing look. He grinned. “Something like that.”

Then he slipped out, his still-scratchy aids picking up Tony’s “totally his secret girlfriend” comment as he closed the door. Then all his focus was on the phone in his hands. As he looked he caught his breath, his mind racing. What was the date? Was it Wednesday already? Yes, according to his lockscreen, it was. And it was five o’clock too. He had lost track of the time. He meant to call Laura first, right when she got out of the doctor’s office. What was the time zone difference between Missouri and New York again? How late was he? 

He quickly realized that if he didn’t pick up the call was going to time out. He cursed under his breath and fumbled the “accept call” button, quickly pulling the phone to his ear as his heart hammered. “Hello? Laura?”

“Hey honey.” Even through the static of his broken hearing aids, his wife’s voice was like music. He didn’t hear it enough, what with missions for SHIELD and the Avengers keeping him away from home more often than he was there. But even as her voice made his lips twitch up in an involuntary smile, he felt his heart drop. She sounded tired— no, not tired, exhausted.

“Are you ok?” He asked quickly. “Are you done with your appointment already? I’m sorry, I meant to call but I just got back from a mission and you know how time zones mess me up—“

“I just finished...” Laura’s voice echoed over the static, and Clint instantly halted. She didn’t just sound exhausted, she sounded on the verge of tears. 

This was not the joyous call he was hoping for. 

“What’s the news?” Clint asked, and even though dread was building in his stomach he tried to force hope into his voice. “Is... is it good?”

“Clint...” She paused, her usually musical voice dry and raw. “No. No, it’s not good.”

Clint’s throat was dry. “Not good as in...”

“We’re not going to be able to have kids.”

Chapter Text

The good news about his broken arm was that he didn’t need any more excuse to get a few weeks off the grid. What good was an archer that couldn’t shoot? It was easy to get some time off to heal. Fury was the only one who needed the messy details. 

Laura’s third miscarriage. 

The realization had struck him to the core. It had sucked the breath from his lungs and left him shaking, his chest empty, his very soul aching with an emptiness that he could not fill. He had closed his eyes as he ended the phone call with his wife, and they had been dry and itchy in a way that seemed so adverse to the tears that he could feel in his heart; tears for a life that had been lost, for a son or daughter that he could never meet, a third attempt at the life they strove for gone with a heartbeat. It was painful, the aching grief that had engulfed him, that he had carried close to his chest as he made quick excuses to his teammates and booked the first flight to Iowa. 

He had hoped against hope that there was something to blame. Some sort of issue they could fix, some sort of problem they could solve, some sort of fight he could fight.

There was nothing. 

He couldn’t shoot his way out of this one. 

The doctors said it was nothing dangerous, nothing severe, nothing they could pinpoint. But it was dangerous to keep trying. “Some people just weren’t made to be parents” was their explanation. Clint had cursed them out for that. They were wrong ; Laura would make a great mother. The best. He couldn’t speak for himself, but he saw how loving she was to the chickens and the dog, how gentle she was with the plants she kept on the window sill and how wonderful she was with her friend Katie’s kids. The woman managed to even keep him in line, to keep him from getting himself killed. She had spoken about kids since the night they started dating. She was made to be a mother.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. 

They spent the week close together, not talking much, just taking in each other’s company and silently mourning what they never had. What they would never have. Laura was trying to be strong, to pretend she was ok, but there was a shadow over her that had started with her first miscarriage and had only grown darker since. At this point Clint was terrified that it would swallow her up, that it would suck out the sunshine from her eyes that was his only light in the darkness. Laura had saved him from himself in his darkest moments. He wanted desperately to pull her out of hers... but he had no idea how. This was a pain only a mother could face. 

He was a mess himself. The huge farmhouse that he loved so much seemed far too big and far too empty now that he realized there would never be little Bartons running down the halls. The four empty bedrooms would never be filled, the old barn would never be converted into a playroom, the kitchen fridge would never be home to little crayon and marker drawings the way that he had always envisioned. It all seemed so empty and cold… and if he was honest his heart felt the same way.

The worst part was that he felt like it was his fault. Something in his genes. Something in the life he lived, the past he had. Something about his own dad, how terrified he was that he would turn out the same way. Maybe fate was doing him a favor by not giving him the chance. 

Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a father.

He just wished that Laura didn’t have to suffer with him. 

Halfway through the second week he needed a distraction. He couldn’t dwell on it. He had to keep moving, just like he did through all the tragedies in his life. If he just focused on a target, the rest of the world would fade away. 

It was complete chance that he flicked on the TV just as the 3 o’clock news ran a segment on recent mutant incidents. It was chance that he turned from the fridge with his milk carton in hand just as they were showing a clip of the X-Men. 

Maybe it was because he had kids on his mind. Maybe it was because he had hardly slept the night before. But as he watched the blurry clip play he could have sworn he saw a little girl with a ponytail running through the background in the bright blue spandex. A little girl. A child . 

Clint nearly dropped the milk carton. He grabbed the remote, trying to rewind the broadcast, only to curse as he realized it was only cable TV and the news report had already moved on to a completely new section about a local coffee shop’s squirrel problem. 

But there was no doubt about that, right? That girl couldn’t have been an adult, right?

Was he really just imagining things?

He left the news on in the background and darted to the other room, where he grabbed his laptop before running back to sit at the kitchen counter. The news report played softly in the background as he booted up the computer. The minute it was loaded up, he did a quick google search for “X-Men”.

Like Natasha and Tony had said, there wasn’t much. Only a handful of instances showed actual confirmed appearances of the heroes and then, of course, there were another hundred or so that were probably fake. And photos were even harder to come by. The ones he was able to find were mostly grainy bits of security footage or amateur iPhone videos. But as he combed through them, the 3 o’clock news slowly turning into the 4 o’clock news and even the 5 o’clock news, he started to become more and more sure. It was little details, things that you wouldn’t see unless you looked for them. Even things that he could be making up. But in one shot it looked like one of the X-Men’s shoes was untied. In another one of them was standing next to a man he had saved, and the victim had to be at least a foot taller than the hero. In one video shot shakily from a rooftop down into an alleyway where the X-Men were scraping anti-mutant graffiti distant voices could be heard; definitely the voices of bickering children, whether they were the X-Men or not. 

Clint finally leaned back from his computer, his back starting to ache from hunching over the screen for so long. He paused for a moment, staring at all the tabs opened in his search bar. It wasn’t concrete evidence by any means. Fury would probably call him crazy. Natasha might too. Tony definitely would. 

Was he crazy? Did he just have kids on his mind?

He didn’t have kids on his mind when he talked to Cyclops. It was only a few short sentences, but he was still sure. 

He almost called Laura to ask her to double check him, to see if he was crazy, but he stopped himself. She was distracted, working in her garden and tending the chickens and slowly falling back into her regular routine. She had been doing better the past few days. He didn’t want to bring up the topic of kids in any way, just in case it hurt her all over again.

But as he stared at the screen at a grainy picture of three of the X-Men pulling people out of a supposedly mutant-caused fire, he just couldn’t shake the feeling. 

Laura was finding things to distract her. Maybe this could be what distracted him. 

Chapter Text

Helping an Avenger was a terrible idea.

Scott knew that the moment he and Kitty had noticed the fight. He had known the moment that they saw the tell-tale glint of Iron Man’s armor, just too late for them to back out. They should have left it alone. They were just walking home with groceries, a normal Wednesday excursion. They always passed the old Stark power plant on the way home. Sean always wanted to try flying around the tall, silver metal towers, and Scott always told him no. It was way too dangerous.

But not as dangerous as interrupting a fight with the Avengers.

He knew it was a terrible idea, and he tried to pull Kitty away. But she saw the tower shaking with the explosions, saw one of the Avengers throw himself off, and next thing Scott knew she was pulling him through the chain link fence and over to help, groceries forgotten on the ground behind them. They had their suits on under their civilian clothes of course. But it didn’t change the fact that it was an Avenger that they were helping. An Avenger, a group that Professor X had told them over and over again to avoid. A group that had the power to turn the public against them with one wrong move. A group that was better left completely out of their mission. 

It was a terrible idea, but he had done it anyway. Now there was nothing he could do but wait for the consequences. 

“Scott!”

Scott Summers was pulled from his thoughts by a shrill, high-pitched whine. There was a thump on the couch behind him and he turned to see a small, pale face popping over the top of the cushions, a brunette ponytail flopping over her forehead and her arms dangling over by his shoulder. Her bottom lip popped out and she turned big eyes on Scott as her arms pulled up to cross under her chin. 

“Sean stole the last waffle!”

Scott shifted on the couch, a small sigh leaving his lips as he turned to better face Kitty. The black eye had nearly faded at this point, which was good. He was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten a concussion, which was also good. Kitty really needed to get better at hanging back on missions. She needed way more practice before she was really ready for field work. He reached out, quickly flicking the ponytail from her face. “Did you tell him you wanted it?”

She nodded vigorously, the ponytail flopping right back in her face as she leaned farther over the back of the couch. “Uh huh! I had it on my plate! And he snatched it!”

“Are you sure he heard you?”

“He was standing right there! Kurt was halfway across the room and he heard me!”

“Did he apologize?”

Kitty stopped, frowning. “Well… I mean…”

Scott gave his little sister a knowing look. “Did you give him the chance to? Or did you come straight to me?”

She didn’t answer, her fingers twisting guiltily into the blue fabric of the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. Scott felt another sigh rumbling in his chest, but he bit it back and instead said Kitty’s name softly until she looked up at him. “Remember, no tattling. You have to try and work it out with each other first, then come to me. Understand?”

Kitty nodded begrudgingly, her bottom lip still stuck out in a pout. 

“Now, what are you going to do?” Scott prompted. 

“Go talk to Sean.”

“...And?”

“Tell him I’m sorry for tattling.”

Scott chuckled. “You don’t have to do that. But you do have to give him the chance to apologize, ok?”

She nodded, her pout fading a bit. “I can do that.”

“And are you still going to be mad if he apologizes?”

She shook her head, ponytail flopping with the movement. “He was mean, but that doesn’t mean I hafta be mean! I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Scott grinned and nodded. “Good job.”

Kitty beamed at the praise and promptly dropped from the back of the couch and out of Scott’s eyesight. He could hear the patter of her feet as she charged to the kitchen, hopefully to make up with Sean. With any luck, it would be a painless resolution. Kitty was usually the best at these kinds of things; quick to get upset and demand retribution, but also quick to recognize her mistakes and quick to forgive others. He was just thankful it wasn’t Warren and Sean fighting. That wouldn’t be resolved so peacefully. 

Now that Kitty was gone, suddenly the weight of the argument settled on him. The actual argument was childish and simple, nothing to be surprised by. Of course they would argue. But the fact that it was over their last frozen waffle… that was something he hadn’t picked up on fully until the end of the conversation.

He groaned, slumping back against the couch as his eyes squeezed shut tight, tight enough that he was able to move his visor up and rub between his eyes. The pounding force of his power echoed the pounding force of his rising headache. They would need to get groceries again soon. He had been trying to put it off as long as he could after their last outing, but no matter how slow he was cautioning everyone to go, it seemed like food was disappearing. So were their savings. 

The amount of money they had left was concerning. Scott was doing his best, but he knew that they could not last for much longer on what they had. Feeding six people was almost impossible, especially growing kids… what would they do once the money was gone? Scott knew he needed to get a job, but he was the only one legally able to. And if he was working, who would watch over his siblings? And even if he was working, how on earth would he make enough to sustain the six of them?

The questions weighed on his shoulders, heavy and tangible, the sort of heavy that made his chest seize up and his head pound harder…

“Yah ok, Scott?”

Scott quickly shoved his visor back in place with a start. He pressed it close to his face, made sure the seal was tight and solid, and still hesitated a moment before cracking his eyes open. The lenses tinted the living room red, and he let out a soft sigh of relief as he glanced up at Rogue. She was curled up in one of the armchairs across from him, one of Sean’s Rubix cubes in her gloved hands. The cube had almost one full side solved, but the rest was in complete disarray. It probably hadn’t been solved since it was bought, and it had been in the house longer than any of them had. The red head quirked an eyebrow at him through her white bangs, her lips pursed as she studied him with a critical eye. “‘Cause yah don’t look good.”

Scott cleared his throat, quickly shaking his head. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Rogue snorted, her eyes turning back to the Rubix cube as she made a few moves. “Yah think too much.”

Scott chuckled, hoping it sounded less forced than it felt. Rogue was right, in some ways. But who else was there to think about it? Kitty was way too young. So was Kurt. Sean was getting older, but he was still immature— half the time he caused the things that needed to be thought through. And Warren? Well, that was a big no-go; the boy was still way too much of a wild card, way too new to their group for Scott to put any of that trust in him. So that left him and Rogue, and Scott was the older of them. He was the first one Professor X took in. He had to do the thinking. 

It was his duty as the leader.

Helping an Avenger was a terrible idea, but there was no way to change it. No matter how much Scott wanted to change it. It had happened, and there was no going back. He just had to hope that it slipped back under the radar. He had to hope that Hawkeye forgot about the encounter, that he didn't care enough to think about it any further. He had to hope so, because Scott could hardly think of the consequences. Not now, when he had so many other things to occupy his mind. 

He just had to hope that he would never see the Avenger again.

Chapter Text

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, aren’t you Nat?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, nonchalantly raising a cup of tea to her lips. The steam wafted up from the mug, twisting in her red curls. Clint couldn’t understand how she could stand drinking it like that. She had just poured the water from the kettle, water that was literally boiling as it hit her cup; how could anyone survive drinking it that hot? “I’ve thought you were crazy for years Clint. I doubt you can do anything to surprise me.”

“I don’t know whether to feel reassured or offended,” Clint said honestly. 

She shrugged, setting her tea down for a moment to stir it. “So, what is it? What did you have to drag me down here for? And more importantly—” she gestured pointedly toward the backyard before taking another sip of tea. “— what was so important that your wife couldn't hear about it?”

Clint sighed, running his hand through his hair, his fingers tapping idly on his computer keys. In his head, telling Natasha his theory sounded easy. When he had called her asking her to come to the farm when she had a day off, he had thought it would be easy. But now, face to face with his friend… yeah, he was definitely going to sound crazy.

“So…” he started slowly, the word let out with a long huff of air as he prepared himself. “You know the X-Men?”

“Yes.”

“The ones we were talking about a few weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“The ones I saw at the power plant fight?”

“Still not completely sure about that, but yes.”

“Well…” Clint leaned back in his chair, the wood scrapping the tile as he tilted the legs in the way Laura hated. “I think they’re kids.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t change. She just watched him over the rim of her mug, her eyebrow quirking up ever so slightly as she took another long sip of burning water. Did she even have taste buds left in her mouth? Had she burned them away through years of practiced tea drinking? “Kids.”

Clint nodded, trying to determine how crazy she thought he was. “Yep.”

“As in under 18,” she said slowly, setting her mug down as she did. “Children.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“You know they broke up a bar fight last month?”

“Protecting that new mutant pop singer, Dazzler.” Clint nodded, his mouth quirking up in a wiry smirk. “I turned on the news a few times.”

Natasha nodded, and Clint thought he saw a flash of respect in her eyes. Or maybe it was just surprise that he had actually done research for once. “So,” she said calmly, stirring her tea with a spoon as she kept a careful eye on him. “What leads you to believe that these heroes— who have been stopping gang violence, street crime, and bar fights for months— are underage?”

“Cyclop’s voice,” Clint said quickly. “When I saw him that first time. You know—“ 

“—At the power plant fight, yes.” Natasha cut in. “Clint, your hearing isn’t exactly the most reliable source…”

“Which is why I dug deeper,” Clint said. He turned his computer to face Natasha, the photos and news reports he had pulled up scattered across the page. “They’re tiny, Tasha. And their fighting style… it doesn’t seem like an adult’s.”

Natasha frowned, her sharp gaze running critically over the pictures. “Clint, these are awful. You can’t tell anything from these.”

“They’re the best I could find. And you know I can Tasha. My hearing may be crap, but you know why they call me Hawkeye.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “You’re serious about this.”

Her tone was intense, the sort of intense that Clint could easily pick up from working with her for so long. It makes his next words feel heavier, as if they carried weight and gravity. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Her gaze does not waver. “Clint, this… this is a big accusation.”

“I know.”

“There’s no real proof.”

“I know.”

She hesitated, frowning, as if deciding whether or not she should say her next sentence. “...Clint, are you sure this isn’t just a product of…”

“ No. ” Clint said firmly. “No, I promise you it’s not.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his with that piercing gaze that Clint always swore could see into his soul. It was sharp, truth-seeking… and Clint was sure he could see a hint of pity in it.

“Tasha, I promise you. It’s not that.” He slumped forward in his chair, the legs hitting the ground a little too hard as he braced his elbows on the table. His hand ran through his sandy blonde hair and he let out a sigh. He was right… right? This had nothing to do with him and Laura, what they could or couldn’t do. He had come up with this suspicion long before hearing the news. This was different. This was separate. 

But of course, nothing was completely separate. He knew that, he had to admit that. “I would be talking to her about this, honestly. But… I can’t bring up kids right now. I just can’t.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked to the kitchen window, and Clint followed her gaze. Outside Laura was feeding the chickens, a basket of eggs in one hand and a bag of feed in the other. She was laughing, her face split in a smile as one of the hens pecked at her sandals. Clint’s gaze lingered on her, lingered on every detail of her smile, the way she moved as she bent down to move the shoo the chicken away, the way her lips puckered as she clucked teasingly at it. She was beautiful. She was happy. He couldn’t do anything to disrupt that.

He turned back to Natasha after a moment longer. Her eyes were already fixed back on him, watching him closely. The sharp, discerning eyes of a friend. Of a person he could trust with anything. “Call me crazy Nat, but I think I know what I’m talking about.”

Natasha watched him for another moment, her eyes searching his. Then they dropped back to the computer screen in front of her. She reached out and took another long, scorching sip of tea. “What if you are right? What then?”

There it was. The big question. Past the first layer of doubt, past the craziness of the suggestion. On to what to do. Did he have an answer for that?

He took a deep breath, his hand running through his hair again. “If I’m right… we need to find them.”

She quirked an eyebrow again. “We?”

“Yes. Please Nat, I’m not capable enough to figure this out on my own. Stark won’t want to help, Bruce is busy, Steve wouldn’t know how to even if he wanted to, Thor is who-knows-where, and Fury would have agents swarming over this in seconds. I don’t want that. I just want to get to the bottom of this.”

She stirred her tea again, her gaze lingering on the rising steam for a moment, watching it drift slowly into the air. The wisps of vapor dissipated slowly, leaving white trails traced through the air for a few seconds before they were erased and overtaken by new strands. Her hair fell across her shoulders, her brow crunched ever so slightly in decision as she watched the steam.

“You’re right about one thing,” she said slowly. “You’re not capable enough to figure it out yourself.”

Clint nodded. “Again, not sure whether to feel reassured or offended.”

“If they are kids, they could get themselves seriously hurt.”

“Unless someone stops them.”

“And if I say yes?” She turned her eyes back to him, pinning him to the spot with her contemplative gaze. “What’s our first move?”

“Find them,” Clint said simply, matching her stare. “They show up at almost any mutant-related crime. We keep an eye out, meet them there. Or find a pattern in their sightings, triangulate it back to a home base. You’re good at that.”

She held his gaze for another moment, her hands cupped around her tea and her eyes bearing the heat of it. Clint held steady, refusing to break contact. He needed Natasha in on this. He couldn’t do it himself, he would think he’s going crazy. But if she could see it too, if she could help him find real evidence… then they had to do something. He couldn’t back down from that.

“Fine.” The word was simple, but it was a blessing to Clint. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He could feel some of the tension leaving his body, relief setting in. And the timing could not have been more perfect— just as Natasha uttered the end of her sentence, the sound of the back door opening echoing through the house. No more talking about kids, not around Laura. But that was fine. Clint had what he needed.

He had an ally.

Chapter Text

His arm was healed and he was back on the job, but Clint’s mind was far from the field. 

The more he dug into this case, the more he found himself digging. He had gone down hundreds of internet holes looking for information about the X-Men, usually coming up with nothing. He found plenty of names, plenty of possible members of the group, but almost no confirmation that they actually existed. He scoured missing persons cases across the city, but who was to say they were from New York? The city or the state? And the amount of brown-haired teen boys that had disappeared over the past few years… Well, it wasn’t exactly a small number. 

Once he had started down the rabbit hole, it had taken over his thoughts. The X-Men were a mystery, one that was frustratingly impossible to crack. From members that had been clearly made up by the press to incidents that he heard about but never appeared in the news, every lead that he thought he had ended up in a dead end. From an agent whose job description often involved information gathering and infiltration, the lack of answers was becoming quickly infuriating. And yet, at the same time, every lack of information made him even more determined to pull together the truth. 

It was bordering on obsessive at this point, he knew, but he couldn’t make himself stop. Half of the time, he thought he was stupid. He considered abandoning it, the sheer lack of proof glaring him in the face. But the other half he just knew. These were kids. He was sure of it.

Half of the time , at least.

It was even starting to distract him on missions. Not so much that Fury or Hill would notice in the reports, but enough that Natasha would throw him a knowing glance or Tony would make a joke about “hawk vision, ostridge focus”. He couldn’t help it. He felt like he was keeping an eye out everywhere, expecting a costumed crime fighter to leap into the fray every time he was fighting the villain-of-the-week, every time he passed a dark alley corner, every time he flicked on the news. He was always looking.

He was so busy looking that he almost missed them.

“Clint, are you coming?”

The archer grunted a little, rubbing his eyes as he leaned back from his computer screen. It was the middle of the afternoon on a dreary, wet Tuesday and he was in the middle of— yet another— deep internet hole of X-Men theories. Well, it was originally about the X-Men, at least. At this point it had completely spiraled away. He pulled himself away from the screen to look up at Steve as the question hung in the air. “Coming for what?” 

“We just had a distress call phoned in to SHIELD,” Steve explained. Clint could see him tightening the straps for his shield against his bright blue sleeve. They really needed to get his suit updated or something, that spandex couldn’t offer much protection. Then again, it wasn’t like the super soldier needed it. “Some civil disturbance down at one of the old factories.”

“In this weather?” Clint grumbled, glancing out one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows on the common floor. The rain smacked heavily against the panes, and Clint wrinkled his nose at the thought of leaving the warm, dry tower. “Isn’t that a little below our pay rate?”

“We don’t get paid,” Bruce chimed in from his spot curled in an armchair across the room, his nose buried in a book. Clint felt a flash of pride at the scientist’s comedic timing and let out a good-natured groan.

“Right. I forget that wonderful detail.”

“There was a report of powered individuals on the premises. Fury wanted one of us to check it out,” Steve said, already striding toward the elevator. “Stark is in a meeting, Natasha is on a mission… I don’t need the backup, but it would be nice to have.”

Clint let out a huff, glancing down at the computer screen in front of him. The twelve tabs he had open glared back at him. If he was honest, he was making no headway. The words from articles were all blending together, and the internet hole he had gone down at this point had strayed from the X-Men and more into meme territory. He would have to try and make sure Nat didn’t see his search history; there were a couple pictures of her face edited onto a spider’s body that he was going to have to use for a prank at some point. But besides that, he hadn’t found anything useful in… was it hours or days at this point? Maybe even weeks? What exactly qualified as useful anyway?

With a small sigh he shut the laptop, shoved it to the side and stood up, stretching as he did. Maybe a quick mission would give him a chance to clear his mind. Otherwise his brain was going to melt out onto the keyboard. He didn’t feel up to cleaning that mess. 

Steve waited impatiently as he took five minutes to throw on his “work uniform” and— much more importantly— grab his bow. Then the two made their way down to the garage level. Stark’s garage was always an impressive sight, but the pair ignored his flashy sports cars with only a slight protest from Clint and instead settled on a simple, silver Honda Civic. Nice and low key, which was more important in this case no matter how nice the Jaguars looked. From there it only took about ten minutes with Steve driving to get from the tower to the spot where the alert was sent from. Honestly, Steve was a somewhat reckless driver, and it made Clint glad that the rain had driven at least a few New Yorkers inside. It pelted against the windows as he strapped on his gloves and boots, already regretting his decision. Steve could probably handle whatever this was, and he would much rather be sprawled out on the couch doing research or just looking through the Internet than be out in this yuck. He would even pick up a book . It had to have been months since he read a real book.

But instead, he was stepping out of the car into the pelting rain outside of a creepy old abandoned factory that looked like it should have been a set for a medical horror show. Yes, definitely the place he wanted to be. 

“So what exactly are we doing here?” Clint grumbled as he followed Steve into the factory. He was immensely thankful for an excuse to get out of the rain, even if the shadowed facility smelled like stale disinfectant and something burnt. 

“I told you, it was a civil disturbance report. Someone a block away or so saw what looked like evidence of a powered individual down here, or at least a fight. That’s what Fury told me.” 

They ducked under a thick steel beam, and Clint frowned “And did Fury tell you what that evidence was? What we might be up against?”

“Nope.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

The pair made their way deeper into the abandoned factory, rain still pouring outside. Clint could see drips of condensation forming on the walls, droplets dripping from what seemed like hundreds of leaks in the ceiling. No wonder this place was abandoned. However, there was no dust as far as Clint could see, and scrapes on the floor and some boxes piled in the corner indicated that the factory may have been vacated fairly recently. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing… well, it was probably safe to assume it was a bad thing.

“Fury said something about them moving facilities due to gang violence,” Steve said, shrugging a bit as he stepped over a thick metal pipe. “That was months ago though. At least, from what Fury said.”

“What company was it?” Clint asked, glancing around the dank building. “It looks like a supervillain brand if I had to guess.”

“Not sure,” Steve said, completely ignoring Clint’s quip. The archer rolled his eyes, almost stumbling over a hole in the ground before catching himself. “But as far as I know this has nothing to do with the previous owners. It’s unoccupied now, and—“

Before Steve could finish his thought a shot echoed through the building. A gunshot . Voices echoed after it, muffled under the rain. The two heroes exchanged a glance, and then Steve was taking off in the direction of the sound, Clint on his heels. Because, of course, when you hear gunfire the best thing to do is to run straight toward it . The amount of times Clint found himself doing just that would make some people think he had a death wish. In all honesty, he might.

They burst out of a side door, and suddenly the shouting was loud enough that even Clint could hear it over the pounding rain. There was definitely a group of figures tousling in the alleyway outside the factory, but Clint was instantly distracted by a bright flash of red light. He ducked and lept out of the way as the laser beam slashed through the bricks behind him and cursed wildly while fumbling with his bow. He should have gone up to the rafters to snipe, why in the world had he stayed on the ground floor? What was he thinking? 

The rain made his fingers and the bowstring slick, but he managed to get an arrow knocked. He pulled the bow back, his arms steady as the string went taut. His eyes sliced through the air, sharp and focused as he kept an eye out for another attack. However, he quickly realized that the laser must have been a misfire. The fighters didn’t seem at all interested in him; they were too busy fighting each other. The odds seemed to be three on two, wait no, at least four on three. It was hard to tell with everyone moving and fighting how many there were, let alone who was on what side. The rain didn’t help, in fact it had gotten worse in the few minutes he and Steve were in the building. It pounded down on his back and clouded his vision, making it even more difficult to make out the members of the brawl. But there was one thing he could be sure of; at least some of the fighters had powers, and were using them. 

At least they weren’t out here for nothing. 

Clint glanced to his side, trying to figure out what Steve’s plan was. But the super soldier was nowhere to be seen… nope, scratch that, he was somewhere; the middle of the fight. Clint let out a noise of frustration— for the guy who’s always telling Tony to make a plan first, Steve Rodgers really had no self preservation skills. 

Then again, Clint was not one to talk about self preservation.

With a groan, Clint shoved his arrow back in his quiver and slung his bow over his back. He had no idea what side they were supposed to be fighting for here, and there was too much going on for him to be able to guarantee hitting the right people. Mostly because he had no idea who the right people were. So he settled for fists and feet, and followed Steve’s lead of throwing himself straight into the fight. He quickly zeroed in on a big-looking guy who was towering over a much smaller, more wiry man. The big guy looked ready to deal an intense blow, so Clint just followed his instincts and barreled into the man. He staggered, his attention turning from the little guy to Clint… who was now realizing that maybe he had made a bad move. 

“Hey,” Clint said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the rain. Banter was good. Banter tended to help out in fights, especially when he had no idea who he was fighting for. “Hawkeye here, card-carrying Avenger. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Wanna fill me in on what’s going on?”

The big guy growled, somehow drawing himself up even taller as he prepared to punch Clint. But before he could he was blasted by a bright red flash of light. He let out a shriek and stumbled back as Clint’s attention was pulled to the man he had just saved moments before. He was a small, wiry man with long limbs covered in blue spandex, wet brown hair dripping over a weird gold visor over his eyes…

“Holy…” Clint muttered, his brain churning at a million miles an hour. “Cyclops?”

Clint was sure he heard the man curse, but it was lost under the static of the rain. “What are you doing here? ”

“Saving you, it looks like,” Clint said. As he did he pulled out an arrow, quickly knocking and pulling it back before sending it flying into the enraged bad guy’s leg— at least he hoped the big guy was the bad guy. Otherwise he just put a nice dude in the hospital and was going to have some serious issues with the X-Men down the road. “Think we’re even now?”

“I had that , I didn’t need help!” The boy’s voice was shaking with anger, and suddenly Clint was never more sure. The kid wasn’t trying as hard to be formal and intense like he had at the power plant fight. He was full of adrenaline, fighting for his life, angry, and that young voice was showing right through.

Before Clint could think of something to say suddenly a weight slammed into his back. He grunted as he was slammed to the ground, sharp fists pummeling his back. He dimly heard shouting, but was too busy throwing off the person on his back to tell what they were saying. He twisted around, loosening their hold as he used a move Natasha had shown him to slam the other person to the ground and roll on top of them— it was a move that typically worked great against grown men. What he wasn’t expecting was for a wing to hit him in the face halfway through the roll. He grunted and misjudged the move so that he ended up a few feet away from the two men. He took the chance to leap to his feet, only to find his attacker already standing and arguing with Cyclops. Clint hadn’t been making it up— the guy had wings, two giant white wings that flared as he spoke to the X-Man. Actually, he was wearing the blue spandex too… in fact, Clint was pretty sure he had seen pictures of this guy…

“Angel?” He said cautiously. The winged mutant whirled around, his blonde hair slick against his skull as he glared at the Avenger.

“You got a problem, sir? ”

“Don’t worry about it Angel, I’ve got this!” Cyclops shouted sharply. He gestured to something behind Clint. “Go help Banshee!”

Angel looked like he was about to argue, but a shout across the battlefield drew his attention. No, not a shout. That was a scream, a scream so sharp that Clint thought his hearing aids were about to short circuit. Angel cursed wildly and then his wings were slashing out against the rain, sweeping him up into the air and over the heads of the other men. Clint caught a glance of at least two of the bigger guys knocked out on the ground, a third and possibly the last one locked in a grapple with Steve. Next to them a crying child— no, judging by the blue suit a crying X-Man— was crouched on the ground holding his leg. 

A shot of adrenaline surged through Clint and he moved to follow Angel, but Cyclops stepped into his way. The kid— he had to be at least a teenager, but no older than that— had his arms crossed and Clint got the distinct impression that he was glaring at him despite the fact that the boy’s eyes were completely covered. 

“Hey, kid, listen,” Clint said firmly. “We’re here to help you, ok?”

“We don’t need help.” If Clint had thought Cyclop’s voice was angry before, now it was furious. The boy seemed to notice though because he paused and took a deep breath. When he spoke again Clint noticed that he had forced his voice to steady, to sound deeper. “We are the X-Men. We take care of our own.”

“Right, right, I don’t doubt that,” Clint said, even though he highly doubted the ability of kids to take care of each other. “But your buddy needs help. Banshee, right?” Clint tried to crane his neck to see the kid, but both Cyclops and the fight were in the way. “He looks like he’s hurt, we can get him help.”

“I already told you, we don’t need help .” Cyclops insisted. He took a step closer to Clint, a move that was probably supposed to be intimidating, but the fact that he was a decent bit shorter than Clint made it less effective. “We fight our own battles. You just need to stay out of them.”

Clint was about to argue, to say something quick-witted, to ask the kid how old he was or at least something , but he wasn’t fast enough. Before he could speak the last of the big bad guys fell at Steve’s punch. At the same moment Angel lifted Banshee up into the air, his broad white wings beating against the rain. Steve moved to intercept the kids, but Angel kicked him away and flew out of reach, the two of them disappearing over the top of the factory. Clint whipped around to face Cyclops again, only to see that the boy was already running away from him. He let out a shout and started to give chase, but the kid was already inside the factory and by the time Clint managed to make it through the doorway to follow, the leader of the X-Men had disappeared. 

Clint stopped, breathing heavily. The fight had been short, but it was really his surprise that took the wind from him. The X-Men showed up. He actually saw them again. He wasn’t somehow making up what happened at the power plant. They were really out here, fighting crime, getting hurt. 

Only a second after Clint entered the building Steve was beside him. The super soldier never really seemed to be out of breath, but the rising and falling of his chest was definitely a bit heavier than it usually was. There was a dim bit of bruising forming on his left arm, but Clint knew that the man probably could hardly feel it. Like Clint, it was probably more the surprise than anything as his blue eyes scoured the factory floor before turning to focus on the other man.

“Clint. Those were—“

“Kids.” Clint sucked in a shaky breath as he ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Yeah. They’re kids.”

Chapter Text

The rain was still pounding two days later when Clint found himself in Natasha’s room, his bow still in his hands from a training session with Steve. He had spent the last forty eight hours trying to talk the super soldier down from talking to Fury about the mutant heroes... a mission in which he just barely succeeded. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Fury of course, it was just… he couldn’t quite trust Fury with this. Not yet, at least. Not until he had made contact with the kids for real. Not until he was sure they wouldn’t scare them off. Then they would need Fury, of course. But first they had to find the kids. 

He just hoped that Natasha had good news.

“How’d the mission go?” Clint asked, flopping unceremoniously into one of the two chairs in Natasha’s room, his bow propped up against it haphazardly. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her hair half done in a braid that she was working on. One of her feet was propped up slightly on a pillow and wrapped in surgical gauze. Bruce had said it wasn’t broken, just a bruised bone. Whatever that meant, she still was supposed to stay off her feet for a while; hence why it was Clint barging into her room and not the other way around. 

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. “You know how it went. You heard the report this morning.”

“Well yeah, ” Clint smirked. “But you know the official report always has to be tweaked.” 

“Like how your outing with Steve the other day was a bust?” She shifted slightly, eyes on her hair as she twisted the red curls into a braid. “That you were too late to see anything?”

Clint’s smirk just deepened. “Exactly.”

Natasha hummed a reply, her fingers twisting expertly in her hair. It wasn’t even a normal braid, as Clint quickly noticed. It was one of those complicated fish-tail braids or something. And yet it looked flawless as she finished it up, tied it off and flipped it over her shoulder. “So maybe that two hundred thousand that ended up in the river didn’t exactly end up in the river.”

“Oh?” Clint propped his elbow on the armrest of the chair, grinning as he rested his chin on his palm. “And what may or may not have happened to the money that is definitely currently decorating some fish’s home?”

“Well, I can’t tell you for sure, of course,” Natasha winked. “But there may be a chance that the small businesses who were being ripped off by the boating scheme could have gotten a little bonus for their troubles.”

Clint let out a little whistle. “Now, if only that could have happened.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice?” Natasha shifted again, doing her best to reposition herself so that her leg was still propped up while she reached to grab a stack of papers on her desk. Clint started to move forward to help her, but by the time he had stood up she was holding the papers comfortably and smirking at him. “Well, as much as I like catching up, you know I asked you to come in here for something else.”

“ More like hoping.” Clint let out a breath and slumped back against the chair. “I’m getting nowhere with this. I saw them the other day Nat, and I swear Cyclops can’t be older than sixteen. Not even, I don’t think. And Angel, he was right there with him, he had to be fifteen, maybe even…” 

“Fourteen?”

Clint looked up as Natasha pulled a piece of paper from her stack. She held it out and Clint pulled his chair closer to the bed so he could take it from her. It was a screenshot of a web page he was pretty sure, though the search bar and other elements had been cropped out by the printer. He could see a bar that indicated scrolling on the side of the paper, and the words cut off at the bottom to indicate more text somewhere. But it wasn’t the words that drew his attention. It was the large picture in the top left corner. A picture of a soot-streaked, glowering child. There was a little text below it that said it was taken four years ago, when the subject was ten…

“That’s him,” Clint said, his mind reeling with shock. “That has to be him… I mean, how many kids have—“

“Wings?” Natasha finished for him. Clint nodded wordlessly, staring at the image. There was no denying it. Clint may have only seen the boy for a few minutes, but that was plenty for him to be sure that the boy he met and the boy in the image were the same. They both had the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, the same freaking wings… and beyond that, almost even more striking was the expression. The anger contained in that tiny, dirt streaked face. It was shocking, and it looked just like the yelling boy he had seen just two nights before. 

“Nat,” he breathed, almost overwhelmed by the evidence, the physical proof in his hands. “Where on Earth did you find this?”

“Child Protective Services,” Natasha explained simply. 

“How? I looked through all the available files in New York…” 

“They only have the unadopted kids on file for the public to see,” Natasha said. “Luckily, it’s easier to access restricted web pages when in the middle of uncharted waters. CPS was hardly the hardest hacking I’ve ever done.”

“But that had to be thousands of kids,” Clint started. 

“It was. I cross-referenced confirmed X-Gene status and then looked for the things you sent me.” Natasha gestured to the rest of the stack sitting on the edge of her bed. “I still had a hundred or so results, but thankfully Warren was easy to pick out.”

Warren. That was the first name they had gotten so far. Now that Clint took the time to slow down and look back at the paper he saw the name in bold print under the picture. Warren ??? . There were literal question marks on the file. Clint frowned.

“No last name?”

“Nope. CPS picked him up when he was ten, and he apparently refused to tell them. No DNA records either.”

“Well where was he for the first ten years of his life?”

“No one knows, but probably nowhere good,” Natasha admitted. “His time in the system was rough too, with such a visible mutation. It didn’t help that he almost ended up in juvie multiple times.”

Clint reached out and quickly picked up the rest of the papers Natasha had out. He flipped quickly through the files, glancing at the images as he did. There were plenty of kids, plenty of mutant kids, but he was hoping that maybe somewhere amid all the faces he would find one that he recognized… and then suddenly his eyes fell on one that stood out to him, a brown-haired boy with crossed arms and a familiar defensive stance. His eyes were covered by a swath of white bandages, and Clint was almost positive.

“Scott Summers,” he read off breathlessly. He flipped through the rest of the papers quickly, just to make sure there was nothing obvious that he missed, but there were only a few other brown-haired boys and none of them carried the same aura that this young kid had. “That’s got to be him. Cyclops.”

“You’re sure?” Natasha was watching him closely, her eyes taking on that intensity that they always did whenever she was serious. “You think that’s him?”

“Obviously I’m not positive , but I’d say…” Clint trailed off, humming before continuing. “Eighty five percent sure. At least.”

Natasha nodded quickly, reaching forward to grab the file from him. “I thought you might say that.”

“Really?” Clint gave her a disbelieving look as he flipped through the stack of papers again. “There’s at least forty kids in here. How’d you know I’d think it was him?”

“I didn’t know, I just had a suspicion,” Natasha retorted. “For one, Scott and Cyclops’ powers seem to line up from the descriptions. He would be about fourteen now, so the timeline matches up.”

Fourteen. That was even younger than Clint had been thinking. The thought of fighting with a fourteen year old kid…  

“But most of all, it’s because there’s a similarity.”

Clint perked up at that. “A similarity?” 

“Between Scott and Warren’s files.” Natasha flipped both papers over and looked at them a moment before nodding to herself and turning them to Clint. “Both of them were pulled from the foster care system.”

“Alright,” Clint said, his eyes scanning the information on the back of the sheets to find what Natasha was getting at. “That’s good, I guess…”

Then he saw it. The name of the guy who had adopted the two problematic mutants. 

Professor Charles Xavier.

“They got picked up by the same guy,” he breathed as the realization hit him.

“It’s not a guarantee,” Natasha said. “But it's a pretty solid lead.”

“It’s more than just solid,” Clint said, excitement already building. There was an address listed on the files, a “school for gifted youngsters” that Xavier had supposedly enrolled both kids in. This was a huge lead. This could be where the kids were, where the X-Men were stationed. Xavier could be the guy behind all of this. 

“I think I’m going to pay the Professor here a visit.”

Chapter Text

Sean was screaming. 

It wasn’t a normal scream, a scream of excitement or a scream from the middle of a training session. It was a scream of pure, utter agony. The towel in his mouth managed to muffle most of it, but it wouldn’t hold up long. 

“Almost there, bud,” Scott muttered, his fists clenching as he watched tears leak from his little brother’s screwed-shut eyes. His fingers dug into his skin, but the pain felt secondary to the muffled screaming. He hated it. He hated seeing Sean, seeing any of his family in pain. No matter how much he was supposed to lead them, no matter how much he was supposed to be the strong one, seeing them hurt tore him apart. Out in the field they were teammates and the most important thing was completing the mission with everyone in one piece. But the moment they stepped foot back inside the Institute, Sean was just his little brother again. And now Sean was hurt because of his leadership, his distraction.

It was fitting that watching hurt him so much. At least he could share a little bit of his brother’s insurmountable pain.

“Hol’ on Sean, ah’m almost done,” Rogue said calmly. Scott had no idea how she managed to stay so calm every time. In the heat of battle it was one thing to keep a level head, but this? At home? Through her brother’s screams? How she was keeping it together was beyond him. He felt like Sean’s screams might shatter him at any moment.

But he couldn’t. He was the big brother. He was supposed to be unbreakable. He had to stay strong so that Sean could stay strong.

“Scott, get another towel,” Rogue commanded. Scott nodded, breaking from his trance to grab another of the towels they had lying nearby. The one in Sean’s mouth was frayed, almost completely torn through. They couldn’t afford for his sonic screams to shatter another window in the house. Plus, it kept him from biting off his own tongue. 

Rogue pulled back and stopped her work as Scott stepped up beside Sean. The younger boy was still crying, but he choked back his screams as Scott approached. The older boy gently took the frayed towel as Sean released it and tried to give the injured boy a reassuring smile. 

“You’re doing great, Sean,” Scott murmured. “You’re strong. We’re almost done.”

Sean gave him a wobbly smile and a weak thumbs up. Despite himself, Scott could feel his smile deepen marginally. The kid really was brave. Scott wished he had some sort of pain meds to give him, but they just didn’t. This was how it had to be. He was thankful that Sean was able to handle it as well as he was. He offered the boy a drink of water that he gulped down shakily before opening his mouth so Scott could put the fresh towel in. The boy bit down on it, his face set with determination as his teeth dug into the brown fabric. Scott made sure he was secure, then turned and nodded to Rogue.

“This should be the last set,” she reassured him. Scott nodded one more time, and then Rogue went back to work. Sean’s fists clenched and he threw his head back, his screams already ripping into the towel as the needle once again plunged into his flesh. The gash was long, maybe the longest any of them had received yet. It wasn’t even from an enemy; just a piece of barbed wire in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the man had meant to shove Sean into it, maybe not, but the injury was going to scar for sure. Scott kept telling Sean how cool it would be— his own battle scar, one of his first. He just wished it had been in a more worthwhile fight. He wished it hadn’t happened at all.

His fingers dug a bit harder into his palms, the sharp bit of pain mingling with the regret that was heavy on his mind. They shouldn’t have gone down. They had been to the Hope factory hundreds of times while it was open and operational. Why would they find anything new now that it was closed and cleared out? He should have known that they would be found by someone else instead. 

And of course, it wasn’t just the gang that found them. 

The memory made Scott’s teeth ground against each other, his fists clenching as he remembered the expression on Hawkeye’s face. He stared at the wall, the sound of Sean’s suffering grating at his ears as he thought again about the battle just a few hours before. Post-fight adrenaline still pulsed through his veins, and he wished for the hundredth time that he had just kept his team home for the night. 

One encounter with the Avengers was bad enough. But two times , talking to the same Avenger … And the way Hawkeye had spoken, it was almost like he knew them. At least, better than he had the first time. What if he had done research? What if he was looking into them? What if he was trying to— 

“There.” Rogue sat back, an air of finality around her as she snipped the thread connected to Sean’s leg. The excess fell away, leaving in its wake a long, red gash that was now covered in neat stitch marks. Scott felt his shoulders relax a fraction. The fact that Rogue knew had to sew was a blessing to them all. He couldn’t imagine what they would do without her patching them up. She reached over, grabbing the bottle of alcohol that they kept for injuries before pouring it as gently as she could over the freshly stitched wound. Sean let out one last muffled, blood-curdling scream before falling back, exhausted, against the bathtub. Rogue turned on the water so she could start cleaning up the blood, but Scott found himself momentarily distracted by the contents of the alcohol bottle. It was nearly empty. They had maybe one bottle left… yet another thing they would have no way to replace. 

Scott shoved all of his thoughts aside, turning his attention to what was most important. He once again crouched next to the tub and gently removed the towel from Sean’s mouth. The younger boy gasped, panting slightly as the fire in his leg burned on. It could start healing now, but it was still going to hurt, Scott knew. It was going to hurt for a long time. But Sean was brave, and even now he was already trying on a weak smile.

“T…That was k-kinda cool.”

Scott chuckled and gently ruffled the little boy’s curly hair. “You did great Sean. Really, really great.”

“Can I have ice cream now?” Sean asked, looking up at Scott with wide, pleading eyes.

“As soon as Doctor Rogue declares you safe to move,” Scott forced a teasing note into his voice as he turned to his sister. She gave him a bit of a look, but nodded all the same. 

“Y’all are clear. Yah did great Sean, yah deserve that recovery ice cream,” Rogue said, a small smile on her pale face. 

The kid grinned happily at that, and Scott went about helping him up and out of the tub. It was painful, surely, but thankfully Sean did not scream again. They all knew how badly that could turn out. After wrapping Sean’s injured leg in one of the many newly tattered towels they now had, Scott promised Rogue that he would be back to help clean up the mess and then helped Sean to the living room. The moment they stepped foot across the threshold they were met with a hero’s welcome composed of Kitty and Kurt. The two littler ones were cheering from the back of the sofa, their faces split in wide grins as Sean triumphantly limped in. 

“Good work little man,” Warren said, genuinely smiling at Sean from his spot sprawled out in one of the overstuffed arm chairs. 

Sean puffed up a bit with the onslaught of encouragement. “Thanks! It’s gonna leave the best scar!”

That was met with a chorus of chatter from Kitty and Kurt, both of whom were eager to see the new injury, and Sean who was eager to show it off. Scott chuckled as he fended off the two curious kids, and tried to get Sean settled. It was not an easy task, not when the boy seemed to be working against him, but eventually the feat was accomplished. Once he was secure Scott dramatically bestowed upon him the remote to the TV— a well-coveted item only in use during recovery times and movie nights. “Remember,” he cautioned sternly. “Be careful flipping through channels. No—“

“Nothin’ bad, I know!” Sean was already squirming a little, which Scott quickly frowned at.

“And Sean, you have to try and stay still, alright? I know that’s hard, but you don’t want to open those stitches back up.”

Sean nodded, a bit too vigorously for someone who just came out of surgery. “I know Scott! I’ll be careful!”

Scott hesitated, but he knew that even Sean should be able to stay put with his leg so out of commission. Usually the kid would already have switched seats three times, but he couldn’t walk without help… there was no way the kid would stay completely still, but he should be limited enough to keep from jostling his stitches.

After getting Sean set up with plenty of pillows and blankets— particularly a few that he could bite on just in case the need to scream arose— Scott slipped into the kitchen to prepare a bowl of recovery ice cream. The flavor that they had at the moment was chocolate; Scott wished they had peanut butter, that was Sean’s favorite. But Kitty was allergic, and they could only afford to have one thing of ice cream at a time for special occasions. Maybe next time he’d have to splurge and get some so Sean could enjoy it. The problem was that it was getting harder and harder to let himself splurge… 

Scott sighed deeply. He couldn’t let himself drown in his problems right now. He had to focus on taking care of his siblings; he could focus on the future in the future. 

His hands shook as he scooped out a few spoonfuls of the chocolate ice cream as steadily as possible. There was still some left in the container, thankfully. At least enough for two more helpings. He could have probably split what he had in the bowl now, made it last longer… but no. Sean deserved a full helping tonight. 

Once he managed to get the lid back on and the ice cream back in the freezer he made his way into the living room. Sean had already chosen a show and both Kitty and Kurt had settled happily on the other couch to watch; they had been instructed not to crowd Sean, but stay close in case he needed anything. They were perfectly happy to sit and watch TV, of course. Scott couldn’t help but smile when he saw Sean’s choice; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Nickelodeon always seemed to have reruns, which he was thankful for because it was a favorite for everyone. The appeal… well, the appeal was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?

“Here you go bud,” Scott said as he handed off the ice cream to his injured brother. Sean’s face broke out into a grin as he eagerly accepted his recovery treat. With that Scott took a step back and watched as the kids settled down to watch the cartoon. And that was that. That was all he had. Stitches, cartoons, ice cream… that was all Scott could do to help his brother. 

Something curled up in his stomach, something ugly and bitter. His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists to try and steady them. The feeling of inadequacy was not something he could listen to. In theory he would love for Sean to go to sleep in a quiet room with a stomach full of healthy food… but he knew that was impossible. Despite how comfortable and content Sean may appear on the outside, Scott knew that there was no real hope for sleep, not without pain meds that they did not have. And fresh fruits and vegetables were yet another thing they were low on… besides, trying to get a kid to eat his vegetables after his leg got ripped apart just seemed cruel. It did no matter what the injury was. This was the best they had, the best way they could think of to help each other recover. And so it was the tradition. 

It could be far, far worse.

Scott watched a few minutes of the cartoon, though he was mostly focused on Sean. The boy was obviously in pain, and every once and a while he would involuntarily wince. But he seemed as comfortable as he could be, and Kitty, Kurt, and Warren were all on stand by so, once the theme song started to play, Scott went ahead and slipped back to the bathroom to help Rogue.

But just as he was turning into the hallway, he felt a hand catch his elbow. He turned with a frown to see Warren, his face shadowed by the backlighting of the TV. 

“Sean needs medicine, Scott.”

“I know he does,” Scott let out a sigh. “But we don’t have any.”

“Can’t we get some?” Warren’s voice was low and sharp, bordering on angry. His wings were twitching with apprehension, and Scott was sure he at least partially blamed Sean’s injury on himself. They all did. “There has to be some way for us to get some.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way,” Scott muttered. “We will. Eventually.”

“Eventually isn’t good enough!” Warren paused to check his voice, his hand still tight around Scott’s elbow as he tried to keep the other kids from overhearing. “ This isn’t good enough.”

“It was good enough for you when you broke your arm,” Scott pointed out. He was exhausted. He couldn’t deal with Warren tonight. He had enough to worry about, he didn’t need Warren repeating everything he was already telling himself.

“Good enough for me, yeah. It was fine. But he’s our little brother, he deserves better.”

“I know that, but it’s what we have!” Scott hissed. “We’re doing what we can Warren, that’s all we can do. He was my brother long before he was yours.”

Warren glared at him a moment, the tension pliable in the air. His wings twitched behind him, their white feathers oddly dark with the backlighting of the cartoon. He was upset, understandably so. But after a moment, he let go. Scott gave him a curt nod, discreetly rubbing his elbow before turning back to head down the hall. He still had to help Rogue. One problem at a time. 

The place was nearly clean by the time he got there. All the medical equipment— if you could call a few cheap first aid kits that— had been put away, as had the unused towels and pillows. Really the only thing left to clean was the blood. That was always the hardest part. There was blood everywhere; the sides of the bathtub, the floor, the walls, the sink, even down the hall where Warren had practically dragged Sean in. 

They had their work cut out for them. 

Scott wordlessly took a sponge from one of the red, soap-filled buckets and kneeled next to Rogue. She was nearly done scrubbing the bathtub, though she kept pausing to brush her red and white bangs from her face. The two of them worked in silence for a while, scrubbing away their brother’s blood as best as they could. They never got it all, Scott was sure of that. Blood had become a permanent part of this room. 

But blood was a part of life. Blood was the liquid of change. There was no advancement without spilt blood.

He had to remember that.

It took days to get the blood fully cleaned up. It was far too late to finish scrubbing the bathroom that night, so around twelve they called it quits. They got the bathroom done the next day, and then moved on to the hallway. Kurt and Warren both came to help while Sean graciously let Kitty choose a show. Kitty could help clean up, but Kurt insisted that he didn’t mind doing some of her work for her. It was fine. Kitty was the youngest, she didn’t have to help clean up blood trails. Not yet. 

Thankfully it rained through the whole clean up process. The rain pounded down on the lawn outside, erasing any sort of evidence or trail that the blood could have left. They finished cleaning up around the time the rain finally stopped, which meant they could get the windows opened and get some fresh air circulating through the huge house. That was always nice; the air conditioning was always a gamble, and Scott preferred to keep the natural air flow going. It also gave him a chance to help Sean get outside for a bit. The fidgety boy had been getting up every few hours during his recovery to move around and keep his working leg strong, but getting him out into the fresh air was even better. He was already able to limp around on his own, which was a good sign. In a week he should be back to normal life, just with a bit of a limp. It would probably be longer before he could come on missions or even training sessions though, which was a hard blow. Sean was one of his go-to men. But Kurt was chomping at the bit to do more field work, so maybe it would work out. The important thing was to not rush Sean— it was so easy for him to do things before he was ready, and Scott wanted to do everything possible to avoid him breaking the stitches. Or the cut getting infected. Or Sean injuring himself in some other way, like watching too much TV… 

“Scott!” Scott turned around to see Kitty running up to him, her eyes wide as she sprinted across the yard. The little girl was fast, something Scott was trying to teach her to take advantage of. It was a perfect skill for her to have.

“Yeah, Kitty? What happened?” He asked, lips twitching up in a small smile. Kurt had probably stolen her stuffed animal again, or something along those lines. He hoped that she had tried to talk to her offender before coming to him this time, but chances were she hadn’t.

To his surprise Kitty reached out and grabbed his hand, her eyes wide as she started to pull him back toward the house. “Come on!”

“What happened?” Scott repeated, this time worry seeping into his voice. Ten thousand problems and disasters swirled through his mind as he started jogging with Kitty. “Is Sean alright? Did something happen to him?”

“No, no!” Kitty exclaimed. She glanced over her shoulder, her brown eyes wide as she tugged Scott through the house. “Someone’s at the front door!”

Chapter Text

The Institute was nice, Clint could give it that. It was huge too, at least five thousand square feet if Clint had to guess. Maybe. He wasn’t a great judge of square footage. Maybe it was seven thousand? It was twice the size of his farmhouse, he could tell that much, and that was including the barn. 

The place was big.

It was also badly taken care of. There were vines all up along the creamy concrete walls and white pillars, and he could see at least two boarded up windows. Not that he was one to judge; the barn had a whole boarded up door back at home. But then again, that was a barn, and this was… well, he could only describe it as a mansion. It felt like someone should be taking care of it. Sure, vines could be an aesthetic choice… but the windows? It seemed neglected; a huge house with hardly anyone living in it. At least, that was how it looked from the outside, which was Clint’s perspective. 

He stood on the doorstep, his hand running through his hair as he waited. It had already been a few minutes, and it was starting to get awkward. Would the doorbell even work? Should he knock instead? What even was his plan here? He had no idea if this was even the right place. This was just what he and Natasha had been able to dig up after some research. What if he was wrong? What if there was no one here at all?

He was just debating how long he was willing to camp out on the doorstep— which, based on his stake out experiences, was several hours— when the door opened a crack. Clint quickly straightened up and peered through the crack to try and see the person who had opened it while clearing his voice to speak. But there was no one in the doorway… no one, at least, until he thought to look down. There he saw a face; a small, little girl face peeking nervously out at him. The girl had long brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail and was wearing a faded pink T-shirt and shorts that looked a bit too big for her. She watched him with wide, curious eyes and a guarded expression.

“Hi,” Clint said lamely. In his defense, he was expecting an adult, or at least a teenager. This girl had to be closer to eight, at most. “Hi. I’m Clint Barton. I was wondering if I could, ah, talk to Professor Xavier?”

“Uh…” the little girl started, her eyes going wide for a moment before she glanced over her shoulder. “Just a minute, mister.”

With that she disappeared and the door slammed shut, leaving Clint in the exact same place he was before. Great . The good news was, at least someone was home. The bad news was, he had no idea how long it would be until she came back.

It ended up being seven minutes. Seven minutes out on the damp porch, debating whether he should knock again or just climb in a window. Climbing in a window was probably a bad impression to make, but it started to seem more appealing with every minute that passed. Especially since some of them were so obviously boarded up. It would be so easy to climb in through one of those. Thankfully, before he was quite desperate enough to follow through with it, the door opened again. 

This time it opened fully. The little girl had disappeared, and was instead replaced by a taller, older boy. A boy with smooth brown hair, a particular frown, and a strange gold and red visor over his eyes. The sight made Clint’s breath catch in his throat. He recognized that visor. He recognized that guarded, tense stance. 

There was no doubt about it. This was Cyclops.

“Hello,” the boy said slowly, his voice dripping with apprehension as he watched Clint. He seemed to be sizing him up, which was ridiculous because he was at least a few inches shorter than him. “Why are you here?”

“Hey kid,” Clint said. He would act dumb for a bit. There was always the chance that the kid didn’t recognize him, or that if he knew Clint was on to him that he would slam the door. Then again, the window option was always on the table… “I’m here to talk to Professor Charles Xavier.”

The boy’s frown deepened. “He’s not here.”

“Alright,” Clint said slowly, matching the boy’s apprehensive tone. “Then who’s in charge right now?”

The kid tried to draw himself up taller, to look more intimidating. “I am.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “How old are you, kid?” 

He paused a minute before answering. “Eighteen.”

“Ok, that’s a lie and we both know it,” Clint said sharply. 

“Fine,” the boy said in a voice that made Clint think he might have rolled his eyes. Or maybe not. There was really no way to tell with the visor. “Sixteen.”

Clint let out a hum of disbelief. “Really?”

The kid held his gaze for a moment longer before his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. His folded arms crossed tighter as he grumbled. “Fourteen.”

“Now that, I believe.” Clint watched the boy closely. He was just a kid, that much was obvious. His feet were bare, his jeans were tight and his shirt was too big. The visor was throwing him off, but it was the only solid proof that he was right; this skinny kid was Cyclops. He just had to be. “And your name?”

Again, the boy hesitated, but this time he relented quickly. “Scott Summers.”

Bingo . Clint had been right about that too. “Great, nice to meet you Scott. I’m Clint. Now, are you really here without any adult supervision?”

Scott’s expression tightened, if that were even possible. The boy was already as stiff as a board, and yet somehow he got stiffer. “Why are you here?” He demanded sharply.

Clint blinked. He hadn’t quite expected that. Scott was turning downright hostile. He glanced behind the kid, further into the house, and noticed that their conversation had drawn a small crowd. The little girl from before was watching from a vantage point crouched at the foot of the stairs. There was one boy sitting next to her, and one more who was mostly out of Clint’s line of sight. But he could catch a glimpse of blonde hair… could that be Angel? And maybe the curly haired by bouncing in place on the steps was Banshee? He couldn’t tell, he hadn’t gotten a good enough look the other night… 

Clint took a deep breath. Scott was waiting. Now was as good a time as ever to just come out and say it. “I’m here because three months ago I got my butt saved by a fourteen year old kid,” he deadpanned. He watched the boy’’s expression twitch, though it was hard with the visor thing blocking his eyes. “Want to tell me your name again, kid?”

Scott frowned at him, once again studying him sharply. His hands clenched and unclenched into little fists, his muscles tightening with each movement. Yes, the kid had muscles; even with the oversized T-shirt Clint was able to tell. Could that be a part of his mutation? Or his lifestyle? Either way, it was both respectable and worrying. So was the boy’s expression, the weight he seemed to be carrying as he considered Clint. It seemed like the kid was making a million decisions as he watched Clint, his brow creased under his brown bangs. His fingers clenched one last time, and then he let out a huff.

“Fine,” he muttered. He took a deep breath, carefully drawing himself up to his full fourteen-year-old height. His arms crossed tightly across his chest, his clunky gold visor catching the sun as he stared Clint down. “I’m Cyclops, leader of the X-Men. Now, what do you want with me and my team?”

Chapter Text

“So… what happened to the windows?” Clint asked. He raised an eyebrow at the large, boarded-up holes that assuredly contained glass at some point in time. Now most of them were completely bare, just a few sharp fragments clinging to the edges behind the shoddily nailed-up boards. 

“Oh, well…” the small, sandy-haired boy chuckled. “That might have been me, actually.”

Clint let out a chuckle of his own. “You got something against windows?”

“No, I love windows! A lot actually, I mean, nothin’s better than a great big window, you know? Sometimes you can see squirrels running around outside these ones cause of that big tree out there, and that can be awesome . But I sometimes… uh…” he trailed off, biting his lip as his forehead crinkled in indecision. “Nah, Scott wouldn’t want me to tell you that… I do a-a thing, and that tends to break windows, you know?”

Clint nodded and murmured an affirmation, though the cut off made a dim sense of frustration flare up in his gut. That wasn’t the first time Sean Cassidy had trailed off during the past half hour or so. Every once and a while they would get to some detail that would make the kid pause and glance at Scott before correcting himself. Mostly it seemed to be stuff surrounding their powers or their identities as members of the X-Men, though Clint was pretty sure that the curly haired Irish kid in front of him was Banshee. Partially because he thought he recognized the sandy mop of hair, mostly because of the fact that the boy was walking with a heavy limp. The kind of limp that came with a handful-of-days-old injury; a kind of limp that Clint knew very well, of course. But seeing it on a kid was far different from feeling it himself. He could still remember the glass-shattering scream from a few days ago… how bad had it been? How had they treated the injury? Had the Professor done it himself, or had he taken the kid to a doctor?

The Professor. Clint wasn’t quite sure how to breach the subject. He had come to talk to Charles Xavier, but it was pretty obvious that the man was not there. And from the look of the house… either Charles Xavier was extremely neglectful, or he had been gone for a while. None of the kids had brought him up, no matter how many times Clint asked. It was starting to get worrying… where was the man? Did Charles Xavier even exist? Was he just an alias the kids used? Or was he really just out for the night? Or… there were so many hundreds of possibilities, some of which Clint was scared to think about.

But what kind of responsible adult would let literal children come home with a shredded leg? What kind of responsible adult would leave them alone after that?

He would never do that to a kid… would he?

“…And so we never did that again,” Sean laughed, leading Clint around a corner as he finished off his story. Something about how one of the windows had gotten broken, one of the times it wasn’t his fault. Clint had only heard parts of it, but that was fine… it was the tenth or eleventh story the kid had launched into. At least he had finished this one. Most of them he would stop in the middle of to start another and then never finish. Sean Cassidy was… a character, to say the least. Clint was really enjoying listening to the little kid— ten? Eleven? He couldn’t be older than twelve— ramble on about everything. Even if he kept pausing to reroute his stories he didn’t seem to ever stop, even to take a breath. He could see why Scott finally left the two of them alone. The boy could talk enough for both of them, and Clint could hardly get a word in edgewise to ask about anything important. And any time he did get a question in, Sean easily rerouted it into something completely different. The window question probably got the most straightforward answer of all of them. Plus, despite the heavy limp, the kid seemed to have a ridiculous amount of energy. 

Sean, Scott, the kid who could be Angel— Warren?— and the mystery girl he had seen when he first came into the Institute were the only kids he had seen, so far. He couldn’t tell if there were any more, which was both good and bad. Good because four kids was already enough, already way too much for him to handle. Bad because, well, he had no idea if there were more. According to a lot of the X-Men reports he had seen there easily could be, though none of those reports were confirmed. In theory he could ask Sean… if the kid would pause to take a breath. And if he didn’t shut him down with his “Scott filter”. 

At least Scott was no longer in the room. Clint could get nothing from the boy. Everything about him was guarded and closed off, even more so than it had been in the fights. His arms had hardly come uncrossed for a moment, and Clint was pretty sure that the kid would have slammed the door in his face if he thought he could. He probably almost did… but the window option was still on the table, of course. Especially now that Clint saw just how many broken windows were in the house; there were a lot.

It seemed like there were a lot of broken things in general. Windows, a few lights, plus Clint noticed that the air conditioning and heating were turned off despite the fact that it was still early spring. The draft from all the open windows— it seemed like whatever was still intact was open to let air in— actually helped, but Clint was sure that the house had to be freezing at night. 

Surely none of that would be around if the Professor was around… right?

“And here we have the most important room in the house, of course!” Sean said proudly as he hobbled through a doorway. Clint followed, grinning as he took in the sight of a huge, actually super nice kitchen.

“Kid, you speak my—“

“I know! Food is the best part of the day!” Sean probably didn’t even notice he had interrupted Clint’s comment. It actually made Clint smile all the more how unintentional it was. “I love food. Scott always says I eat too much, and I guess I do but I mean, food is a big part of how we function so we gotta eat, right? I feel like I’m always hungry, but Scott just says that’s part of bein’ a person, you know? Everybody’s always hungry, that’s why people call it a “dog-eat-dog world”, right? I dunno, I think that’s what it means, I’m not really sure but it’s something Professor X used to say… all the time…”

Sean trailed off at the mention of the professor, his voice slowly petering out for what felt like the first time. He leaned against the island in the middle of the kitchen, a small wince crossing his face as he adjusted so that less weight was on his injured leg. But the wince didn’t totally leave, as if there was some other pain still hitting him in the brief silence. 

That was it. Clint had to know what was going on.

“Sean,” Clint started slowly, following the kid’s lead of leaning against the table. “I came here to talk to the professor, actually. But from the looks of it…”

“He’s…” Sean’s accented voice was a bit shaky, and the little boy wouldn’t meet Clint’s eyes. “He’s not here.”

“Exactly.” This was harder than Clint would have thought. The little kid looked crestfallen, like part of the life had been sucked out of him at the mention of Charles Xavier. He didn’t want to press… but he had to know. “Where is professor Xavier?”

Sean’s finger traced a swirl in the granite countertop, his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip as he did. “He’s… well… Scott wouldn’t want me to tell you…”

Clint opened his mouth to respond, but before he could a door across the room opened. Sean seemed to perk up in relief, and Clint frowned, annoyed that the moment was lost. He was more than worried now. The professor was definitely missing in action, which meant the kids were here in this giant, run-down house without any adult supervision. This was a big problem, but before he could do anything he had to confirm what had happened to the Professor. 

“Sean,” Scott strode into the room, a tall blonde boy on his heels. Clint’s frown deepened a bit. That must be the blonde boy he caught sight of earlier, who he thought might be Angel. The kid looked about the same age as Scott, and about the same as both Angel and the picture of Warren that Clint had seen. But he was missing one distinct, glaringly obvious feature; the wings. That was a pretty big thing. Maybe Clint had been wrong about that one. “You should head back to the living room now.”

Sean groaned, his curls flopping against his forehead as he propped his elbows up on the table. His forest green eyes were wide, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly… man, Clint was glad he wasn’t on the other side of those puppy dog eyes. The kid was a master. Maybe that was why Scott was still wearing his Cyclops visor; it must have had some sort of built-in adorable filter because the kid just gave Sean a pointed look. The little kid sighed again before dropping his expression and obeying. 

“I’m sick of layin’ around,” Sean complained, even as he limped back to the living room. The limp was worse than when Clint had first started talking to the kid about half an hour ago… that was worrying. Seriously, how bad was his injury? How well had it been treated? What medicine did the kid have? Clint wished that he had been wearing shorts so he could see how bad it was, but it was far too late for that. Now he had two more kids to focus his attention on… and these two looked much less friendly than the talkative pre-teen.

“Hey guys,” Clint started, forcing a smile as he looked at both kids. The blonde boy was a bit taller than Scott, just about the same height as Clint. He could actually pass for seventeen, at the most… but something about his facial features, the way his arms still looked just a bit too long for his body, Clint had to guess he was younger. Fifteen, probably closer to fourteen. He extended his hand to the boy. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Clint.”

The blonde didn’t hesitate before taking Clint’s hand and giving it a firm shake. He didn’t smile, instead narrowing his eyes at Clint in… suspicion? Anger? He couldn’t quite tell. Definitely not the most friendly expression. “Warren.”

“Warren…” Clint let go of the handshake, sufficiently bewildered. Warren on the file, Warren in the Institute… it checks out. But… the wings? Were they retractable or something? Would it be weird to ask?

Yes. That could wait. All the stuff about their powers and their hero identities could wait. He only had one… well, more than one, but one extremely important question to get answered. He had to just dive in and ask it. “Alright. Now, please, someone tell me… where is the professor?”

Clint could see the instant effect of his question. It was evident in the way Scott’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way Warren’s face darkened, his shoulders hunching a bit as Scott’s crossed arms pressed harder against his chest.

“Why do you want to know?” Scott asked sharply. “Why are you here?”

“I told you; I’m here because a kid saved my life.”

Scott’s brow creased. “I’m not a kid.”

“Uh, legally, you are,” Clint pointed out. “And legally you have to have a parent or guardian. Which is why I would like to talk to the guy who’s supposed to keep you safe.”

“I keep us safe,” Scott retorted. 

“Really?” Clint raised an eyebrow. “Like it or not, Scott, but you’re still four years under age.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Scott said, his expression tight and unyielding. 

“So who takes care of the maintenance on this house?” Clint gestured to the kitchen around him. “Who pays for groceries? Or bills?”

“ I do.”

Clint frowned and tried to ignore how heavy the frustration in his gut was becoming. “Scott, you can’t expect me to believe that.”

“Well, believe it,” the kid shot back, his mouth drawn tightly in a frown. “Because it’s true.”

“You have to have someone watching out for you.”

“No, we don’t.” The boy’s expression was almost hostile as he spoke, his teeth gritted and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “We have this handled.”

“And what about when one of you gets hurt?” Clint asked sharply, frustration bleeding into his tone. The kid was stubborn, far too stubborn for his own good. “What then?”

“ We handle it.”

“Would Sean say the same thing?” That was going too far. Clint realized it the moment the words were out of his mouth. The conversation was nowhere near that level… and yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Sean Cassidy was proof that he was right to come here, to find out what was going on. Scott must have realized that because the boy’s tight posture dropped ever so slightly, his brow creasing with emotion.

But before he could respond, there was a loud shout of “ Scott! ” From the other room. The boy’s jaw tightened, and he called back to the other voice in annoyance. Clint was pretty sure it was Sean’s voice, but he couldn’t make out why they were saying. It must have been something important because Scott sighed, and once again Clint was struck by how heavy the boy looked. Like the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders. But the teenager looked back up and squared his shoulders, his visor-covered eyes sliding to pinpoint Warren before he nodded toward Clint. Then he muttered a word of apology and slipped hurriedly into the other room, leaving Clint alone with Warren.

The blonde kid crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes boring into Clint. Clint couldn’t help but notice that Warren’s arms seemed thick under the baggy green hoodie he was wearing. He was probably as muscled as Scott, if not more. Again, something Clint couldn’t decide how he felt about. His blonde hair looked windswept yet neat, and he seemed to be debating something as he studied Clint. 

“You said you want to know where the professor is, didn’t you?”

Clint blinked in surprise, hesitating for a moment. Did he just hear him right? The boy was just staring at him, giving no indication that he had spoken but an expectant look. “Uh… yeah. Yes.”

Warren glanced over his shoulder toward the living room. Then he gestured to Clint, quickly motioning him to follow. Clint, bewildered as he was, followed quickly. The boy led him to a side door that led out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Clint slipped out after him, quickly impressed by the size of the yard. It honestly didn’t seem to stop— the mansion backed right up to woods, so after what had to be at least a half acre of land it kept going, just with trees. Clint couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was an official part of the property… but yet again, he had much more important questions on his mind.

“Where are we going?”

“No one else is gonna tell you,” the tall blonde explained curtly. He didn’t elaborate, so Clint just shrugged to himself and continued to follow. Warren led him at a fast pace, a near jog as they made their way close to the tree line that bordered the left side of the house. They stepped into the woods a little ways, but not far before the boy stopped in a little clearing. 

“You asked where the Professor is?” Warren gestured to the earth in front of them. “Well, here’s your answer.”

For a moment, Clint was confused. He glanced around the surrounding trees, half expecting a bald man in a wheelchair to be waiting for them. But that obviously wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. Warren was pointing to the ground, the dirt just before their feet. 

The realization slowly set in, and Clint sucked in a breath. Oh. “He’s…”

“He died,” Warren’s voice was clipped as he stared at the spot. “About five months ago, give or take. Cancer, or something like that. We all saw it coming for a long time, but we didn’t know what to do. There was nothing we could do.”

“Why didn’t he go see a doctor?” Clint asked. His voice almost sounded distant to his ears, like he wasn’t quite in his body. He had been imagining a lot of bad scenarios, but this… he wasn’t expecting this. “I mean… cancer.. but…”

“He didn’t believe it was happening, I guess.” Warren shrugged tightly. “And I guess he didn’t trust human doctors. I dunno. The professor… he was something else.”

Clint crouched down, his fingers brushing the dirt. There was a patch, he could see it now, a patch of dirt where nothing seemed to be growing yet. Just a few sparse weeds that had managed to pop up during the winter; grass had yet to take root. As he looked his eyes caught on a small, shoddily-made wooden cross stuck in the ground. It reminded him of the grave he made for one of the circus show dogs when he was twelve. That thought somehow made the situation even worse. “You guys… you buried him yourselves?”

“Yep.” Warren shoved his hands in his pockets. “We couldn’t exactly call someone, or have his death officially reported, you know? He was a bit of a recluse anyway, so far as we know… no one really knows. So we took care of him.”

Clint stared at the dirt in disbelief. These kids hadn’t just been living on their own for a little while. They hadn’t just been living in a slightly damaged house. They had watched their guardian die, and then buried him . What kind of trauma did that have to leave? What kind of damage had been done to these kids?

“You said you want to help, right?” Warren’s voice pulled Clint from his trance, and he managed to nod stiffly. Then Warren snorted, which was enough to pull his eyes up from the dirt. “Yeah, well, that’s what all adults say. And they don’t mean it.”

“That’s not true,” Clint said defensively. 

“As far as I’ve seen, it is.” Warren sighed a bit, his arms still crossed as he leaned against a tree. “But… I mean… Scott won’t ask for help. He just won’t.”

Clint nodded slowly. The kid was right about that, he was sure.

“But… I dunno…” Warren let out a huff, his frustrated gaze turned on the tree as he spoke. “Maybe… maybe you can help. Somehow. ‘Cause… Sean? I dunno…”

“I will.” The words were out of Clint’s mouth before Warren could finish talking, or before he could even finish thinking. But then he was just saying it again, even more sure this time. “I will . I promise, I’m not some adult making empty promises. I’m going to do everything in my power to help you guys.”

Warren turned so that he was looking at Clint instead of the trees. He held his gaze for a minute, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he gave Clint one, short nod.

“You better. Because Scott’s going to kill me if he finds out I showed you this.”

Chapter Text

“Clint? How’d it go?”

Clint breathed a sigh of relief, muttering a thanks under his breath as Natasha’s voice crackled over the phone line. The phone had been ringing for too long, he was worried that his friend wouldn’t pick up. “Tasha, I need you.”

“What happened?” Instantly her voice took on an edge of concern, the emotion clear even through the rough cell service that Clint was getting. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Clint said quickly. 

“What’s that echo? Where are you?”

Clint cringed, glancing at his surroundings. The bathroom was honestly extremely nice. Also huge, like most things in the mansion. Definitely not the worst place he had been forced to make a call for backup from before. Still, hiding in a bathroom from a group of kids? Embarrassing . “Doesn’t matter. I’m here at the Institute, and Tasha, they’re kids. They’re definitely kids.”

“Ok, so you found them?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.”

“And you’ve confirmed that they’re the X-Men?”

“Scott admitted it to my face.”

There was a breath through the phone as Clint’s words settled in. “And have you talked to the professor?”

“That’s just it.” Clint ran a hand through his hair, a long breath escaping from his lips as he sat down on the edge of the toilet seat. “He’s dead.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “Dead.”

Clint nodded to himself, his gut still twisting at the implications of that word, of the shallow grave in the kid’s backyard. “Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“About five months. I think.” Clint frowned, trying to remember what Warren had said. Yeah, five months sounded right. “They haven’t reported it or anything. They buried him in the backyard. These kids buried their guardian themselves Nat, they—“

“Slow down Clint. Take a breath.” Clint complied with Natasha’s command, slowly inhaling as he tried to calm himself down. “So they’ve been living alone.”

“Yes. They’ve been completely fending for themselves.”

“So did the professor know that they’re superheroes?”

Clint groaned, burying his head in his hands. “I have no clue. The guy was some sort of recluse, a bit of an eccentric from what I can tell. Who knows what he knew about the kids. He could have even encouraged it.”

“So how many are there?”

“Of the kids?” Clint took another shallow breath, his fingers tapping against the back of the phone case as he did. “Four, I think. That I’ve seen.”

Natasha hummed on the other end. “Four isn’t bad.”

“Yeah, it’s not…” Yes, it was. Four kids. Four mutant kids. Four kids with no adult supervision living in a huge mansion that their guardian had died in that seemed to slowly be falling apart around them. Four kids that he had no qualifications to deal with. It was bad.

“So…” Natasha’s voice was slow, cautious over the phone. “What are you going to do with them?”

There it was. The question that kept stabbing at his brain, the question that needed to be answered. Clint rubbed his hand over his face, groaning quietly as he did. What was he supposed to do in this situation? What good solution was there? He shouldn’t be here. He should have just left it alone. But these were kids, they needed help and he was the only one here to help them…

They were in a bad spot.

“Well?”

“I think…” Clint breathed slowly. He had one idea. Just one. Really only half of one. And it was a terrible solution. It wasn’t even a solution, it was just… a temporary fix while he thought of a solution. It was also the only thing he had to offer. But it was all he had, so he breathed out slowly and said it before he could think about it. “I think I’m going to bring them to the tower.”

There was silence on the other end. “Clint… is that a good idea?”

“Do you have a better one?” He shot back, his stress seeping sharply into his voice. “You saw the files, the foster care system already screwed them over. And I can’t… I can’t in good conscience just leave them here…”

“What about Fury?” Natasha suggested calmly, her voice as flat as ever. “SHIELD could—“

“Toss them in a lab and try to figure out what makes them work?” Clint was shaking his head, even though he knew Natasha had no way to see the movement. “I love Fury, I love SHIELD, but you know how he handles unknown variables. Remember when they pulled Steve out of the ice? Just a few weeks later he had him fighting aliens.”

“That was different—“

“How different? How can we know?” Clint sighed slowly. “If I can keep Fury from getting wind of this… I think that’s ideal. For now, at least.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “What about the others?”

“I say we keep it between us,” Clint said quickly.

“Well, it’s Tony’s tower. You know there’s no way JARVIS will keep harboring four kids from him.”

“Fine. We’ll talk to Tony.” Clint stood up, his boots thudding quietly on the tile as he began to pace. “And crap, we’ll have to talk to Steve. He knows about the kids, he already wanted to tell Fury the other night…”

“And you know Tony will tell Bruce. It would be cruel to leave him out.”

“Would it?” Clint asked. “What about the Hulk? Wouldn’t kids just be an added stressor?”

He could almost feel Natasha’s pointed gaze. “Wouldn’t surprise kids be even worse?”

Clint huffed, throwing up his left hand in defeat. “ Fine. All the Avengers will know, I guess.” Thank goodness Thor was off-world. The thought of the Asguardian around kids, especially ones as skittish as the X-Kids, was honestly terrifying. 

“How long would this be for, Clint?” Natasha hesitated a moment before continuing. “We’re Avengers. Superheroes. Spies. We’re not prepared for this.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m the least capable of us all. It’s just a temporary solution,” Clint reassured her quickly. And, more quietly, he reassured himself. “Obviously this couldn’t be long-term. I’ll figure something out. But…” He sighed, once again running a hand through his messy hair. “I can’t… I can’t in good conscience just leave them here.”

There was another moment of silence on the other end, a quiet moment of understanding. Then Natasha sighed decisively. “Alright. I’ll call the others, let them know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint said. His voice was a bit shaky as he spoke, but the fact that Natasha was on board gave him indescribable relief. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

“When were you thinking about bringing them over?”

“Tonight.” The word was out of his mouth before he could even think it. Clint inhaled, checking himself one time before nodding. “Yeah, tonight.”

“That’s… soon.”

“Tasha, half the windows are caved in. Half the lights don’t work, and I don’t think the heating does either. One of them has a huge limp, I’m not totally sure how bad it is but he needs medical attention. I saw their kitchen… they don’t have enough food for four kids.”

“Alright.” Natasha inhaled. “You’re right.”

“Thank you.”

“But do they want to come?”

Clint chuckled dryly. “They’re kids. They think they can take on the world.”

“Well, we can’t exactly kidnap them. I’m not sure what the legalities are in that situation, but the kids wouldn’t be happy with us.”

Laws. Legalities. Clint hadn’t even been thinking about that. Could taking the kids to a safe, secure location be qualified as kidnapping? What was the protocol with CPS when a guardian died with kids in their care? What was the legal way of doing this?

“We can worry about that later,” He decided, quickly shoving all of that to the side. In all honesty, he couldn’t bring himself to care. That could be tomorrow's problem. Today’s problems were big enough. “I’ve got some convincing to do.”

Chapter Text

Scott was panicking. He did not want to think of it as panic, but that was all it could be. It was the only explanation for the way his hands were shaking, his breathing shallow, his heart thudding in his ears. He hated it. He knew he couldn’t panic, couldn’t succumb to that. He had to stay calm. He had to stay calm.

There was an Avenger in their home.

It was like all his fears were coming true. Finally, finally he had managed to carve out a place for himself in the world. Finally, finally he thought there was a chance of stability, that he had built something that would stay. Even the professor had abandoned him. But this, his adopted brothers and sisters, they had made a place for themselves. He thought he could maintain that.

But now the Avengers were going to come in and steal it all away.

No . No, he couldn’t focus on that. He had to focus on the problems in front of him. One step at a time. One problem at a time. He couldn’t panic. Leaders don’t panic. Leaders don’t show weakness.

He couldn’t be weak.

His hands still shook as he fiddled with the remote. Sean and Kitty were going to watch a show, but Nickelodeon wasn’t working and he couldn’t get it figured out. He had to get it quick though; he didn’t like leaving Clint Barton alone. He was with Warren, sure, but Scott wanted his own two eyes on the man. It was bad enough he had to leave him with Sean for twenty minutes or so. That was a stupid decision, he shouldn’t have done that. He should have been trying his best to keep everyone out of sight. But it was most important that Kurt was hidden away, and of course Rogue wouldn’t want to risk being around unfamiliar people. They had to stay hidden, and Warren had to hide his wings, and Kitty had already been seen by the man and Sean was the best option to keep him distracted…

What did Clint Barton want? Why on earth was he intruding on what Scott had built?

Why couldn’t people just leave them alone?

Scott grumbled in frustration as he fumbled the remote. It wasn’t working. The channel was static. Was there some sort of subscription that had run out? Was something broken? 

Yet another thing that they couldn’t fix. 

He sighed, dropping the remote on the couch. “Guys, I can’t get it right now. I have to deal with our unwanted guest.”

“Hey, Mr. Barton’s pretty cool!” Sean exclaimed defensively. “I dunno why you’re so on edge. Isn’t he an Avenger?”

Kitty gasped from her spot curled up on the other couch, her eyes wide. “Is he really? Why did nobody tell me?”

“Because that’s bad! ” Scott said in disbelief. “We can’t have an Avenger here!”

“Why not?” Sean asked. “He seems cool!”

“Maybe he could fix the TV?” Kitty said innocently, her eyes narrowing as she shot a look at the static screen.

“No! Guys!” Scott let out an exasperated sigh. “What did the professor always say about people?”

“Not to trust them,” Kitty and Sean said in unison.

“Exactly.” Scott crouched down, shoving his anxieties aside for a moment to keep his voice steady as he looked at his siblings at their eye level. “You know what kind of bad stuff can happen to us, right?”

The two kids nodded, their eager expressions swallowed up by solemnity. 

“Good. We have to be careful.” He offered them a smile. “We look out for each other, remember?”

They nodded again, this time a bit less subdued. Scott let out a small breath.

“Great. Now, do you think you can play a game or something while I go figure out what to do?”

“Sir yes sir!” Sean said, giving Scott a mock salute. The brunette chuckled, grinning at the two younger kids before straightening up. He made sure that the deck of cards they had was within Sean’s reach, then left him to help entertain the youngest as he headed back to the kitchen to figure out what to do with his problem.

Only, when he entered the room, he found it to be empty.  Scott froze, his red-tinted gaze scouring the kitchen, hoping that he had just missed something. But it was undeniable that the room was empty. Clint and Warren were nowhere to be found.

“Warren?” He called out, another wave of panic pulling at his chest as he searched the room. He had been gone for five minutes, maybe ten. What could have happened in that time? Could the Avenger have called for backup? Could Warren have told him something he shouldn’t know? Could CPS be on their way to tear his family apart?

A million things could go wrong in ten minutes. A million things had already gone wrong that day.

Scott refused to let everything get torn apart again.

He was about to shout Warren’s name again when he heard his own name called from just down the hall. He quickly ducked into it, relief flooding through him when he found Warren standing outside a closed door. But then panic once again surged through him. “Where’s Barton?”

Warren nodded to the door next to him. “He had to go to the bathroom.”

Alright. That was fine. That was reasonable. But then the moment those thoughts entered his head he chased them off. No . Clint Barton was a spy, wasn’t he? What could he be doing behind closed doors? Was he calling for help? Was he figuring out a way right now to pull them apart?

“You shouldn’t have left him alone!” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so sharp, but the stress of the situation overruled his intentions and he almost flinched at his own tone. Almost .

“Chill out Scott, it’s a bathroom.” Warren rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“How can you be sure?” Scott pointed out. “He could be calling someone right now. He could be planning for CPS to come clear us out right now.”

Another eye roll. “It’s fine. He wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s an Avenger.”

“Oh, so we’re supposed to trust him?” Why did everyone keep saying that? Just because he was an Avenger didn’t mean he was some superhero. Well… it didn’t mean that he would help people. It didn’t mean that he would help them. Scott had enough experience with people to know that was never something they could expect. 

Warren was staring at him with a level gaze, silence ringing between them for just a moment. Scott could feel the heaviness between them, and it made him pause. There was something in the air, he could feel it. “Warren.” The taller boy hummed, his gaze unwavering. He seemed disinterested in the conversation, but Scott knew him better than that. “What did you do?”

There was a brief moment where he doubted that Warren would respond. But then, without wavering in the slightest, the boy spoke. “I told him about Professor X.”

Scott blinked. The words took a moment to register. He was too in shock to understand for a moment. “You… you what?”

Warren held his gaze. “He would find out at some point. It's better to be honest with him.”

“ No, no it’s not!” Scott’s voice was raising and he forced himself to take a breath. He could see Warren’s posture tightening, but he couldn’t even process that at the moment. Something was curling in his chest, some ugly mess of anger and frustration that made his trembling hands tighten into fists. Warren never thought about what he was doing. Warren just did. He probably thought it was the right thing to do, no matter how obviously wrong it was. “Now he knows we don’t have a legal guardian. What do you think he’ll do with us now?”

“It was already obvious we don’t have a guardian!” Warren argued. His voice was rising too now, but he didn’t check it. “Sean needs medicine, Scott. Even if it’s just Tylenol. We can’t get that! Clint could!”

“We can figure it out,” Scott said slowly. He crossed his arms, hoping it would hide the fact that his hands were still shaking. “We always do.”

“Except that in five months we haven’t ,” Warren said sharply. “Face it, Scott. We need something.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but just then the sound of running water started, and a moment later the door handle was moving. He snapped his jaw shut and shot a glare at Warren just before the door opened and Clint Barton stepped out. 

The Avenger halted in his tracks, eyeing Scott. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two boys. “Hey guys…”

Scott dropped his scowl away from Warren and instead focused it on Clint, his arms crossed tight across his chest. He hoped that his gaze, despite the fact it was marred by his visor, was brutal enough for the archer to feel his animosity. His stupid visor. Of course there was no way to even pretend they weren’t the X-Men. He gave them away even more so than Warren’s wings would.

And now he had to reap the consequences. 

“So, uh…” Clint jabbed his thumb behind him, motioning to the bathroom. “I heard some of the conversation while I was in there.”

Fantastic.

“To one thing, Scott, I’m almost offended that you would accuse me of being on the phone in the bathroom. That’s gross.” Clint chuckled. “But I was also totally on the phone in the bathroom.”

Clint’s tone was lighthearted, trying at a joke. But the weight of the words stabbed at Scott. He shot another glare toward Warren, this one so fierce that he could feel the power flaring behind his eyes. For a moment he felt a flash of fear, but the visor held up. Of course, the fear didn’t go away. It just lent itself to the storm that was brewing in Scott’s mind. Clint did make a phone call. He did call for backup.

“Sorry, I know, weird, but I had to make that call. I wanted to let some people know about you guys, to ask them some things.”

All of Scott’s fears were being realized. Even Warren seemed to be tensing up now, realizing what he had done. Of course, now it was too late. 

“Sorry. That’s not really… you know, I’m just going to get straight to the point.”

This was it. This was where he dropped the bomb of why he was here. This was when he told them CPS was on their way. This was when Scott’s world was ripped apart. Again.

“How would you guys like to come to Avengers Tower?”

There was a gasp behind them, and Scott was able to process that much faster than he could understand Clint’s words. He whipped around to see two little faces peeking around the corner. 

“Sean! Kitty!” Scott hissed in exasperation. “I told you guys to play a game in the living room!”

Kitty at least had the decency to look guilty, but Sean just flashed him a gap-toothed grin. “We wanted to know what was going on,” he explained, excitement lighting up his face as he moved out into the open, his eyes fixed on Clint. “Are you serious? Avengers Tower?”

“Yeah, of course I’m serious.” Clint knelt down to Seans’s height, an encouraging smile on his face as he looked at the little kid. “I’m sure Tony has a spare floor in there somewhere.”

Sean gasped again. “A spare floor?”

“Heck yeah. Can’t make it too much of a downgrade from here, can we?”

Sean looked ready to launch into a barrage of excited questions, Kitty too. Scott jumped in before he was drowned out. “ No. Absolutely not.”

Kitty and Sean turned disappointed frowns on him. “Why?” The little girl pleaded, her eyes wide and confused. “That would be like, so so cool!”

“A million reasons!” Scott hissed. He couldn’t let the kids get brought to Avengers Tower. No. No, that could go so wrong in so many ways. Why would they want them there? What could they do to them there? How many hundreds of thousands of problems—

“Scott.” Scott glanced up to see Clint’s eyes on him. The archer looked… genuine. Worried? Concerned? No, no way. He had to be making those things up. Why would he be worried about them? “I know about the professor. You can’t stay here.”

Scott could feel his defenses rising. “Why not?” He snapped. “We’ve been fine so far. Better than fine. We’ve been doing great without your help. We don’t need it.”

“Yes, you do,” Clint pointed out. He gestured vaguely to the space around them. “You’re kids—“

“Not all of us.”

“—you can’t afford some of the repairs you need here. You can’t buy certain things. You can’t get jobs…” he trailed off, a perplexed expression on his face for a moment. “In fact, I haven’t the foggiest idea how you guys have bought the stuff you have.”

“The professor had some money,” Kitty said quietly. Scott shot her a look of betrayal. 

“Great. But that can’t go that far, right? You need food, medicine, a house without shattered windows and cold rooms…”

“That sounds awesome ,” Sean said excitedly. “Could you really take all of us?”

Clint blinked, and Scott could see the surprise on his face even as he tried to hide. “Of course! But, ah, how many of you are there?”

“Oh,” Sean said, babbling on without thinking. “It’s just us four, plus—“

“This is it,” Scott cut in sharply with a harsh look at Sean. What was he thinking? Why did he think Kurt and Rogue were hiding right now? “This is basically it.”

Clint didn’t look convinced. He shot an equally sharp look at Scott. “Who else?”

Scott held his gaze. “It’s not important.”

“I think that another kid would be important.”

“Two!” Kitty added unhelpfully. Scott had to bite back a groan. Were they all trying to work against him? Did they want to be separated?

The thought was too painful to even joke about. Scott shoved it from his mind. 

“Two more. Alright,” Clint said in a voice that said we’ll leave it at that… for now. “But yes, of course, all of you.”

“Even if—“

“ Thank you for the offer,” Scott said before Sean could give up any other information. “But no.”

“Why not Scott?” Warren’s arms were crossed, and he fixated Scott with a hard stare. “Give us one good reason.”

Scott glared at the other man. Warren knew why. Warren knew better than any of them why Scott was hesitant— at least, he should . After everything he’d been through, why on earth would he be supporting this ridiculous idea?

Then Warren tilted his head ever so slightly. Scott followed his gaze back over to Kitty and Sean. Or, more specifically, Sean. Sean with his injured leg, a leg that— despite the fact that he could now walk on it— still looked bad. Really bad. Sean had felt warm this morning, and he’d been so much more subdued than normal… if he was developing a fever, or the gash got infected… what could they do? 

What if… what if Sean could go to a real doctor?

No! Scott discreetly shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the thought. No, there was a reason Professor Xavier avoided human doctors. There was a reason needles terrified Warren. There was a reason they all learned to avoid people in lab coats. 

They could take care of Sean. They could find a way.

Somehow. 

Everyone was staring at him now. Everyone was waiting, expecting something from him. Of course. He was the leader. 

“Scott, please can we go?” Sean was looking at him with his best puppy dog pout. Kitty had a pretty good one on too. 

Scott sighed, clenching his shaking fists as he slowly let out a breath. He was outnumbered, outvoted. There were good points for going. But there was so much that could go wrong… and they hadn’t even considered some of the most difficult variables. 

“Alright,” Scott said slowly, but quickly interrupted Sean before he could start cheering. “ No, I’m not saying we’ll go. I’m saying we’ll talk about it. ” He glanced over his shoulder at the Avenger who was watching them, and cleared his throat. “ Alone.”

Clint put up his hands in mock surrender and took a few steps back. “Don’t worry. If you need me, I'll just be here… in the bathroom.”

Kitty giggled at the joke, and Clint sent her a grin before he closed the door and sealed himself into the bathroom. As soon as he was gone Scott inhaled deeply, let out the breath, and then turned to his siblings.

“Alright. Let’s go talk to Rogue and Kurt. Then we’ll make a decision.”

Chapter Text

“Are yah serious?”

Scott shrugged stiffly. “Sounds like it.”

Rogue sat back, shaking her head for the third time in their five minute conversation. “No way.”

“See?” Scott crossed his arms, nodding firmly at Rogue’s statement. “I told you guys. It’s a bad idea.”

“But Rogue! ” Kitty bounced up to the other girl, her eyes wide and pleading. “Think about it! It’d be, like, so so cool!”

“There’s a big difference between cool and safe ,” Scott pointed out.

“Well, are we really so safe here?” Scott turned to glare at Warren, who was leaning casually against one of the walls as they debated.

“ Yes, we are,” Scott retorted sharply. 

“Yeah. Sure.”

Scott was about to snap back, but Kitty spoke first. “I cut my foot on a piece of glass the other day.”

“Yes, but you’re ok now, right?” Scott said. Kitty didn’t respond, letting out a small sigh as she flopped back against the pillows of Rogue’s bed. She was quickly starting to look tired of the argument. They all were.

“Ah’m not sayin’ ah’m totally against it.” Scott whipped around to face the girl behind him, his eyes wide behind his visor as he stared at her. 

“What? You’re actually entertaining this?”

“I mean, there’s points for it,” Rogue pointed out. “It’s crazy, but…”

“That’s it. It’s crazy!” Scott shook his head. “There’s way too much that could go wrong. We’ve been fine here for months. There’s no reason to risk everything now.”

“Because the fact that half the windows are broken doesn’t present a problem,” Warren snapped, sarcasm dripping from his heated voice. 

“You’re right, it doesn’t .” Scott snapped right back. “We can deal with that. We’ll get them fixed.”

“By calling a repairman? Or buying a new window?” Warren rolled his eyes. “Oh right, I forgot. You’ve got to be over eighteen. And have money .”

“We have money,” Scott shot back.

“For how much longer?” Scott gave Warren a withering look, but the other mutant only rolled his eyes again. “We all know it’s running out sooner or later Scott.”

“Well, we’re both fourteen,” Scott said reasonably. “We’re old enough to get jobs, Rogue too soon.”

“Right. Because wings and lasers don’t cause concern in the workplace.” Warren crossed his arms. “And what about parental consent? Social security numbers? Taxes?”

Scott gritted his teeth. “I’m working on it.”

“Yeah, and every other day something else breaks.” 

“Think about it Scott,” Sean pleaded, cutting in between him and Warren before their side battle could escalate. “ Avengers Tower. Where could we learn to be better superheroes better than there?”

“ Here .” Scott said firmly. “You really think Captain America is going to let a ten year old go out and fight crime? Do you?”

“Hey!” Sean protested confidently. “Ten is plenty old enough to fight crime! Cap would see that!”

“You want to ask him then?” Scott crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the younger kid.

“Yeah! I, I mean… he would be cool with it, right?” Sean suddenly looked less sure of himself, his hands twisting together as he looked between his siblings. “I mean, he was totally doing super stuff when he was our age, right? And he’s all ‘ out truth an’ justice an’ honor an’ all that. He’d be on our side, wouldn’t he?”

“We don’t know that,” Scott said. He hated the crestfallen look on Sean’s face, but he had to come down on this. He had to remind them of the truth. “We can’t trust them.”

“But they’re the Avengers— “

“And we’re the X-Men . They’re friends of “the people”. We aren’t.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t help us,” Kitty pointed out.

“An’ then what?” Rogue cut in. She had been mostly quiet through the debate, contemplating the arguments, but now she leaned forward. “What ‘bout when we start showin’ our powers, huh?”

“They have powers too,” Sean pointed out.

“Yeah, but their powers ain’t like ours. They’re intentional.” Rogue glanced at her gloved hands. It was a quick movement, almost unnoticeable, but Scott caught it. “They’re designed to help, not hurt.”

“What about the Hulk?” Sean pointed to a poster on Rogue’s wall. Most of the posters plastered across the maroon paint were of bands and a few cute animals that Kitty had printed out, but right by the door there was a little one of the Avengers. It was an artist’s rendering of the heroes in the middle of the battle of New York, and the Hulk was one of the centerpieces. Behind Iron Man’s blasts and Captain America’s cool heroism the Hulk was ripping through a Chitauri speeder, his jaw hanging open and his eyes shot with rage as he roared silently on the paper. Sean grinned. “His whole thing is an accident, completely outta his control. He’s just like us!”

“‘Cept he’s not a mutant,” Rogue pointed out. “Big difference.”

Sean let out a huff. “Why’s everything gotta be ‘bout who’s mutant an’ not?”

“Because that’s how it is right now,” Scott said, his voice firm with finality. “That’s why we have to be able to do what we do. Remember Hope Industries?”

The room got quiet for a moment. The little kids dropped their gazes. Warren stiffened against the wall, and Rogue stared at her hands from behind her bangs. The silence reigned on for a heavy moment, and Scott let the weight sink in before taking a breath.

“We can’t fight them if we can’t fight,” he explained. “We can’t stop them if someone stops us. And the Avengers will stop us.”

“Not like people stopping us has actually stopped us before,” Warren said stiffly. “We could work around them.”

“You want to work around the Avengers ,” Scott said incredulously. 

“Or maybe even work with —“

“That won’t happen,” Scott and Warren cut Sean off simultaneously. Despite himself, Scott felt a small flash of relief. Good. At least they were on the same page about that. Even if it was the only thing they were on the same page about, it was something.

Sean huffed and slouched back against the pillows right next to Kitty. “Jus’ sayin’.”

“And I’m just saying that we can figure it out.” Warren turned back to Scott, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “There are more important things than being superheroes.”

“Like what? ” Scott snapped in bewilderment. 

“Like making sure we’re all safe and healthy, for one.”

“Which we are—“

“Are we really?”

“What about the Professor's mission?” Scott swept his arms out wide in exasperation. How in the world could Warren say anything was more important than their jobs? Their calling? “What about our mission? Don’t you remember anything he taught us?”

“Of course I do,” Warren snapped. “It’s kinda hard to forget. We can still work his mission. But we gotta take care of ourselves first.”

“And we take care of ourselves by staying hidden.”

“And where are we supposed to stay hidden? Here? This place is falling apart!”

“No it’s—“

Warren shook his head sharply. “Don’t try that crap Summers. You may be blind, but the rest of us aren’t.”

Scott bristled. “What, are you saying we can’t survive on our own?”

Warren’s eyes flashed with anger. “Of course not.”

“Well then,” Scott crossed his arms and glared at the other man. “What are you saying?”

Warren held his gaze firmly. “I’m saying that maybe we can’t all survive on our own.”

Scott could feel the pressure building behind his eyes again, his emotions burning in his mind. He blinked furiously, trying to dispel the power and curb some of the mounting anger that he felt. The worst part was that in a way Warren was right. If it were just him, or just him and Warren, even just him Warren and Rogue it would be a whole other story. But they had Kitty, they had Kurt, they had Sean. And each kid had their own problem, each kid had their own qualities that made life hard and made simply surviving more difficult. He should know— he was one of the worst. 

“We are never separating.” Scott could feel his voice tremble with the amount of emotion in his words. He paused, took a deep breath, then repeated it again. “We are never separating, alright?”

Warren held up his hands. Scott could see some of the animosity that had built in his friend dissipating. “Of course not. That’s not what I was saying—“

“And yet, you said it,” Scott pointed out bitterly. Warren tensed again. 

“No. What I was saying is that maybe this is the best way for us to stay together.”

“I mean…” Rogue trailed off slowly, her voice quieter than usual. “If we don’t go… what do yah think Barton’s gonna do?”

Rogue, Warren, and Scott exchanged glances. The words were left unsaid, but the older three all knew the possibilities. There was no way the Avenger would leave them alone now. He would do something, call someone if he thought they weren’t going to comply. Child Protective Services. That was most likely. And if they went back into the system… there was no way the six of them would stay together.

At least this way… it sounded like they would.

“I… I want us to stay together.”

Scott looked up, almost surprised to hear the nervous, accented voice. It took him a minute to catch sight of Kurt; the little boy was crouched in the shadows near the foot of the bed close to Rogue’s feet, his bright yellow eyes flashing as his tail twitched nervously. Kurt hadn’t said a word throughout the whole discussion, Scott suddenly realized. 

“I… I think we should go.”

“Really?” Rogue blinked, turning her attention to the little boy next to her. Scott was sure she had been carrying many of his same fears for Kurt. Out of all of the hundreds of reasons that things could go wrong going to the tower, Kurt was one of the biggest ones. The boy was just so… different . His mutation was so obvious . He could bring so much animosity so quickly… taking him to somewhere as public as Avengers Tower was such a risk. Out of all the kids, Scott had been sure he would want to stay here, where he was safe. 

Kurt reached up, gently grabbing Rogue’s gloved hand. She didn’t flinch, just stared at him worriedly as she spoke. “Kurt… are yah sure? ”

“ Ja, ” Kurt said. He grinned slightly, his fangs flashing in the dim lamp light. “I think it would be best. For all of us!”

Rogue watched her brother for a moment, the two sharing a moment of silent conversation. Scott could see them going back and forth, their facial expressions speaking for them. Rogue pursed her lips, and Kurt lifted his blue chin stubbornly. His tail flicked as Rogue’s bangs fell in front of her eyes. She shook her head, but Kurt just held her gaze.

“Fine.” Rogue gave a little sigh, turning to look at the other kids. She huffed, blowing the white bangs from her eyes before nodding. “If Kurt wants tah go… ah guess ah’m in.”

“Really?” Kitty squealed, popping up from the pillow she had been brooding in. She bounced slightly. “Yes, yes let’s do it!”

“I’m so in!” Sean exclaimed, wincing as his outburst jostled his leg ever so slightly. Just a moment later his wide grin returned and he was almost bouncing with his excitement. 

The little kids looked at Warren expectantly. The blonde boy caught Scott’s eye for a moment, and shrugged. “I think we should.”

With that all eyes turned to Scott. The weight of the decision hung heavy in the air, five pairs of eyes focused on him. Kitty’s eyes were pleading with him. Sean looked more excited than the day he found a frog in the backyard. Kurt looked excited, even if his blue tail was flicking with nerves. Rogue looked hesitant, but decisive. And of course Warren was watching expectantly, his eyes narrowed in challenge. Somewhere in the depths of that challenging gaze, there was something like hope that struck Scott to his core.

He was outvoted. Outnumbered. He was also way, way out of his depth.

There was no right decision here, no way to be totally safe. It was too late for that now. He just had to try and make the best decision out of a slew of bad choices.

Slowly, heavily, he heaved in a breath. Then he let it out in a sigh, praying he wasn’t about to make the worst mistake of his life.

“Fine. We’ll go.”

Chapter Text

If Clint was honest with himself, he had no clue what he was doing. At all. At any point in time. Especially with this.

When he stepped into that bathroom to give the kids space, he was sure they were going to make him drag them out. And if it came to that… well, could he take them against their will? Was that legal? Would he even be able to overpower six mutant kids? He had no idea, he was just making things up as he went along.

But somehow, miracle of miracles, when he stepped out of that ridiculously nice bathroom thirty minutes later, the kids were packing up to go. 

He nearly knelt down and sent up a prayer of thanks right then and there. 

He could hardly believe it, and yet somehow they had been convinced. Maybe it was the promise of the Avengers. Maybe it was the promise of food. Maybe it was the promise of shelter with all the windows intact. 

But suddenly, this was really happening. 

Clint realized very quickly that his one Honda Civic was in no way going to have enough seats for six kids, and that asking them to ride illegally or sticking one in the trunk was not a good way to go about things. He debated calling up Natasha, but her foot was still healing; she would probably come if he asked, but she shouldn’t be driving and he already felt like he had asked way too much from her. So instead he dialed up Tony.

Maybe not his best decision.

“Natasha said you’re bringing what into my tower?”

Clint winced, hoping that none of the kids had super hearing. Actually, they might not need super hearing to hear Tony’s voice, even from upstairs. “So she's broken the news already?”

“Barton, I always knew there were a few eggs missing from your basket, but are you serious? I would have put this past you, but apparently I need to reevaluate my opinions of you.”

“Ouch. I need your help Tony.”

“I think I’m helping plenty already by not completely throwing this idea out the window!”

Clint sighed, running a hand through his hair as he listened to Tony’s increasingly loud voice. He definitely should have called Cap. Cap would have been way cooler about this… no, he would have given the exact same speech, just calmer and with more tact than Tony. Both were bad options, but hey, they were options. “I don’t have enough seats in the car.”

“Right. The car, might I mention, that you’re borrowing from me. ”

“I need you to come help carpool.”

He could hear a long groan on the other end of the line. “You have four seats in that car Clint. How many of these rugrats did you find?”

“More than four,” Clint replied. “If you want to know, come see for yourself.”

“I could sue you.”

“On what grounds?”

“I don’t know, I’d come up with something.”

“Well,” Clint rummaged in his jeans pocket. Luckily he had actually remembered his wallet, and luckily his wallet— for once— actually had money in it. “I’ve got thirteen dollars and sixty seven cents if you’re interested.”

“Wow, ok, that’s just sad Barton. You really do need help.” There was the sound of a car engine on the other end, and Clint smirked in triumph. “I’m coming, but it’s out of pity more than anything.”

“Sure,” Clint replied. “Whatever you say.”

Tony hung up without another word, which didn’t surprise Clint. What did surprise him was how fast the man managed to get there. When he hims made the drive, it took him at least an hour. It was a solid forty minutes away from the tower, and between the New York traffic and then the shockingly hidden back roads that lead to the Xavier Institute, he was expecting the wait to be a while. But just about thirty minutes after hanging up Tony Stark was pulling into the driveway.

Clint stood up, quickly stretching out the kinks he had from sitting on the stone porch for half an hour. He smirked as Tony shifted into park and stepped out of the car. 

“What? No Audi?”

“You didn’t tell me how many buggers you found,” Tony pointed out. He shut the door to the SUV a little harder than it needed to be before heading up the gravel path to the porch where Clint was waiting. The billionaire looked a bit out of place next to the ivy-covered, neglected building in his sharp suit. It was nicer than the stuff he usually wore around the tower. He must have used this as an excuse to get out of some sort of meeting; figures.

“Oh, before I forget…” Clint quickly dug around in his pocket, leaning back for just a second until he was able to pull out the handful of dollars he had found. He held them out with a smirk. 

Tony took one look at the cash and scoffed. “You can’t be serious Barton. Put that away, it makes me sad just looking at it.”

Clint shrugged, tucking the bills smoothly back into his pocket. “Your loss.”

“So,” Tony let out a sharp, “I’m-too-busy-for-this” sigh, and looked around. “Nice place.”

Clint shrugged. “It was .”

“Xavier’s?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s the dead guardian?”

“Also yep.”

“How many kids?”

“Six.” Clint paused for a moment there, contemplating. “I’m pretty sure.”

“And their… powers? Any clue what they can do?”

“None at all.”

“Great. Fantastic.” Tony let out a sigh, turning his gaze back to Clint. His eyes were shielded behind his usual expensive-looking red shades, the kind that only Tony Stark level people seemed to be able to pull off. “I swear if you bring some combustible twelve-year-old into my tower I’m going to make you pay the property damages. Even if you only have fourteen dollars.”

Clint blinked. “Wait. That’s a possibility?”

Tony snorted. “They’re mutants. Literally anything is a possibility. And from what I’ve seen, a lot of mutants tend to be pretty destructive.”

That wasn’t something Clint had taken into account. Sure, he knew the kids were mutants. It was on his radar, obviously. It was the whole reason he didn’t want to call in SHIELD and half the reason he didn’t want to call CPS. But he hadn’t thought to ask them about their powers yet, or thought about how those powers could possibly affect the other Avengers. What if one of the kids could literally blow up any minute? There had to be some reason as to why CPS seemed so eager to get rid of them….

No . Clint shook those thoughts out of his head before they could fully form. They were still just kids, mutant or not. He couldn’t leave them behind, no matter the unfortunate ability. 

“So, what exactly is the plan here?” Tony asked, his voice pulling Clint from his thoughts. “Are they coming out here, or are we just supposed to sit on our hands all night?”

Clint sighed, running his hand through his hair as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s see if they’re ready.”

The two men slipped into the huge, echoing Institute, Clint’s brain still running at a million miles an hour as he tried to stay on top of everything that was happening. But there was just so much happening at once that he felt like he was still just trying to catch up.

He took a deep breath. He needed to focus. He basically invented making spur-of-the-moment decisions like this; he should be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

To his surprise, the kids were already all downstairs. All of them. Clint could easily count six figures, and more than six bags of stuff. Not really bags; it looked like most of the kids had grabbed pillowcases to pack their various things in. Some definitely looked better packed than others, but the important thing was that they were packed, in some capacity at least.

This was really happening.

“Wow.” Tony was standing next to him, the shorter man nodding in what Clint could only describe as respectful disbelief as he regarded the crowd in the living room. “You actually weren’t kidding Barton.”

“Yep,” Clint murmured under his breath, still a bit in disbelief himself. “I even surprise myself sometimes.”

Tony huffed a small breath of laughter, slowly shaking his head as he looked at the kids. Of course, now all of the kids were looking at them. 

“Hey guys,” Clint waved a bit, offering the kids a lopsided grin as he gestured to Tony. “I didn’t have enough room in my car, so I asked Mr. Stark to come by and help out.”

“ Woah .” Clint wasn’t all too surprised to see that it was Sean who had spoken up. The curly haired boy popped up from the couch where he had been sitting, quickly rushing forward to get a better look at Tony. “You’re the Tony Stark?”

Tony spread out his arms, and Clint had to take a step back as he took the spotlight. “The one and only.”

Sean’s eyes lit up with awe. “You’re Iron Man! You’re like, an actual superhero!”

Clint frowned in mock hurt. “ Ouch .”

Tony sent a wiry smirk toward Clint. “Oh, I like this one already.” The billionaire turned back to Sean with a chuckle. “Want to ride with the real superhero, squirt?”

Sean was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. The kid was so full of energy that Clint could almost forget about his leg. Almost . “Heck yeah! Let’s go!”

“Slow down, Sean!” And then there was Scott. The boy had looked tense all day; in fact, any time Clint had seen the fourteen-year-old he looked tense. But this was by far the worst yet; Scott looked ready to implode from pressure. Tony’s comment about combustible mutants darted across his mind and he had to quickly shove it away. “We need to coordinate. Does everyone have their stuff?”

The kids fell silent, all nodding to the older boy. Tony shot a glance toward Clint, who shrugged in response. It was somewhat impressive to watch Scott organize the group, even if he was wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box. Within just a few moments the boy had divided the group of six in half; one half to go with Tony, one half to go with Clint. Sean ended up in the Tony group, a fact that made Clint’s mouth twitch up in a grin. Kitty— the little girl he had briefly met earlier— and Warren were also with the billionaire, which left Clint with Scott and the two new faces. 

“Hey you two,” Clint said as he helped lug pillowcases to the car. The baggage seemed strangely light, but that was not nearly his biggest concern at the moment; his focus was on giving the kids his most friendly, open smile possible. “I’m Clint, in case you didn’t catch it.”

One of the two kids looked at him, though it wasn’t exactly a friendly look. Her red hair was outlined with white bangs that framed her scowling, distrustful green eyes. But at least that was something; the other kid didn’t even look at him. He just kept his head down, his face completely covered with a baseball hat that was probably too big for him. Both kids must have been feeling the cold; despite the fact that it was solidly spring now, they were decked out in hoodies, long pants, even gloves. They must be from the south or something, because you had to be pretty cold sensitive to still be wearing that sort of outfit at this time of year. 

The red head looked away, and Clint instantly felt warmer; for a kid, she had a frosty gaze. Maybe he would need a jacket now. 

“Can I at least get names to work with?” He tried again once the bags were loaded into the trunk. He wasn’t really asking any of the kids in particular; just whoever would answer.

The answer ended up coming from the redhead, who let out a little sigh before relenting. “Ah’m Rogue,” she said, her voice thick with a southern accent as she jutted her gloved thumb over to the hoodie kid. “Tha’s Kurt.”

Well, Clint was right about the southern thing, at least. He thought about asking whether Rogue was her real name or a nickname, but the girl had already climbed into the car, Kurt hot on her heels. Clint let out a small huff of breath before slamming the trunk shut and glancing over at the other car. Tony was already sitting in the driver’s seat, Warren next to him and Kitty and Sean in the back. Clint gave the other Avenger a quick salute before waving Scott— who of course had been watching everyone as he helped load bags— over and into the car. Then it was just Clint left in the diriveway, Before he could think of anything else, he hopped into the driver’s seat and got the engine started. Just like that, they were backing away from the Institute, en route for Avengers Tower.

This was really happening. 

Chapter Text

The car ride on the way home was somewhat painful. A solid forty five minutes of tense, uninterrupted silence. Well, not uninterrupted. Clint tried to start up conversation a few times. Many times, actually. But none of the three kids wanted to talk, and so after a while he dropped it and just let the silence take over.

But then finally, after a bout of agonizing traffic, they made it. Clint had never felt more relief pulling into the Tower’s garage than he did in that moment.

Tony’s car pulled in just behind theirs, and Clint could hear the loud gasps of excitement as he started pulling bags from the trunk. Yet again he found himself involuntarily smiling at the kid’s excitement while simultaneously panicking at the fact that holy crap this actually worked —

Scott and Rogue were both extremely tense, but Kurt seemed to have a bit of the other kid’s excitement with the way he was looking around the garage. Maybe. Clint honestly had no idea. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the kid yet; any time he moved a bit closer it seemed that either Rogue or Scott were in his way. That was fine though; for now he was just focused on getting all of the kids safely inside the building and somewhat settled. And fed, he needed to get them fed too. 

“ Food! ” The word burst from his lips just as he fell in step with Tony, a groan overcoming him as he walked. “I didn’t even think about food, how did I—“

“Relax bird brain, I’ve got you covered,” Tony said. Clint whipped around to face him in surprise. “Rhodes is picking up pizza right now.”

“Are you serious?” Tony nodded, and Clint let out a huge sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Tony.”

“Yeah, I know,” the billionaire said with a smirk. 

“Don’t get used to me saying it though,” Clint corrected himself quickly. Tony chuckled, a snarky retort already on his breath, but just then the elevator doors opened. Clint’s first plan was to pile everyone in at once, but Tony quickly pointed out the fact that there were literally eight of them and that he did not want to accidentally step on a kid. The space was small after all, and soon the group was once again split into their groups of three. Tony went up first with Kitty, Sean, and Warren in tow. The younger two both waved to the other kids before the silver doors slid shut in front of them and Clint’s group was stuck waiting until the elevator got back. 

It wasn’t until Clint got into the elevator himself that he realized he had no idea what floor Tony had taken the kids to. 

He cursed under his breath, hoping that it was too quiet for the kids to hear as he glared at the elevator buttons. This was not ideal. What floors did Tony say were empty last time they talked about the tower construction? Actually, had they ever talked about the tower construction? Was there a user’s manual that would show it, or maybe JARVIS could pull up a map or—

Oh. Right.

“Hey, JARVIS?” Clint said, hoping he didn’t look too ridiculous talking to the ceiling. “What floor did Tony just head to?”

Instantly the AI’s voice was filling the elevator. “Hello Agent Barton. Sir got off at floor forty five. Would you like me to take you there?”

Before Clint could answer, actually before the AI had even finished speaking there was a loud gasp of wonder. A grin slipped onto Clint’s face and he turned, ready to explain the AI to the kids. But the words died in his throat before he could say them, choked out by a strangled sound of surprise that he barely managed to swallow.

It was Kurt that had gasped. Kurt, who was staring up at the ceiling in shock and wonder. Kurt, who up until now had been completely hidden from Clint’s view. Kurt, who apparently had bright blue skin. And fangs. And elf ears. 

Clint cursed again, and this time the kids definitely heard it.

Everyone seemed to realize what had happened at the same moment. Scott hissed Kurt’s name, and Kurt’s yellow, pupiless eyes went wide and he ducked his head in a panic. Rogue stepped in front of Clint’s view, the red head’s eyes narrow with fury and challenge as she glared at him. 

Clint quickly put up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, calm down guys.”

“Say somethin’,” Rogue hissed, her southern voice low and dangerous as she glared at the man. “Ah dare ya.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt was stammering out an apology to someone— whether it was to Scott or to Clint, he had no idea. “I didn’t mean to, I was confused—“

“Don’t look at him,” Scott was practically growling, his voice hard and defensive as his hands curled into fists, his eyes dangerous despite the metal covering them. “Don’t even think about it, don’t even think about hurting him—“

“Woah! Guys, listen,” Clint’s voice was shaky, hurried, his mind racing at the pure aggression directed toward him. The two older kids were watching him, both bristled and hostile, to the point that he was actually a bit worried for himself. At the same time as a spark of fear went through him, a strange spark of admiration spread through his chest as well. The level of protectiveness that these kids had for each other… it was something else. It was something special. 

Clint kept his hands raised, trying to show that he meant no harm. Slowly, cautiously, he crouched down till he was below both Rogue and Scott, and hopefully just about eye level with Kurt. The mutant had backed into one corner of the elevator as if to hide, his hat pulled down over his forehead as he tried to conceal his face. Clint blinked slowly, once again taken aback by the actual fear that the boy seemed to be feeling. And from what? Clint seeing his face? Was that really enough to garner this amount of aggression, this amount of fear?

By the looks that the other two were shooting toward him, Clint had the bitter, sinking feeling that maybe it was. It brought a sick feeling to his stomach to think about what that could mean.

“Hey, Kurt,” he said softly. He tried to keep his voice low, calming, steady even under the burning glares of the two older kids. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re ok.”

Kurt didn’t move, and neither did Scott and Rogue. Clint’s brain was running a thousand miles an hour, trying to figure out a way to reassure the kid. He had to ground Kurt, to somehow diffuse the tension that was churning in the air before it choked him. 

“That’s just JARVIS, by the way,” he said, the words somehow distant from his mouth. It was just something to say, to fill the air… but was it his imagination, or did Kurt seem to be listening? He decided to keep going. “He’s one of Tony’s AIs. An artificial intelligence, you know? He basically runs the whole building.”

“Really?” The voice was small, pretty heavily accented, but Clint took it as a positive sign. He slowly put his hands down, and neither Rogue nor Scott lunged at him; another positive sign. “Yeah. Not just the building, but Tony’s suits and stuff too.”

“Like… like the Iron Man armor?” Kurt was still pressed tightly against the wall, but he seemed genuinely curious. 

“Yep, just like the Iron Man armor,” Clint said. “Don’t worry, he’s actually way cooler than Tony.”

That earned him a little giggle. “Mr. Stark is pretty cool.”

“Aw, is he though?” Clint pouted playfully. “I’m cooler though, right?”

Kurt uncurled slightly from his ball, the hat clutched in his gloved hands falling away from his face just a bit with the movement. Clint could see most of his face. The kid looked strange, for sure, almost like some sort of elf or goblin with his blue skin and sharp, pointed ears. But Clint ignored that and smiled encouragingly. “Right? I’m definitely cooler.”

“You shoot arrows,” Kurt pointed out slowly. “He has a suit of armor.”

“And which one of those do you think takes more skill?” Clint asked. He dramatically sat back, miming a bow and arrow motion in an as over exaggerated fashion as he possibly could. It was apparently funny, because soon Kurt was giggling. Clint tossed him a grin. “You know what, don’t answer that now. I’ll teach you how to shoot a bow. Then you can decide who’s cooler.”

“Really?” Now Kurt was looking entirely at him, his face only slightly hidden by the hoodie as he stared at Clint with wide, yellow eyes “You would do that?”

“Of course I would!” Clint said proudly. “I’ve got to secure my position as the coolest Avenger!”

Kurt’s grin faltered for a moment, and he glanced at the ground. “I uh, I don’t know if I would be good at shooting…”

He pulled off one of his little black gloves, and sheepishly showed his hand to Clint. Again the archer had to bite back a noise of surprise. The kid’s hands… well, they were blue, for one thing. For another, he didn’t have five digits, like an average person. Instead he had three thick digits, two fingers and a thumb. His face was no longer hidden by his hat, and his expression as he held out his hand looked almost like shame or embarrassment. The sight of it caused something to fill Clint’s chest, and he suddenly felt a need to get that look off of the boy’s face.

“You know,” Clint said slowly. “I think you might be able to get an even better grip than I can.”

Kurt looked back up, his eyes wide. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint said, his tone completely serious as he nodded. “I mean, look at those fingers! You’ll be able to grab an arrow easily!”

The little blue face split into a wide grin, one that showed off a row of fangs. “I have a tail too! I could grab them with that!”

Clint didn’t even let himself be surprised by that development. He just grinned encouragingly. “Maybe I shouldn’t show you. You’ll be taking my spot before I know it.”

Kurt chuckled. “No way. You’re the best archer ever.”

Clint was surprised at how much the words made him smile. “Hey, maybe not for long.”

With that he stood up, still smiling as he faced Scott and Rogue. To his relief, a lot of their hostility seemed to have faded. Both kids were regarding him cautiously, but they looked… was thankful the right word? For Rogue, maybe, but for Scott… it was something different for sure. The expression was complicated. But whatever it was… well, neither of them looked like they wanted to kill him now. He counted that as a win. 

“Hey Kurt,” Clint said with a grin. The blue boy glanced up at him. “Why don’t you ask JARVIS to take us to the others?”

“Can I really?” Kurt asked, wide eyed.

Clint motioned to the ceiling. The little boy cleared his throat, both Rogue and Scott glancing at him as he spoke. “Mr. JARVIS?”

“Hello, sir,” came the digital voice. Kurt jumped slightly at the sound, but he grinned in excitement.

“Uh, Mr. JARVIS, could you please take us to Mr. Stark and the rest of my family?”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replied, and Clint could have sworn he detected a note of happiness in the AI’s voice. Just like that the elevator was moving upward, and carrying the four of them with it. Clint found himself glancing at the beaming blue kid multiple times throughout the ride until finally they stopped at the forty sixth floor. Then the doors slid open, and Clint let all other thoughts slide to the side.

Now it was time for pizza. Then getting the kids to bed, he supposed. Then in the morning… well.

That was when he was going to have to start actually thinking this through. But for now… the bare minimum of keeping the kids alive and safe was his main goal. 

Chapter Text

Avengers Tower.

Avengers Tower!

Sean could not believe it. At all. Not one bit. Well, obviously he could believe it a bit because holy crap he was standing right there, in the middle of it, his sneakers scuffing against the cool marble floor— wait, was it marble? Marble sounded fancy, he really had no clue what marble was supposed to look like with flooring or architecture or really anything of the sort— maybe it was just plain old tile or something but whatever, the floor was hardly the coolest part of Avengers Tower! There were literal superheroes in the same building as them! He was standing next to Iron Man! Well, he had been standing next to Hawkeye too, but Iron Man!  

He didn’t know how the others weren’t absolutely bursting at the seams with excitement. Warren just had his arms crossed, eying everything with a sharp glare and a small smirk like he usually did—they should really call him Hawkeye, he was more bird than Mr. Barton was— and Kitty was starting to get just a little annoying. She had been so super excited in the car just like him but now that they were actually in the tower she was getting kinda clingy, constantly reaching out to hold his hand for reassurance and looking around at everything in fright and wonder. Sean was seriously considering just shoving her to Warren; he was in front of Avengers, he wanted to look cool and tough! Maybe if he did he could impress Mr. Stark, then when he showed him his powers the man would be so impressed that he invited Sean to join the team, and then—

The ding of the elevator cut through Sean’s thoughts, and he glanced up to see Mr. Barton stepping out of it with the rest of his siblings in tow. Scott was bringing up the back, his arms crossed and that usual suspicious, angsty look on his face with his eyebrows close together behind his visor and his jaw tight. Then there was Rogue, her hands shoved in her pockets as her eyes scanned the room from behind her white bangs, sticking close to Kurt as she always did. But then there was Kurt. He was the surprising one, probably the reason Scott and Rogue were so tense. His hat was off, like the thing that kept people from seeing his blue face was gone , and he was walking right next to Mr. Barton.

Sean whipped around to shoot a look at Warren. The older boy looked just as surprised as he did, good, this wasn’t a part of the plan that nobody had told him and it was actually weird. Sean had thought it was a little silly to try and hide Kurt the whole time of course, like the kid was literally blue anyone with eyeballs could see that he was a mutant and everyone knew they were mutants anyway so why bother, but he also knew that this was not supposed to be happening and crap, was Kurt alright? Mr. Barton hadn’t tried to hurt him or anything, right? He was an Avenger, he wouldn’t do that… right?

Mr. Stark was there too, which was bad because he wasn’t being nearly as cool and calm as Mr. Barton who looked pretty much totally unbothered by the blue boy next to him. Mr. Stark’s mouth had fallen open, his eyes darting down to Kurt and then up to Mr. Barton— only for the other Avenger to shoot him a sharp gaze. Oooh , Sean recognized that look. That was very much a “ don’t say a word or else ” look, Warren was a master at those. And apparently so was Mr. Barton, because Mr. Stark held it for about three seconds before shutting his mouth and pulling his expression into check. 

“Hey. Hey, guys. So, here we are,” Mr. Stark said, his words a little flumbled at first, but by the end of his statement completely in focus without betraying his surprise in the slightest. That was impressive. Sean wished he had a superpower like that . No, actually, his powers were pretty cool. Most of the time, at least. Though right now he definitely wished he had something like a healing factor like Kurt’s old circus friend had. That would be nice; his leg still hurt and it was making it a bit hard for him to keep standing in the middle of the great big room, no matter how excited he was. 

Mr. Stark swept his arm out to indicate the room they were standing in to the rest of the group. It was big . Like, they lived in a mansion-slash-institute and all but this was big . Sean had already taken in most of the surrounding area— on the right side they had a table, check, chairs, check, fridge, check, oven, nope, no oven that he could see but there was at least a microwave so check, basically just a mini kitchen and dining area whereas on the left they had couches, check, more chairs, check, TV, check, all the good hang out area stuff. It was pretty cool and pretty nice, so much more sleek than the Professor’s old stuff which was all dark and a little musty and sometimes made Sean sad if he thought about it for too long. This was bright and open and in the middle of Avengers Tower.

“Don’t worry, I had Happy try his best to baby-proof it,” Mr. Stark said to Mr. Barton, which should make Sean feel offended that he was calling them babies but this was Iron Man talking so that made no matter what he was saying extra cool. Plus, he was probably talking about Kitty and Kurt anyway. “This is just one of the guest floors that we have stashed away. It used to be in case anyone had to stay overnight for a business conference or anything of the sort, and now… well, I guess this is what it’s going to be used for.”

“How many rooms are there?” Sean easily recognized Scott’s voice as he cut into the conversation. He had his adult voice on, and Sean glanced over his shoulder to see his big brother glowering at the two Avengers. He had better be careful, he didn’t want to burn a hole in one of them.

“Only four on this floor,” Mr. Stark said with a shrug. “Makes room for this kitchenette and living space. Each one also has a full wash and bath.”

Mr. Stark said it casually, but Sean knew that was a lot for them to have, especially when Mr. Barton had literally just decided to let them come stay in the tower. Scott didn’t look impressed. He never seemed to look impressed though. At least not with adults. Sean had impressed him the other day when he splintered wood with his powers. The mess he made that night at dinner, well, not so much… “We each had our own room back at the Institute.”

“I don’t mind sharin’ Scott!” Sean burst out. The older boy turned to him, and Sean quickly did his best to look encouraging. He never thought that Scott would actually agree to come, and now that they were here actually standing in Avengers Tower… he couldn’t imagine going back home right now just when they had barely gotten there! He hadn’t even met Thor! Or Captain America! Or Black Widow! Or the Hulk! They had to stay at least one night , and he was totally fine with sharing rooms anyway. “It’ll be fun! Like a sleepover! Y’know, there’s all the movies ‘bout sleepovers an’ stuff, now we’re havin’ a real life sleepover! It’s cool!”

For some reason Scott still didn’t look like he thought it was cool. But he didn’t protest any further, and after a glance between him and Rogue, Sean took that as enough of a hint to go sprinting— well, a little more like limping— off to check out the rooms that he hadn’t ventured into. His leg kinda made it difficult to sprint, no matter how badly he wanted to. It hurt to put weight on, so he had to settle for a quick-trot-limp that he really really hoped didn’t look too dumb to Mr. Stark. Kitty and Kurt were soon on his heels, and the others were probably not far behind. There was a short hallway that extended from the middle of the main area, and off of that hallway branched four rooms. Sean flung open all the doors in excitement. They, like the main room, were huge! Maybe even bigger than his room back home! All four were huge, spacious, with a ginormous bed and a great big dresser and even a little seating area in the corner… they also all kinda looked the exact same but that was fine to Sean, he already knew which one he wanted. He wanted to run through each room, check it out to the fullest, but the stab of pain each time he put his foot down made running around a bit difficult. So instead he just peaked into each one and then parked himself next to the first one off of the main room on the left. He could just tell it was better than the others so obviously he had to stake his claim quickly.

“This one’s mine!” He exclaimed, slightly breathless from the exertion. But hey, one has to be quick if one wants a cool room and he by far had the coolest . But then he remembered his claim that he didn’t mind sharing, and with a quick cough reiterated his statement. “Someone can come share with me though!”

“Could I share with you Sean?” Kitty bounded up, her ponytail flopping against the back of her head as she grinned at him. 

Sean opened his mouth, about to issue a begrudging yes— only begrudging because Kitty had a bad habit of getting nightmares and he didn’t want to be the one she woke up at midnight— when Scott stepped in. 

“Nope. You’re sharing with Rogue, Kitty.”

“Huh?” Kitty turned her wide eyes on Scott. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” Scott said matter-of-factly. 

“Wait, ah didn’t agree to that.” Now Rogue stepped over, her white bangs falling over her forehead as she frowned at Scott. “Ah ain’t sharin’ with anyone.”

“Well, I don’t want Kitty to be alone,” Scott pointed out.

“Hey! I’m fine alone!” Kitty protested.

“And she wouldn’t be alone!” Sean pulled his little sister a bit closer to him, even as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp. Sure, he didn’t necessarily want to share a room with his sometimes whiny little sister, but he totally could! “She’d be with me!”

“Yah can put Sean and Kitty together, it’s fine,” Rogue said as Scott looked at her. “We’re all basically siblings.”

“Oh, so you’d be ok bunking with Warren?”

Rogue snorted. “ Obviously not, but ah already said I ain’t bunkin’ with anyone .”

“Well then where’s Kurt going to go?” Scott crossed his arms. “Warren’s not going to want anyone with him.”

“Ah can take Kurt, maybe .” Rogue huffed, blowing the bangs from her eyes as she did. “But couldn’t someone be with you?”

“Kurt could stay with Kitty and I!” Sean interjected. The idea was hardly on his mind before it was out of his mouth, and he loved it every second he thought about it. Late night games, movies, messing with the others, having—

“Absolutely not,” Scott and Rogue said in sync.

Sean huffed. “Why not?”

“We want you to sleep , tha’s why not,” Rogue pointed out.

“What if we put Sean and Kurt together?” Scott asked. “Then I guess I could take Kitty.”

Rogue shrugged. “Ah don’t really care. If anythin’ doesn’t work tonight, we can fix it tomorrow.”

Sean was about to interject again when he saw a figure moving toward them. Oh, Mr. Barton was coming over. 

“Hey guys,” the archer said with a smile. “I know you want to duke it out over rooms, but I’m going to put a pause on this for a minute.”

“How come?” Sean asked automatically.

“Well, pizza will be here in just a minute—“

“Wait, pizza? ” Sean exclaimed. Excitement burst in his chest as Mr. Barton nodded. Pizza! It had been ages since they had gotten pizza, even the frozen kind from the grocery store! Well, no, they had that a few weeks ago, but it still felt like ages . And maybe this was frozen pizza, but these were Avengers they would get take out, probably , right? It was Tony Stark, he didn’t seem like the frozen pizza kinda guy. When was the last time they ordered pizza? Sean couldn’t even remember. Was it when Warren came to live with them? Or even when Rogue and Kurt had? It was at least a year ago, definitely when the Professor was still… no, no, he didn’t want to think about that, it was too much of a happy day for stuff like that. They were having pizza! “What kind is it? Did you get the kind with like, pineapple an’ stuff? I like that kind, Warren doesn’t though but he’d eat it, we’d eat anythin’ I mean—“

“I’ll be honest, I don’t really know what kind it is,” Mr. Barton confessed. He chuckled, his hand running through his sandy hair as he shrugged. “Tony’s friend is picking it up. I’m not sure what kind he’ll get.”

“But it is like, to-go pizza?” Sean blurted out. He wanted to be sure. Frozen pizza was good and all, but actual pizza was way better. “Like, not frozen?”

To Sean’s excitement, Mr. Barton nodded. “But before it gets here, we’ve got something to take care of.”

“And what is that?” Scott cut in sharply. Sean turned to glance at his brother. Aw man, while they were talking about rooms Scott had seemed to relax at least a little bit. Now his arms were all crossed and his fists all clenched and his posture all tight again. Should Sean be crossing his arms too? Maybe he shouldn’t have acted so excited about the pizza, or the Tower, or the Avengers, but it was just so hard not to act excited when everything around him was so exciting!

“That leg,” Mr. Barton said, nodding toward Sean. 

“My leg?” Sean glanced down. Oh. Yeah. Duh, his leg that was currently hidden under his long pants and a thick layer of bandages. He must’ve been limping too much. Which stunk, because it didn’t hurt that bad. It just hurt when he moved and stuff. And put weight on it. And thought about it at all. But it was fine , it was a battle wound! He wasn’t going to be a baby about it! He glanced up at his older brother to see Scott glowering at Mr. Barton.

“He’s fine,” Scott said stiffly. “We took care of it.”

“Still, I’d like for us to have a look at it,” Mr. Barton said. “Don’t worry, just a quick look. Just to make sure.”

Scott didn’t look convinced. Not at all. Oh boy, he looked about as convinced as that time Sean tried to cover up the fact that he was the one who tracked mud into the Professor’s study… while still wearing his muddy boots. It wasn’t his best lying attempt, and even his best usually didn’t get past Scott. That was how convinced he looked about this. “Thanks, but no.”

Mr. Barton frowned. Then he looked at Sean. “Does your leg hurt, buddy?”

“Yea—“ Sean cut himself off, glancing at Scott. His brother’s visor-guarded gaze had turned to look searchingly at him. Scott was always telling him to be strong, to be brave. He wanted to be strong and brave, and admitting that his leg hurt from walking through all the rooms probably wasn’t strong and brave. He decided to change his answer. “Nah. Nah, not really.”

Mr. Barton hesitated a moment, as if trying to weigh how best to speak next. He didn’t really look like he believed Sean. Not quite Scott’s level of not-believing, but still. He glanced over his shoulder, probably at Mr. Stark or something, then back between Scott and Sean. His eyes settled on Scott, and he took a small breath. “You can be right next to him,” he said, his voice a little slow as he spoke. It was like he was trying out the words, to see if they would work. It almost sounded like he was asking a question, which Sean thought was pretty funny. “You can watch everything we do, and we’ll stop if you ask us to, alright?”

To Sean’s surprise, Scott hesitated. He could almost see his brother’s eyes darting between him and Mr. Barton… not quite though, the visor kinda blocked all view of Scott’s eyes. Maybe he was making up the movement. Either way, Scott didn’t respond… which meant he also wasn’t saying no, to Sean’s surprise. 

“I’m ok Scott,” Sean said reassuringly. Was that true? Sorta. He felt pretty fine, unless he y’know, put weight on his leg. Or thought about it too much. Then it felt less fine, sometimes more like he was going to throw up. But generally it felt fine. And Scott really didn’t look like he wanted him to go, for some reason. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“But it does hurt?” Scott’s voice was a hushed whisper, which also surprised Sean. Scott didn’t whisper. Not often, at least. Like, of course he did during missions and really late at night, but that wasn’t even really whispers that was just him talking quietly. Scott didn’t often whisper or shout, he just spoke in a slightly more quiet or a slightly more loud voice. But this was an actual whisper , like he was less sure about what he was saying. 

“Um… I mean yeah, a bit,” Sean said a little shakily. “But not bad , like I’m fine you don’t need to worry about it…”

Sean found himself trailing off as he spoke, and kinda coughed to try and cover it up. The more they were talking about it the more he was thinking about it and wow , maybe his leg did hurt? Maybe he should let Mr. Barton look at it? But maybe if he did something bad would happen?

Scott was frowning as he watched Sean closely. Then he turned to look at Mr. Barton, his voice going back to normal as he spoke. Well, almost normal. Maybe a bit harder than normal. Like he was trying to force the earlier tremor out of his voice. “If you do anything to hurt him, we’re leaving. You won’t be able to stop us.”

Mr. Barton looked almost surprised, but Sean may have been making that up because he covered it quickly. “Don’t worry. You can trust us.”

Scott held Mr. Batron’s gaze, but didn’t respond. Sean could almost hear the words in Scott’s head. Of course they couldn’t trust them! The professor always said they couldn’t trust anyone. Scott never trusted anyone , let alone someone they met like, just a few hours ago. There was no way he would trust Mr. Barton, and Sean knew that meant he shouldn’t trust the Avenger either. But they could let him help, right? Apparently yes, because Scott inhaled deeply and turned to look at Sean.

“Alright. Let’s go get your leg looked at.”

Chapter Text

Natasha had seen some crazy things in her life, especially in relation to Clint Barton. She had watched the man fight aliens with nothing more than a bow and arrow and manage to outsmart some of the greatest criminal masterminds in the world after growing up in the circus. It was always something new, always something crazy with Clint. And he always seemed to be taking in strays somehow; the old Labrador that wandered into his property, any new SHIELD agent who needed some help on their first day, and of course the ex-Red Room agent who had been sent to kill him. Clint Barton had liked his strays, and Natasha had seen it front and center over the years.

So why not take in six mutant kids? 

She chuckled almost silently to herself as she walked down the hall, still in slight disbelief over the past few hours. He actually did it. He actually found the X-Men, he was actually right about them being kids, and he actually managed to convince them— and convince Tony to let them— to come to the Tower. She didn’t exactly doubt him, but the fact that it had all actually come together… well, she wouldn’t have expected it when he pitched the idea to her a few weeks ago. And yet here she was, walking down to the infirmary after receiving a “ we’re here ” text from her friend. She didn’t quite know what to expect. She had the information she had researched from CPS and what Clint had told her in his short phone call, but that was about it. Other than that she was walking in blind. Her boots tapped unevenly against the floor, though the limp did not show at all. Technically she should be using crutches. Realistically, she didn't need them. Her gait had not faltered once by the time she made it to the infirmary and pushed the door open, and her face fell into an instinctive mask before she had even entered the room.

 The scene that greeted her was nothing out of the ordinary. Bright room, medical cabinets open, one of her teammates hovering to the side while Bruce went about his work. Static energy in the air that told of tension, hunched shoulders that portrayed Bruce’s concentration. It looked like a typical day in the medical bay if you ignored the fact that the person Bruce was tending to was a literal child.  

The kid in question looked up as she walked in, his sandy curls flopping against his forehead as wide green eyes stared quizzically at her.

“Woah!” After only a second the kid’s expression lit up, and Natasha instinctively froze as he started bouncing lightly on the table. “You’re Black Widow!”

Surprise filtered through Natasha, and she felt her mask melt a tiny bit as a small smile pulled at her lips. This little kid recognized her. He seemed excited to meet her. It wasn’t exactly the first time, but reactions like that, especially after years of being just “the defector” to SHIELD, never ceased to surprise her. “You a fan?”

“Oh, totally!” The kid grinned widely, showing off crooked teeth. “You’re like, the coolest! You kick serious butt.”

Natasha let her emotional mask slip enough to show a bit more of her smile. At the same time, she had to strengthen it a bit to hide her surprise. This was one of the X-Men, the infamous mutant rights crime fighters? He couldn’t be older than twelve. How old was he? He was missing at least two teeth… when did kids stop losing teeth? Or could that be from a fight?

Natasha was an expert in a lot of things. Children were definitely not one of them.

Bruce stepped forward, frowning cautiously at the squirming child. That brought Natasha’s attention to the reason the boy was on the cot, the reason he was in the infirmary in the first place. His leg was stretched out on the medical paper that covered the bed, a large portion of it wrapped in thick white gauze. Cheap gauze, from the look of it. The injury was long enough that the boy’s pants had been discarded in a haphazard lump on one end of the bed and he was only wearing his boxer shorts so as to let Bruce properly examine it. Speaking of Bruce, the doctor actually looked fairly comfortable in the setting, possibly even more so than he did when he was operating on any of his fellow Avengers. Now that Natasha wasn’t distracting the boy, Bruce had taken up a conversation with him, one that she had probably interrupted on her entry. It took her a moment to remember that he had been very involved with helping the children in New Delhi while he was taking refuge there. He was probably way more comfortable than she was in this situation. 

In fact, he was probably the only comfortable one in the room. The little kid on the cot seemed to be nervously rambling as Bruce gently prepared to inspect his injury, constantly shifting from his nerves. Meanwhile Clint was standing next to the cot opposite the occupied one, his hand occasionally sneaking up to run worriedly through his hair. Natasha could practically see the stress and panic coming off of him in waves, and she almost offered him a smile to try and relieve some of that. She decided to save it though. Then there was the second kid, one standing right next to the one on the cot on the opposite side of Bruce. He had his arms crossed, his entire posture tight as he watched the doctor move with a sharp eye. Well, Natasha was assuming he was watching. It was a bit hard to tell with the odd visor that covered his eyes, a piece of red and gold metal that blocked most of his expression from view. That one must be Scott Summers, she decided quickly, based off of the CPS files Clint had picked out. And he had to be Cyclops— the visor was the same that the superhero wore. Why was he wearing it now? And his eyes had been bandaged in the CPS picture too, hadn’t they? Could it have something to do with his mutation? Was he blind? Or was it just a coincidence?

She couldn’t quite place her finger on who the other kid could be based on her CPS files, but by Bruce’s conversation his name was Sean. He was talkative, that much was obvious. Fidgety too. The kid couldn’t seem to sit still, even as Bruce told him he was going to need to so he could pull back the bandages. Before he made any move though he glanced toward Scott, as if for permission. That made sense. He was the leader of the X-Men, he was likely the oldest or at least the most experienced. It made sense that he would be here, overseeing what was happening. Four kids, that was what Clint had said. There were only two in the room, which meant there were at least two somewhere else in the building. Probably level 13, if she could remember what Stark said correctly. Two more mutant kids besides the ones in front of her.

She moved over to stand next to Clint just as Bruce cut open the bandages. He peeled them back as she walked behind him, her view marred by his back until she was standing by her friend. She heard Clint’s inhale, as muffled as he attempted to make it, before she got a good glance at the injury. 

It was a gash. A long , jagged gash slashed into the kid’s leg, stretching from his calf almost to his ankle. The main injury was fairly uniform, but the entire leg was somewhat mangled from smaller scratches that were already starting to heal. It didn’t look like knife work, nor did it look intentional. A piece of metal, a shard of glass maybe. A terrain injury more than an injury directly from an enemy, though of course that did not mean an enemy could not have caused it. And it had to be deep. There was stickwork, at least, but it was messy and jagged. The stitches looked like they had been done with regular needle and thread instead of medical grade, and the injury around them was red and angry. The whole thing did look like it was healing, but in short… it looked like a mess. A mess that should be on a grown man, not a child. 

Natasha Romanoff was no stranger to child soldiers. She was one. That didn’t mean the sight of an injured child disgusted her any less. 

“So,” much to Bruce’s credit, he was holding together well. His voice was calm, steady, and friendly as he talked to Sean, as if the injured mess in front of them was something simple and not horrifying. It was good that Clint had agreed to bring the doctor in on the situation; neither of them would have been as qualified to deal with this. “How did this happen?”

Before Sean could answer, Scott cut in. “Do you have to know that?”

Bruce held the slightly older boy’s gaze. “It would be helpful, I can tell you that.”

There was no sign of give in Scott’s stance. “But not necessary .”

“It could be, while I am cleaning out the wound. I need to know if there is anything I need to look for, any sort of debris that could be stuck in there.”

“It’s days old. We already cleaned it.”

“All the more reason to make sure it is done properly, right?”

“It was—”

“Barbed wire!” Sean blurted out, cutting the older boy off before he could spit out his sentence. “It was just a bit of barbed wire, y’know? Easy to get cut on—“

“Cut the crap you two,” Clint said, his voice tired and just a bit sharp as he spoke. The tone was heavier than Natasha would have expected, and she had a feeling he had not meant to be so harsh. The night was probably taking more of a toll on him than he expected. Natasha was willing to bet he hadn’t eaten since the morning, and it was steadily getting later. He probably forgot to drink anything besides coffee either. The man was smart, but not so much when it came to basic necessities. “I saw you. You were in a fight.”

“Well, I didn’t say we weren’t in a fight,” Sean pointed out, one hand waving around to emphasize his points. “A bad guy shoved me and I fell into some barbed wire. So technically I wasn’t lyin’!”

“I see,” Bruce said. His fingers ghosted over the injury under Scott’s watchful gaze, and Sean flinched at the movement. “And what were these “bad guys” doing that you had to go in and stop them?”

“Well, they were—“

“Again, I don’t see how that’s important,” Scott interjected. Natasha couldn’t help but feel a flash of respect for the kid. Dodging questions. Filtering information. He knew what he was doing. 

“If I know the circumstances, I can better treat the injury,” Bruce explained in his defense.

“You don’t need to treat it,” Scott argued. “We already did. You were just looking at it.”

Natasha arched her eyebrow and shot a glance at Clint. The archer caught her gaze and gave a bit of a tired nod. From the looks of it, Scott had been pushing back against things all day. Again, a quality that Natasha could understand, even respect. But he did need to know when to back down and let the adults handle things. Again, something she could understand being a difficulty.

“This thread won’t dissolve,” Bruce explained, gesturing gently to the injury. “I have some that will. Then you won’t have to pull it out once the injury starts to really heal. It will also lessen the risk of an infection.”

Scott glowered at him hesitantly. Then he glanced at Sean. The little boy was fidgeting nervously, the white medical paper crinkling beneath him as he shifted.

“You’re… you’re gonna do the whole thing again?” He asked in a small voice. “I-I mean I-I can, but it really doesn't hurt that bad, it’s fine how it is…”

“It will heal faster with the proper medical materials,” Bruce pressed. “And we could sedate you. You wouldn’t feel a thing.”

Sean’s mouth fell open at Bruce’s words, and he jerked his head up to stare at the man. “You can do that? ” 

Bruce’s smile was slightly amused, slightly strained. Natasha got the feeling that this wasn’t the first child he had treated that had no idea how much of a blessing painkillers could be. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”

Sean blinked, then glanced back at Scott. The older boy’s expression had hardly changed, but Natasha could see he was deep in thought. 

He needed to let Bruce stitch the leg. That much was obvious to pretty much everyone in the room. The stitching wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t good either. Neither was the angry red color of the injury. It could get infected easily, if it wasn’t already. It needed to be done properly. 

Thankfully, it seemed that Scott was beginning to understand that. 

“You’re sure it would help?” Scott interrogated Bruce. 

The scientist nodded. “Absolutely.”

“And you can make it so he won’t feel it?”

“Yes, we can.”

“And that is all you’ll do to him?”

“You can watch me the whole time. I won’t hurt him.”

Even as Scott stopped to ponder again, Natasha couldn’t help but dwell on that last question. She had heard a lot of rumors about mutants and how humans had handled them, especially after looking into the X-Men for Clint. She and Bobbi Morse had gone through a conversation just a few weeks ago where she had mentioned a lab she and her husband had broken into, one with more than one mutant held hostage. What stories had these kids heard? What stories had they experienced? What exactly was Scott Summers trying to protect Sean from?

“What do you think?” Scott’s attention zeroed in on his fellow X-Man. Sean held his gaze nervously, still shifting on the cot. “Do you want him to redo it?”

Sean frowned. “I… I dunno. Did Rogue not do a good enough job?”

“She did a great job. Dr. Banner here just…” Scott inhaled slowly, almost painfully. “Dr. Banner has better materials than we were able to get.”

Sean hesitated. He turned to look at Bruce, his curls almost covering his eyes. Both kids needed haircuts. Their hair was just a bit too long to be intentional. “You’re sure it won’t hurt as bad?”

Bruce chuckled. “What kind of painkillers did you have the first time around?”

“None, I don’ think.”

He chuckled again, the strain barely evident in his voice. “Then it definitely won’t hurt as bad.”

Sean hesitated a moment longer, then glanced back at Scott. “If it’ll heal faster, that’d be good, wouldn’t it?”

Scott nodded begrudgingly.

“Then should we do it?”

Scott hesitated. “If you’re up for it. Only if you’re up for it.”

Sean nodded, pulling himself up as if to look more brave. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Scott still looked wary, but he turned his attention to Bruce. “You’ll need to get him something to bite down on.”

Bruce shook his head. “Like I said, the painkillers—“

“Just in case,” Scott cut in. He inhaled again, his fists clenching as he let out the breath. Then he turned back to Sean. “I’m going to be here every second, ok?”

The little boy nodded. “Ok.”

Bruce stood up from his crouched position, turning as he did to face Natasha and Clint. He nodded to the door. “You guys should probably step out. Two is enough of a crowd during something like this.”

Clint looked like he wanted to protest, but Natasha quickly took the man’s elbow and gently pulled him toward the door. He relented, falling in step behind her as they slipped into the hallway. Sean shot them both a wave just before Natasha shut the door, and then her attention was on Clint.

“So. You actually did it.”

“Yep.” He exhaled deeply, his hand running through his hair. “Those were the kids.”

“Half of them.”

“Not even half. There’s actually six.”

Six . Even better. “So four more…”

“Down on level 13. They’re waiting for Tony’s friend to get back with pizza.”

“Speaking of pizza,” Natasha gave him a critical look. “Have you eaten yet today?”

He huffed a laugh. “Breakfast… I think. Maybe.”

“Clint, it’s getting late.”

“I’ve been just a little bit busy,” he pointed out sarcastically. At Natasha’s unimpressed look, he let out a small breath. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll have some pizza once it’s here.”

“Good.”

“And speaking of taking care of ourselves,” he frowned at her in disapproval. “Shouldn’t you at least be using crutches?”

She snorted. “Yeah right. We both know I’m fine.”

In truth, her foot did hurt. Not badly enough that she was going to deal with crutches, but badly enough for Clint to frown disbelieving my at her. “Just don’t make me drag you in to see Dr. Banner next.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Then her mood sombered as she thought about the kid in the room next to them. “That looked bad.”

“Yeah,” Clint exhaled again. “It was worse than I was expecting, to be honest. But at least Scott’s letting us help him.”

“He’s been difficult?”

“You have no idea.” Clint groaned, leaning tiredly against the wall as he did. He looked like he was fighting a yawn. “Kid’s been pushing back against every little thing I say. It’s like he doesn’t trust a word coming out of my mouth.”

Natasha shrugged. “Can’t blame him.”

Clint huffed, but he seemed too tired to come up with a comeback. He looked almost dead on his feet. He probably hadn’t gotten any afternoon coffee either. Natasha smirked, glanced at the door next to him, then held out her hand for her friend. “Come on, Hawkeye. They’re not going anywhere; let’s get some coffee in you, then after the pizza session we can all go to sleep and deal with the rest of our problems in the morning.”

He hesitated a moment, glancing back at the door. “You’re sure they’ll be fine?”

“Of course. We’ll be back long before they’re done.” 

Clint smiled gratefully and reached out to take her hand. “Natasha, have I told you you’re my favorite Avenger?”

Her smirk deepened. “Don’t worry. I know.”

Chapter Text

Coffee helped. Coffee helped a lot. He was still exhausted, could still feel the stress of the night pulling at him, but the coffee helped take the edge off. So did food. The pizza was there by the time he brought the newly stitched-up Sean and the still-tense Scott back down to the rest of the kids. To answer Sean’s earlier question, yes Rhodey did bring Hawaiian pizza. And cheese. And pepperoni. And about ten other kinds.

“You said you brought kids to the tower!” Was the excuse Clint heard as he exited the elevator. “That could mean any number of things. Everything was the safest bet.”

As helpful as coffee and pizza were, what he probably needed was sleep. Even with the caffeine he was zoning throughout the rushed explanation that Tony gave Rhodey. But of course, the kids came before sleep. He had to get them each situated, make sure the rooms were all properly set up, make sure they all ate enough— which was no issue at all, they devoured the pizza— and just do his best to make them feel comfortable. He had no idea what he was doing, he was just doing his best to do something and hoping it would work.

Thankfully, the action of the day seemed to have the X-Kids tired out. Kitty fell asleep on the couch, her plate of pizza still half-finished next to her. Sean was soon to follow, the sedatives that Bruce had given him enough to drain even his endless supply of energy. Once Kurt dropped, the older three did their job of carrying the little ones to bed. Thankfully. Clint didn’t think he could handle trying to tuck kids into bed or read bedtime stories or anything. Did they even do that? He had no idea. It was best just to let them handle themselves, the adults silently decided. Just make sure they stay safe and in one place… that was the goal for now.

Once he was sure they were all secure, Clint followed Tony and Rhodey up to the common floor level. Finally. He let out a shaky breath, his hand running half-consciously through his hair. He was practically shaking from… what? Exhaustion? Adrenaline? Stress? All of the above?

He needed a long, long shower and a few minutes to process what the actual heck he was thinking. If he was thinking at all, he could not tell at this point.

He stepped out of the elevator, fully prepared to either collapse on the couch or head to the shooting range. Instead he nearly ran face-first into pure American muscle. With an internal groan Clint glanced up to see Steve Rodgers staring pointedly at him, that usual stern concern all over his face.

“We need to talk.”

Great.

Clint glanced over his shoulder, but the doors were already sliding shut as Tony asked JARVIS to take him and Rhodes up to the next floor. The man gave Clint a little smirk that obviously said “I’ve helped you enough today”. Double great.

Clint turned back to the super soldier, who was waiting expectantly. “Look, Steve, can it wait for the morning? It’s late.”

As Clint expected, Steve shook his head. “You can’t bring six kids into the tower and just wait it out.”

“Yes, I can,” Clint argued, fully aware that he was not fully aware of his surroundings. Yep, definitely exhaustion kicking in. Was it Steve's attitude that was draining him, or did that pot of coffee really wear off in only a few hours?

He tried to push past Steve, which quite obviously didn’t work. It was like trying to push past a brick wall. Instead Steve’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and he half-guided, half-dragged Clint to the couch. The archer didn’t protest, just flopped down heavily as Steve sat opposite to him. Steve gave him a level gaze.

“Alright. So you got them here.”

Clint let out a sigh. “Why does everyone sound so surprised?”

“How long do you plan for them to be here?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Well you need to get that far,” Steve pressed. “We’re Avengers. Superheroes. Not babysitters.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Clint could hear himself snapping. “You think this was the plan? I’m the least capable of all of us, but hey, I wasn’t about to just leave them there—“

“I know that. I agree with what you did.” Steve shifted on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “But Clint, you can’t expect to stash them here for long.”

Clint nodded. “Well, you’re right about that.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I… I don’t know.” Clint rubbed his hand over his face with a groan. “I have no clue what I’m doing, Rogers. All I know is that I’m trying to help.”

“Great. Then let me help you.” Steve spread out his hands. “What are our options?”

Clint dropped his hand from his face. “I don’t know.”

“Well, SHIELD is one…”

“No.” Clint shook his head before Steve even finished speaking. “No. I don’t think Fury should know about this.”

Steve cast him a confused look. “Why not?”

An exhausted half-laugh, half-grunt left Clint’s lips. He glanced up at the super soldier. Really. Of all people, Steve Rogers should know why he thought Nick Fury shouldn’t know about the kids. He found Steve in the ice and what did he do? A month later he had the man fighting aliens at SHIELD’s request. Did Steve even realize what his life was? The constant battle that followed him?

From his expression, the answer was no. Clint brushed aside his arguments with a wave of his hand. “I just think it’s for the best.”

“Alright then.” Thankfully Steve dropped it and moved on. “Then what?”

“Child Protective Services, I guess,” Clint said slowly. “But I don’t want that for them. At all.”

“Why not?” 

“Did you ever watch Annie?” Clint asked. When Steve shook his head Clint quickly said “That’s going on your list. You need to watch Annie. But I think these kids have been through a couple of Miss Hanigans and I don’t want them to end up there again.”

Steve looked confused, and Clint couldn’t help but mutter a few lines of “It’s a Hard Knock Life” under his breath. Blame the sleep deprivation.

“I guess the biggest thing is that they’re mutants,” Clint explained slowly. “I dunno if mutants were a thing back in your day…”

Steve shrugged. “I think I heard a rumor that Hitler was using mutants as soldiers once, but I know more about them from now. I could see why that would be an issue.”

“Yep.” Clint popped the “p” at the end of the word, resting his chin on his hand as he tried to think. “What else is there?”

Steve was silent for a moment. “Orphanages?” 

“Same Annie issue.”

“Do they have any other family?”

“If they did, would they have been in the system in the first place?”

Steve let out a breath. “Did Xavier have anyone?”

“Not that I know of. He seemed like a recluse.”

“Well, I guess you could—“

“I’m not leaving them at that Institute,” Clint said, cutting off Steve’s words before they even came out. 

Steve offered him a shrug. “It’s probably what they would want.”

“Yeah, well, kids want a lot of things.” Even as he said it, Clint had some doubts. Was there a way they could make that work? Where the Avengers checked up on the kids or something? Got some repairs done? Left the six mutant kids alone to fend for themselves? No. No, he didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Then what?” Steve asked, his eyes trained on Clint. He didn’t quite have Natasha’s searching stare— not even Fury could hold that kind of power—  but he had something similar. “We can’t keep them here.”

“I know.”

“Then those are the options.” Steve tapped his fingers against his knees. “They’re kids. They need stability. The sooner we get this figured out…”

“…The better for everyone,” Clint finished. Steve was right. They had to figure something out, sooner than later. He let out one, long, heavy sigh. “I’ll find their CPS files, see if Nat and I can track down any remaining family. I’ll look up Xavier too… who knows, maybe he had someone who would take them.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll do some research. I’ve heard of some mutant specialists… I’m sure there’s someone working with CPS who would be able to help.”

Clint chuckled dryly. “Let’s just hope they’re in the phone book.”

“Hey,” Steve protested. “I’m learning how to internet.”

Clint let out another huff of humor. “Alright. Fine. Then we have a plan. Happy?”

Steve nodded. “I know none of the options are good… we just have to find the one that’s the least bad.”

“Alright,” Clint let out a breath. “Yeah. We’ll just have to do that.”

Steve nodded slowly then stood up, wishing Clint a good night before leaving the area. Silence settled in, leaving the archer with his buzzing brain. Kids. Decisions. Arrangements. Explanations. He let out a soft groan, burying his head in his hands as thought swirled through his brain. Too many decisions. Too many plans.

Forget a shower. Clint needed a coma. 

Chapter Text

Falling asleep on the couch was nice. Sometimes. It could be a great experience, one that meant that the night had been a relaxed experience resulting in casual unconsciousness wherever was most comfortable. Sometimes, it was the best way to sleep. Other times it sucked . 

This, of course, was one of those times. 

Scott groaned, arching his back as he stretched. His whole body felt thick and stiff, as if the tension of the day had settled in his shoulders and frozen there. It was a sensation that was annoyingly familiar, though usually not to this level. His muscles ached, his side stiff from where it was pressed against a hard pillow. Weird. All of the Professor’s pillows were worn and used from pillow fights and forts, not to mention training exercises. And the living room was never so bright—

Scott sat straight up, despite the protesting in his muscles. Of course. They weren’t in the Institute. These weren’t the Professor’s pillows. 

This was Avengers Tower.

Scott stood up as quickly as he could, his panic momentarily interrupted by his relief that he fell asleep with his visor on. Thank goodness . That could have been a disaster. 

Not that it wasn’t a disaster anyway. 

He should be used to the rapid change, after how often he had seen it. This early morning panic where he woke up in unfamiliar surroundings with the world shifting beneath his feet should not unnerve him anymore. Still, every single time, it never ceased to shock him just how much damage twenty four hours could do. 

Scott shook his stiff muscles out as best as he could and looked around the room. It was morning, that much he could tell. There were floor-to-ceiling windows at the one end of the common room, and through them he could see the New York skyline outlined in grey, the sun still hidden behind the skyscrapers. It was early morning. That was good. Hopefully no one would be up yet.

First things first. He quickly made his way past the couch he had spent the night on and down the hallway to the bedrooms. One by one, he peeked into the rooms. Sean was still out cold, twitching slightly and with his newly stitched leg propped up on top of the covers. As much as Scott didn’t want to admit it, the curly haired kid did look a little better, a little less pale… just a little. Kitty was sleeping in the bed across the room, her purple stuffed dragon clutched close to her chest. In the next room, Rogue and Kurt both slept soundly. Everything looked fine, but Scott still frowned at the sight. They would have to be more careful about Kurt. Rogue too. Yesterday was bad enough… they would be lucky if Clint Barton or Tony Stark hadn’t already called someone about the blue boy, and if anyone touched Rogue… well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to send her to an asylum. Scott shut their door softly, trying to take deep breaths to keep the tightness from returning to his chest. No. They were here to avoid being separated. He had been convinced to come this far… one wrong move and he didn’t care what the others said, they would be gone.  

His fists were clenched as he cracked open the third door, tension still heavy on his shoulders despite the fact that almost all of his siblings were accounted for. The door creaked, and as soon as it swung open he felt his breath hitch. The room was empty. Empty bed. Empty room. Empty . 

He could feel his breath quickening, heart pounding even as his mind struggled to process the sight in front of him. No . This couldn’t be right. What had happened, who was able to get past him when he was right there , right in the middle of the room, no one could have come down the elevator without him waking up so how —

“Mornin’, red eyes.” Scott whipped around, his heart thudding in his chest as he locked eyes with the blonde, smirking mutant behind him. The tension left him for a brief moment, replaced instead by a heavy relief. Of course. Warren was always an early riser. He was the only one up before Scott most mornings. And out of all of them, minus maybe Scott himself, he was the toughest fighter. Of course he was fine. Of course nothing had happened.

“Morning,” Scott muttered, his voice still a bit dry from sleep. The cracking made him wince, and he instinctively reached up to rub at the skin around his visor to chase away the remnants of sleep. In front of him Warren chuckled, his wings twitching slightly in amusement…

His wings.

“Warren, where’s your harness?” Scott dropped his hand instantly, his voice rising to a harsh whisper as adrenaline spiked again in his chest.

Warren simply shrugged. “In my room. I didn’t feel like strapping it on yet.”

Scott felt his fists clenching as his chest tightened. “You need to put it on.”

The command only earned him an eye roll. “Chill out man, it’s like five AM. No one’s awake yet.”

“We don’t know that! They could come down any minute!” Scott gestured to the space around them. “Besides that, there’s definitely security cameras down here. They could be watching us right now!”

Warren glared at him. “ Chill Scott. No one’s watching us. You’re being paranoid.”

“So what?” Scott exclaimed. “That doesn’t mean it’s not true!”

“It’s fine Scott,” Warren shot back, his wings flaring slightly in agitation. “I had them bolted down all of yesterday so can you just chill for a second?”

Scott grit his teeth sharply. Warren hated to contain his wings for too long. He knew that, he knew that having them strapped down must have been uncomfortable. But still, he cared about their safety a lot more than their comfort. “We don’t know when they’ll come to check on us.”

“ Exactly ,” Warren pressed. “It could be hours from now. Come on, no one’s going to—“

As Warren was speaking there was a noise from down the hall: the noise of an elevator opening. Scott shot Warren a furious glance, one that was returned with fervor. Warren’s wings had been arched from their argument, but as soon as footsteps exited the elevator they instinctively pressed against his back, a flash of badly-hidden fear flitting across his face as he and Scott whipped around. In an instant he found himself face-to-face with a frozen Clint Barton, fresh off the elevator with a large bag in his hand and a slight look of shock on his face.

For a moment, no one moved. It was as if the air itself had frozen over.

Eventually, Clint cleared his throat. “Hey guys…”

“Hey Clint,” Warren said. The winged mutant recovered more quickly than Scott was able to, pulling his face into a mostly neutral expression as he looked at Clint; his wings, however, stayed flat and tense against his shoulders. “What’s up?”

The archer stared a moment longer. Then, his lips twitched into a smile. “I knew it. Or, at least, I thought it. I thought you were Angel. I had a hunch, at least.”

Warren blinked, his expression flat with a forced calm. Usually, he was better at maintaining this sort of air, the sort that made him look as though he did not care what anyone in the room was thinking. This time, however, Scott could see the way that he was straining beneath the weight of his own act. The wings stayed firmly folded against his back. “What made you think that?”

“Well, I did see you in costume,” Clint pointed out, oblivious to the tension in the air. That, or he was purposefully ignoring it. He looked curious, as well as a bit rough, almost as if he had just rolled out of bed in his purple t-shirt and jeans. “I couldn’t be sure though since, y’know, I thought the wings would be a pretty big give away. I guess not… how do they work? Do they retract?”

Warren shook his head, and the smile that he had plastered on looked nothing like a real smile. It looked like the grin of a dog trying to show its teeth as it was backed into a corner. 

In that moment, any sort of argument between them did not matter. Scott stepped forward as Warren stepped back, planting himself firmly between Clint Barton and the winged mutant. 

“What are you doing here?” Scott cut in, his voice sharp and hostile. He could feel Warren’s presence over his shoulder but did not look back at the other boy. It did not matter if he was annoyed or grateful for Scott’s help; it would have come either way. 

Clint only looked slightly bothered by the interruption. After only a second of hesitation he held up the large white bag he was carrying, shrugging as if it was an answer. “I brought breakfast. Thought you guys might want something better than the cereal Tony left.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Scott replied sharply. He had already resolved not to touch the cereal, or the eggs, or anything else the Avengers put in the fridge. He could figure it out; they brought food from the Institute, and he would eventually be able to slip out and get them… something. Somehow. But he didn’t want to use the Avenger’s food, especially stuff they brought themselves. He didn’t want to depend on the Avengers any more than they already were. 

Clint shrugged again, but the bothered expression on his face only became more dominant. “You sure? I mean, it’s waffles…”

“ Waffles?” Scott had to swallow a groan as he turned to see Kurt poking his head out the door of his and Rogue’s room. Seriously? The one time the kid decided not to sleep in till noon. “Really?”

“No,” Scott pressed. “We’ve got food.”

“You don’t have to eat them if you don’t like them,” Clint pointed out.

“I like waffles,” Scott said sharply, his face burning at how childish he sounded. He liked waffles. Really, he did. But good food wasn’t worth the sacrifice of safety. Even if they were obviously restaurant waffles, not frozen grocery store waffles. Even if he could smell them, even if they smelled really good… “But we can take care of ourselves.”

Warren stayed silent, his arms crossed over his chest. Thank goodness. If he disagreed, Scott would be outvoted… again. But this time the other teen kept his mouth shut, so Scott held his ground.

Clint looked like he wanted to argue, but wasn't sure how. After a moment, he tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Alright. Suit yourselves.” He shook the bag a little. “I guess I’ll see if the other Avengers want these.”

He hesitated a bit longer, as if waiting to see if Scott would crack. But he didn’t. He stayed strong and held the archer’s gaze until, finally, the man gave one last shrug and turned back to the elevator.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” he said before pressing the button. “Ask JARVIS for me. Or just come on up. Probably the common floor, JARVIS’ll know where to take you, or… yeah. Just talk to JARVIS.”

Scott didn’t acknowledge Clint’s words. The man waited a few more moments, then awkwardly stepped into the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors slid shut behind him that Scott felt like he could breathe again. 

“Waffles would have been nice,” Kurt said softly from behind him. Scott let out a long, silent sigh, then turned to his little brother. 

“Maybe, but it’s alright. We’ve got good stuff, our own stuff, stuff that we don’t have to worry about whether or not it’s safe, alright?”

Kurt nodded slowly, but he seemed unconvinced. Scott had to bite back another sigh. He glanced at Warren, daring the other teen to challenge him.

“Hey, I agree.” Warren shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Good,” Scott said. He paused a moment, then gestured to Warren. “You should get your harness on.”

Warren rolled his eyes, but headed toward his room. Scott did not miss the tension that still remained in his feathers, but he did not press. Instead, he turned back to Kurt. “And you should get your clothes on for the day. I want you to keep a hood over your face as best as possible. Is Rogue awake yet?”

Kurt shook his head. “No, but she’ll probably be up soon. I don’t think she slept well.”

Scott nodded. He didn’t like to hear that, but at least it wasn’t out of the ordinary. He’d have to see if he could get her to talk about her nightmare this time. “Alright. Want to help me make breakfast once you’re ready?”

Kurt nodded eagerly and disappeared back into his room. Scott took another deep breath, then made his way to the kitchenette. It didn’t matter if the others thought he was paranoid or overprotective. He was trying to keep everyone safe.  

Waffles weren’t worth safety. 

Chapter Text

Having the kids in the tower was… weird. Everyone knew they were there. Everyone felt their presence. But it seemed as if everyone was just trying to ignore it, to just go about their days as normal. And after the failed breakfast attempt, Clint decided that it probably was for the best to just leave them be. For now, at least. A lot had changed in twenty four hours. They all needed time to adjust. 

That was it. It wasn’t that he had no idea what to do with these kids. Of course not.

Clint munched on some of the leftover waffles as morning slowly turned into afternoon, pouring over the CPS files Natasha had pulled together as he did. There were probably five hundred files printed and spread out over his room. There were hundreds of pictures of hundreds of kids, most of them confirmed mutants. Somehow —over the course of a few hours of sifting through paperwork— he had found matches for most of the kids that now occupied the fourth fifth floor of the tower. He had found matches for all but one, actually. It took some digging, and it didn’t help that everything was on paper instead of digital. But now, with the five files in front of him, he was confident that he found them.                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Scott Summers. That one was the most obvious. The kid had told him his full name, and the file was what helped Clint find the X-Men in the first place. The boy was five years old when he entered the system, after a plane crash killed his mother and father. Something had happened in the crash, something that was very vague on the file, something that definitely had to do with his mutation, but it seemed CPS was too scared to say what. After that he bounced around between seven different homes in the five years before Xavier came in and pulled him out of the system. After that, he was off the grid, the first on the list to be taken in by the Professor. 

Warren . No last name, not much solid information. He didn’t show up in the system till he was ten, and when he did show up he was in rough shape… but again, the file brushed over that information. “Rough shape” could mean anything, but that was about as specific as it got. From there his file was similar to Scott’s, though most of the homes returned him for the fact that the kid would get into fights. It was unclear who started them, but Warren seemed to take most of the blame. The kid surely would have ended up in juvie if the professor hadn’t grabbed him just over a year ago. He must be the newest to the group, and probably only a few months older than Scott.

Anna Marie . As far as he could tell, that was Rogue’s real name. The young girl in the picture had the same red hair and white bangs, the same cold expression, the same gloves pulled over her hands. Again, there was definitely something about her mutation on the file, but it was vague as could be; all that Clint could tell was she left a trail of coma patients in her path. With a quick bit of additional googling, he found that some recovered. Some didn’t. Marie got bounced around even more than the first two, probably because when she was seven —three years after being put in the system by her father after the death of her mother— she got into the habit of running away. A lot. She wasn’t picked up by Xavier, because when she was eleven her attempt to run was successful. Clint could only assume that the professor had found her while she was on her own.

Sean Cassidy . Definitely of Irish heritage, just as his accent suggested; his father was an Irish immigrant, though some faulty paperwork sent him back overseas for what should have been just a few months. Instead he never returned, as the ship he boarded sank in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. His mother commited suicide when she heard the news, leaving a five-year-old Sean in the system. He was only there for about a year, and the family that took him in was pretty steady until an incident that required every window in their house to be replaced. Just before Sean’s seventh birthday the good old Professor Xavier showed up, once again stealing the kid off the grid. From the dates, Sean would have likely been the second kid the Professor gathered. 

Kathrine Pryde . She was currently six. Six. She went in the system the earliest at only a year and a few months old. When CPS found her, she was the only survivor of a devastating earthquake that just about leveled her neighborhood. Yikes . To make matters worse, the family that brought her in was going steady until a massive fire burned their house to the ground. And then the second family that took her very nearly lost their lives to a tornado. The kid must have some sort of weather powers, invulnerability, or was just the luckiest little girl to have ever gone through CPS— depending on if you counted surviving so many disasters lucky . All of that happened in the span of four years. It was unsurprising that no one wanted to take her after the third incident… that is, of course, until Professor Xavier showed up. 

That was all of the information he could find, up until Xavier. The rest was history… history that Clint still didn’t know, of course.

Kurt was the only one he couldn’t find a trace of, which meant he probably wasn’t in the system at all; he would be a hard one to miss. Honestly, that didn’t surprise Clint. Out of all the kids, it was easy to guess that Kurt would have had the most unorthodox childhood so far. Besides, his German accent was thick… who knew how long he had even been in America, let alone the foster system. Maybe Clint would be able to figure his story out: Kurt seemed like one of the ones more likely to talk about things, after all. Finding files on five out of six of them wasn’t bad. He had much more information than he had the day before.

No families. He hardly had to do any research to figure that much out. These kids had mostly dead parents—minus Marie’s dad, but since he was the one to give her to CPS that was hardly an option. No siblings— well, according to the news Scott’s mom may have been pregnant, but that hardly made the matter better— no extended family that Clint could find… and even if he could find them, he had a feeling there wouldn’t be much for the kids to go back to. Otherwise, wouldn’t they be there now and not ten floors beneath him?

That brought him to option two, which meant a whole lot more googling.

It was almost two pm when someone opened his door. He glanced up, unsurprised to see Natasha standing there. “Hey, Tasha.”

“How’s it going?” She walked into his room and flopped down in one of the chairs next to him. Clint tried to get an eye on her foot… was it the left one or the right one that was injured? He couldn’t even remember any more. She was moving around like normal, despite the fact that she should definitely still be on bed rest. “I heard Steve got onto you about planning ahead.”

Clint sighed. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’ve known you for years and I know that’s never going to happen.” Natasha smirked at him, propping her chin up with her hand as she watched him type something into his computer. “For example, have you called the missus yet?”

Clint felt his stomach drop, his heart plummeting and his feet suddenly feeling cold. Crap . What was he going to tell Laura? Hey honey, I know we’re having a hard time right now, but I majorly screwed up… as usual. Crap. “I didn’t even think…”

“That’s what I thought.” Natasha’s voice lost most of its snark, instead replaced by a tone that sounded almost comforting. “Hey, don’t worry. Laura’s a strong woman.”

“I know, I know.” Clint shook his head forcefully. “The timing just sucks .”

Natasha hummed. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

“Sucks” wasn’t a strong enough word for it. This was exactly the kind of stuff that Clint didn’t want to worry Laura with… kids . He couldn’t talk kids with her. Not right now.

“I can’t tell her,” he breathed before his thoughts could even come to that decision. “I just can’t. I’ll have it figured out soon. This isn’t permanent.”

Natasha watched him, her gaze sharp and even. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah.” Clint nodded, driving away his uncertainty as he did. “Yeah, I mean it's one of my ideas so I’m not sure I would call it good , but I think it’s better than any other option. She doesn’t expect me home for a while. I’m on active duty. I should have plenty of time to sort all of this out. Then , once it’s over and done, I’ll tell her.”

Natasha watched him closely for another moment. Then she nodded. “Maybe you can plan.”

Clint grinned. “Why don’t you tell that to Rogers—“

“Because it takes me to get you to make a plan, obviously.” Clint feigned a look of hurt while Natasha smirked at him. Then she leaned forward. “So. What have your genius planning skills come up with so far?”

Clint sighed softly, then turned his computer so Natasha could see it— after he hid the tab of her-face-on-spiders of course. “I managed to find pretty much all the kids in the files you printed. So then I googled each of them—“ he scrolled through the open tabs on his computer. “—no family, as far as I could find. Marie’s dad might be alive…”

“Marie?” Natasha cut in.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s Rogue’s real name. Anyway, her dad might be alive, but as far as I can piece together he’s the one who turned her into CPS, so that’s probably a dead end. Scott had an uncle, but he disappeared a few years before his parents were killed. Warren, who knows; Kitty, parents dead; Sean, parents dead…”

“Ok. So it looks grim.”

“Yeah. That’s a word for it.” Clint sighed again. “So now I’m looking up mutant-friendly foster care agents. Hoping I can find someone.”

“And have you?”

Clint grimaced. “Well, there’s this guy called William Stryker… but doesn’t that name just sound shifty? Like he’s going to hit someone?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Clint, you can’t judge someone based on their name.”

“Oh yeah? Check out this one.” Clint clicked to another tab. “ Emma Frost . She sounds like some sort of discount Elsa. She runs a great big boarding school; does that not sound like something straight from a comic book?”

“Clint, we’re superheroes. We practically live in a comic book.”

“Still,” he grumbled, clicking between the two tabs. “I don’t know if I like them. They’re private organizations, and while they have some notable placements, it looks like a lot of the kids aren’t recorded. Especially on Strkyer’s side. Frost’s they just look…” He frowned at the home page of Miss Frost's boarding school. There were plenty of pictures, all boasting smiling mutant kids beneath bright, sunny skies. “…too photogenic. I don’t trust that.”

“Alright,” Natasha said with another roll of her eyes “Have you found any people with normal names? Or less appealing pictures?”

Clint hesitated a moment, then clicked to another tab. “Well… there is this lady. Moira MacTaggert. She’s an ex-FBI agent, believe it or not. I guess federal investigations weren’t hard enough for her.”

“She’s got a nice record,” Natasha said approvingly, peering over Clint’s shoulder as she read the article. “Look, she even placed some kids with Stryker and Frost…”

“Ok, I get it, don’t judge people on how ridiculous their names are,” Clint said grumpily as Natasha chuckled. “But I like the look of Moira better than the other two. Even if her name is a little silly as well. I mean, the double initials are a bit much...”

“Then email her.” Clint glanced up at Natasha. The spy pointed to the little “contact me” portion of MacTaggert’s webpage, her expression deadpan. There was no hesitance or exaggeration in her tone, and Clint suddenly felt like he was scrambling to keep up.

“Right now?”

“You want these kids taken care of as soon as possible, right?”

Clint sighed. He did not feel like typing out an email right now. But Natasha was right… the sooner he got it going, the sooner it would be done. With a grumpy scowl at his friend he loaded up his email box and started a new message to the lady. Natasha sat with him, checking grammar once and a while and suggesting wording here and there. 

To: Moria MacTaggert

From: Clint Barton

Subject: A Large Job

Hello Ms MacTaggert. I recently discovered a group of six mutant kids living on their own after their previous caretaker unfortunately passed away. As I said, all six are mutants, and I don’t trust the usual Child Protective Services to serve them as well as someone more specialized. I am currently watching over them, but I’m hoping you will be able to help me find a more stable option. I understand this is a very large job, as it would be ideal for these kids to be placed together, but if you would be interested in helping out then let me know and I will send you their information. The sooner, the better.

Regards, Clint Barton.

““ Regards ” sounds way too formal,” Clint grumbled as he read over the email. 

“It’s supposed to be formal.”

“It sounds like I’m asking her to come pick up a bunch of puppies.”

“Well, that’s not too far off.”

Clint groaned. “This is a bad idea. The email sounds dumb. Let’s take a break, then I’ll send it after I—“

Before he could even finish speaking Natasha looked him dead in the eye, reached over, and clicked send. Clint blinked for just a moment, trying to process what happened. “Tasha!”

“I know you Clint. You never would have sent it.” She stood up, reaching out her hand to him. “Come on. Now we can take a break.”

Clint scowled at her, but took her hand and let her pull him up from his chair. She was right. He probably would have hesitated too long on his own. The email would be fine. And who knew if Moira MacTaggert would even be able to help them. He had to get it out there, otherwise he would have no time to find other options when the need arose. 

They couldn’t have the kids at the tower for long. The sooner they found another option, the better.

Chapter Text

Clint didn’t go down to check on the kids again until almost dinner time. Maybe he should have gone earlier. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone at all. He had no idea. He had no clue what he was doing. So he went down around dinner. He didn’t really know what to expect. The kids would be being kids, right? Hanging out? Maybe playing video games? Maybe watching a movie? He had no clue what to expect. 

But he definitely didn’t expect screaming.

The sound was enough to take a year off of his life expectancy. Clint practically bolted from the elevator, panic thrumming through his veins. Crap, he should have come down sooner, why on earth did he think it was a good idea to leave six kids unsupervised , that was exactly why he wanted to bring them to the tower in the first place! Why wasn’t he down there? Why wasn’t he keeping an eye on them? They could be hurt, or—

—or staring at him as he burst out of the elevator, frozen in the middle of the room with cards in their hands.

They were playing a card game.

Warren reached out, lightly punching Sean, who was standing on the couch next to him. It appeared that Sean was the one shouting. “I told you to quiet down, dork! Now look what you did!”

“No!” Sean crossed his arms. “You told me to quiet down because I could—“

“Sean! Off the couch!” Scott hissed sharply, his distrustful gaze piercing Clint from behind his visor. He still had it on. The kid definitely had some sort of issue with his eyes.

Sean looked a bit guilty and dropped heavily from the couch, his cards in his hands as he kept his arms crossed— Clint couldn’t help but think the action made him look a lot like Scott, whose arms were similarly crossed. Meanwhile Kitty reached out, quickly picking a few cards from the top of the deck and handing them over to Sean with a grin. The curly haired boy took them with a huff, adding them to the cards he was holding. Uno cards, by the look of it.

Scott held up a hand, as if to pause the game, but Clint quickly put up his own in a sign of surrender. “Please, dont stop because of me. It was just getting boring upstairs, so I wanted to see what was going on down here.”

Scott obviously didn’t trust him— did he ever? — but Warren, who was sitting next to Sean, had already made his move. A simple blue three now topped the stack, and then it was Rogue’s turn. She also put down a blue card, her sharp green eyes flitting distrustfully to Clint every few moments. Clint went ahead and sat down, legs crossed as he watched Kurt go next. The blue boy had donned a hoodie that looked at least two sizes too big for him, and had the hood pulled up over his head so Clint could hardly see him. That made the archer frown. After the moment on the elevator, he hoped that he would get to see more of the little blue kid. Apparently he still felt the need to hide. Come to think of it, Warren’s wings were gone again too. 

Trust was not an easy commodity with these kids.

“How’s your leg Sean?” Clint asked as both Scott and Kitty played their cards. 

“Oh, it’s good!” Sean all but threw down a card before squirming around to look at Clint, beaming as he gestured to his still-bandaged leg. “It doesn’t hurt at all! ”

Clint felt a flash of relief at that. Sean’s recovery was probably one of the biggest reasons the kids were able to be convinced to come, and he wanted it to go smoothly. Warren leaned forward to put down a card, a yellow six on top of Sean’s yellow two. Suddenly all six kids lunged forward, smacking the card as they did. In seconds there was a pile of five hands on top of the card, Kitty pouting as hers hit last. 

“No fair!” She whined as Sean handed her a card from the top of the deck. “I wasn’t ready!”

“That’s the whole point,” Warren chuckled as Rogue leaned forward to set down her next card, leaving Clint blinking in confusion. Rogue’s card was a yellow five, but before Kurt could go Kitty suddenly jumped in and placed her own yellow five on top with a triumphant giggle.

“Wait,” Clint said slowly. “It wasn’t your turn, Kitty.”

“Yeah it was!” She grinned up at him, her long ponytail flopping against her shoulder as she gestured to the pile. “I had the exact same card!”

Clint started to protest, but noticed the other X-kids nodding along and the game continuing from Kitty’s position, so he sat back. Another six was played, and again the kids slapped the card. Then a 2x card was played, but instead of Scott taking two cards, he set another 2x on top. Kitty gave a malicious grin and placed a 4x on top of that, leaving everyone to turn to Sean… who groaned in defeat. He held out a hand, his eyes closed as Warren and Kitty both held out cards to him. Without looking he grabbed Warren’s, peaked at it, and then groaned again. 

“I can’t trust you guys,” he grumbled sourly, Warren’s card disappearing into his hand as he drew eight cards from the deck. He was no where near Uno. He was looking closer to Veinte. If this was even Uno that the kids were playing… it almost looked like they were making up rules on the spot.

Warren put down his next card and shouted out “Uno” seconds before Sean and Kitty did. All the hands— expect for Sean’s, of course— were getting pretty low. Kitty called out Uno when it was her next turn, and then Warren had to draw a card… and just a few moments later Kitty was popping up with a cheer as she placed her last card on the pile. 

Congratulations went around as the little girl did a bit of a victory dance, one that Clint couldn’t help but think of as adorable . The kid was a good dancer. But soon she stopped in favor of grabbing the card she had just set down and a pen that Scott offered her. She jotted something down, then slipped the card back into the deck that Scott was shuffling. The boy was watching him closely, his visor-covered gaze narrow as he kept a suspicious eye on the archer. 

“You wanna play this round Mr. Barton?” Sean asked, bouncing up and down as he turned pleading eyes on Clint. The older three looked a bit reproachful, but the younger three— even Kurt— looked toward him hopefully. Clint couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Sure, I’ll play. If no one minds.”

None of the kids voiced any apprehensions, though some of their faces showed them. Still Clint scooted forward so he was next to Kitty and Sean, and watched Scott begin to deal out the cards. “And, uh, what exactly are we playing?”

“It’s Uno!” Kitty giggled.

“But spicy!” Sean added.

“Spicy Uno?” Clint said. The two nodded. 

“We kinda made it up!” Sean explained. “Kinda. Scott played it before in a group home or somethin’, then he taught us what he remembered an’ we made up the rest! It’s super fun!”

“Alright,” Clint said slowly. “So how do you play?”

“It’s basically just like Uno, but a couple more rules. Right?” Sean looked around the room, but no one disagreed with him. “Yeah. So on sixes, you gotta slap it, and the person who slaps it last gets a card. On sevens you can’t talk at all! Well, I guess unless it’s something like the rules, y’know? Or if the house was on fire! But usually if you talk, you get a card, and it stops when another seven is played. The 2x cards can be stacked on top of each other an’ stuff, so if there’s three 2x then it’s like a 6x which can suck , an if you’ve got a card identical to one someone lays down like a blue three on top of a blue three, you can jump in no matter when your turn is!” He again looked around for confirmation. “Is that it?”

“Ah think you got it covered,” Rogue said.

“It’s literally Uno on steroids,” Warren said with a shrug. 

Clint returned the shrug, grinning as he did. The game sounded fun. Confusing, but fun. “And what about when Warren have you a card?”

“Oh, you can donate cards if someone can’t play!” Sean said. He shot a glare towards Warren, who snickered. “Don't trust it though, half the time people don’t help.”

Warren shrugged, his expression clearly reading “guilty”, but not looking bothered by it. Clint chuckled and picked up his cards, ready to play. 

He planned to go easy on all the kids and not really try to win. He didn’t expect Uno to get so competitive. Soon he was as ramped up as Sean… and not oblivious to the fact he was getting somewhat targeted. He didn’t need to worry about going easy on the kids, because they had no qualms against bombarding him with cards. He had at least fifteen in his hand by the time that Warren laid down his last card, claiming his place as the victor with a cheer from Sean; he had gotten hit by a 2x stack via Scott earlier, and really just wanted anyone but him to win. 

“Great job,” Scott congratulated as he handed Warren the winning card— a wildcard, smart strategy— and started to shuffle the deck. Warren grabbed the same pen Kitty had used to write his initials on the card; something Clint had noticed throughout the deck. Almost every card had a set of initials on it, most had multiple. There were lots of KP’s for Kitty Pryde, even more SC’s, some SS’s that looked old and faded while ones like R, KW, and WW were bolder and newer, though less common. R was probably the most rare initial, and Clint couldn’t help but notice that it was her superhero name, not her actual name that she used for her card. And all of Warren’s initials had two W’s instead of just one. And now that he was thinking about it, he had no guesses as to what Kurt’s last name was. He would have to ask about those at some point.

“Well?” Sean asked excitedly, turning to Clint as he did. “Whaddya think?”

Clint grinned and handed his cards back to Scott. “Best version of Uno I’ve ever played. 

Sean and Kitty both let out a cheer, and Clint could see Kurt’s tail lashing in excitement. Oh yeah. The kid definitely had a tail. Wow.

“I can’t belive I hadn’t heard of it before,” Clint admitted. “It sounds just like the kind of game we would play in the circus, but I don’t remember—“

“Wait,” Kurt exclaimed, then fell silent as he realized he had interrupted. When Clint didn’t continue he sheepishly spoke. “You were a part of a circus?”

“Oh yeah!” Clint said with a cocky grin. “Where do you think I learned my charisma and charm?”

Kitty and Sean giggled, and Kurt forgot all about his hood as he tilted his head up, blue face lit up with excitement and tail thunking against the ground as he grinned. “I grew up in the circus too!”

Clint felt his smile grow wider. That made so much sense. Of course Kurt was the kind of kid who would be brought into the circus; he was an attraction without any need for training. And with that in mind of course he wouldn’t be on CPS’s radar. That was the whole reason Clint himself was in the circus for as long as he was; no one looks for circus kids.

“Awesome!” Clint reached out, and Kurt didn’t even hesitate before giving him a high five. The little kid was grinning so widely that Clint thought he might hurt himself. “What circus?”

“Der Jammareket!” Kurt said, tail lashing as he spoke. His hoodie had fallen back to show more of his face, but he seemed too excited to care. “Back in Deutschland! I was an acrobat!”

So he was definitely right about Kurt being from Germany. And he had to admit, he felt himself getting excited about the fact that he had something in common with the kid. There were so many things from the circus that no one else on the team could relate to, things ingrained in him that no one else understood. Like the need to be unnecessary showy with his shots, so different from Natasha who went straight for the target without any distraction. It was one of the things that made their partnership difficult when she first joined shield, a part of his fighting style that she could never quite get… but by the look of excitement in Kurt’s wide, pupiless eyes, he probably knew a trick or two. He understood the need for attention.

It sucked that the kid had to hide so much.

Scott was already dealing the cards back out, and at his sharp look Clint decided to drop the circus bit for now and focus on the game. His favorite play quickly became the seven. None had been played the round before, but this time he got to see the difference between the chattering gameplay and the hush that followed a seven being laid. Plus, the kid’s looks of confusion when Clint signed “your turn” to Sean were priceless. 

“Sign language,” he explained once the seven had been turned off— much to the relief of Sean, who let out a very noisy and over dramatic gasp the moment they could talk. “I’ll have to show you guys some.”

“ Sign language? ” Sean asked in wonder. “That’s so cool! Why do you know that? Is it a spy thing?”

Clint chuckled. “Somewhat. But it’s mostly a deaf thing.”

He turned his head so Sean could see his ears, and pointed to the purple hearing aids he was wearing. He was kind of surprised that none of the kids had asked about them yet. “I’m eighty percent deaf, actually.”

He could hear Sean’s gasp. And he turned back to see the kid with his mouth open. “But how? You’re a superhero!”

“Just because you’ve got some struggles doesn’t mean you can’t be a superhero,” Clint explained. All the kids were looking at him now, and he was very aware that he had just shared one of his biggest weaknesses as a hero. Not even the other Avengers knew he was deaf for a long while after the battle of New York… Thor had no idea, since he had already left before Natasha was able so make him share. But trust goes both ways; if he wanted the kids to share their insecurities, it was only fair he showed them his. “Sure, it makes it harder sometimes, but it also can be surprisingly helpful. I mean, if we ever fight someone who hypnotizes through their words or something…” Clint laughed and cupped his hand around his ear. “What’s that? Did you say something? I’m too busy kicking your butt for the twenty percent of me that can hear to care.”

All three of the younger kids burst out laughing, and he even got a chuckle from Warren and Rogue. That was already a huge win in his book— then he caught sight of Scott’s lips twitching. Just for a second, his mouth pulled up in a smile. It was gone in a flash, but it was there.

Now that was a real win.

Chapter Text

Clint left the kids to their own devices for dinner, but only with the promise that they would let him bring something down for breakfast… an agreement that he was beginning to regret. Sleep had been choppy, at best. He woke up with a pounding headache, his side aching from some old injury or another from some fight that had probably been won. It didn’t matter what it was from; it hurt, and it put him in a pretty foul mood. He wanted nothing more than to shut off the lights and crawl away from the migraine that was already aching at the bottom of his skull.

But the kids were his responsibility right now. He was pretty sure they were eating, but despite the muscle that Warren and Scott sported all six of them seemed pretty scrawny. Hadn’t Bruce mentioned a theory about mutants having enhanced metabolism? And no matter what money the Professor left them, six kids wouldn’t be able to support themselves well for months, let alone when they had to move out of the blue… so yeah, he had made breakfast non-negotiable, and he knew he should not go back on that no matter how much he wanted to avoid people at the moment.

The other issue was, of course, his cooking abilities. If one could even call them “abilities” without laughing— none of the other Avengers could, that was for sure. Laura was the cook of his household, and while he had improved with her teaching he was still banned from the kitchen on almost all occasions. But at the same time, he couldn’t exactly order Chick-Fil-A for six high metabolism kids on a SHIELD salary, and there was no way he was going to ask for more money from Tony at the moment. He had already received enough ridicule from the waffle failure. 

So the plan was a Kroger pancake mix. He just had to hope it wouldn’t be an absolute disaster.

He was rubbing his eyes, his side throbbing duly with the kind of pain that was more of an annoyance than an actual aggravation as the elevator doors slid open. To his mild surprise, all six kids were up and about in the living area. He supposed it made sense since he had come down a bit later than the day before. Kitty was playing on the carpet with some plush toy while Sean bounced lightly on the couch, his leg still tightly bandaged. Rogue was sitting near him, her oversized hoodie almost matching Kurt’s. Warren’s wings were hidden, Kurt had his hood up and face hidden, and Scott of course had his visor on tight over his eyes. 

Clint took a deep breath and stepped off the elevator. 

“So,” Clint said, setting the small shopping bag he had grabbed on the counter as he faced Scott. “Do you sleep in that thing?”

Scott didn’t answer. He just glared at the Avenger, his arms crossing as he made his way into the kitchenette.

Clint tried again. “Seriously. Do you always wear it?”

Again, Scott didn’t respond. Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He probably should have eased into that, but it was difficult to think about dealing with Scott this morning. He had yet to see the boy’s eyes, or honestly half of his face thanks to the odd contraption. It was part of his superhero costume, a part that completely gave away his identity. Why would he wear that constantly unless there was a reason he needed to? But of course, would he share that information with Clint? Unlikely.

There were a few moments of tense, awkward silence. Thankfully some of the other kids migrated over; Warren stood nearby, leaning on the counter as he watched Kitty and Sean bound up to look at what Clint was doing. Sean was still limping, though it seemed a bit less heavy this morning. Hopefully that was a good sign. And of course Kurt and Rogue stayed back in the other room, away from the action. Clint could see Kurt watching curiously and he debated calling out to him, but quickly decided against it. Rogue was glaring at him just for glancing over, and that was not a battle Clint felt like fighting. This morning it felt best to focus on the four kids in front of him.

“I brought pancakes,” Clint announced, pulling the box out of the bag as he did. “They need a little work though. Anyone want to help?”

Kitty and Sean of course jumped up in excitement. The older two stayed back, but that was fine by Clint. He quickly started gathering up the materials they would need, raiding Tony’s expensive-looking cabinet for a mixing bowl and spoon and then the fridge for eggs, milk, and the like. Before he even had all the ingredients he was directing Kitty and Sean to start getting stuff in the bowl, careful to divide up the jobs so that they would each have ample opportunity to dump things into the mix.

“Look, Mr. Barton!” Clint glanced up to see Kitty bouncing excitedly on her heels, the milk she was supposed to be measuring momentarily forgotten as she held something out for him to see. It was a dragon. A stuffed dragon at that, a soft purple stuffed dragon with worn wings, stitches along its belly, a hole or two evident in the arms. There was a happy smile stitched onto its face in spite of the condition it was in. The creature had obviously been very well loved over many years. Clint was pretty sure he had seen Kitty carrying the stuffed animal earlier, and despite his mood the sight made him smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s super cool.”

“His name’s Lockheed!” Kitty announced. “I’ve had him a long, long time!”

“Yeah?” Clint wasn’t quite sure what to say. He didn’t really know why Kitty was showing him her stuffed dragon. It was adorable, but he had no idea how to respond . He was really horrible with kids.

Kitty somehow seemed satisfied despite his non-answer, and Lockheed was set on the counter so she could go back to pouring the milk. Clint let out a small sigh of relief. This was going well. Definitely.

Scott was still glaring daggers at him as Clint helped Kitty and Sean stir up the pancake batter. That was fine by Clint; he had already decided that this was a big mistake. There was batter everywhere, and where there wasn’t batter there were eggshells, spilled milk, flour… it was a mess. And this was a box mix , the kind where you only had to add two or three ingredients. He understood why Laura banned him from the kitchen now… this was pretty bad. 

It didn’t help that, before they even finished mixing, Sean was trying to claim the first pancake.

“I called it!” He pointed out only to be met with a pout by Kitty. “So I get it!”

“That’s totally not fair! ” She said, crossing her arms and looking every bit the six-year-old she was. “You always get things first!”

“Not true!” Sean tried to grab at the spoon that Kitty was holding in the batter, but she moved it away from him. “You’re the one that whines about everything!”

“I don’t whine !” Kitty whined. “You’re always such a baby!”

“You’re literally a baby!”

“Am not !”

“Yeah you—“

“Guys!” Scott’s voice was a low hiss, one that cut off Clint’s weak protests. The arguing was not helping his migraine, and reaching to grab stuff from the cabinets had definitely not helped his hurting side. He was glad that Scott was jumping in as the referee, even if it did mean he was probably cutting off some sort of information that Clint should know, as per usual. “Cut it out.”

“He started it!” Kitty said loudly.

“Nu uh!” Sean jumped to defend himself, his arms flying as he gestured wildly. “Come on, you always take her side!”

“No, I don’t,” Scott said firmly. Clint could feel Scott’s eyes sliding over to keep an eye on him, which was ridiculous. What was the kid so afraid of letting slip? The argument was over pancakes , there was absolutely no information Clint was going to get from that. What the heck was the deal with the secrecy? 

His migraine was definitely getting worse.

They somehow managed to get the pancakes mixed and on the griddle he borrowed from upstairs— borrowed, not stolen, no matter what Tony said. It was a communal griddle, he didn’t need permission. Scott was still as sour-looking as ever, Warren was watching with mild curiosity and wariness, Rogue was glaring grumpily from the couch, Kurt was pressed into the cushions with his hoodie over his head, and even Sean and Kitty looked a bit grumpy despite the fact that their argument had fizzed out. The tension was so thick it was almost breathable, and Clint was getting tired of it. 

“So,” the pancakes sizzled on the griddle as he turned back to the kids. “Why don’t you guys tell me a bit about yourselves? So we can get to know each other?”

The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Scott was cutting in with a sharp “How about we don’t? ”

Clint wanted to groan, and he barely swallowed it back. He probably needed more coffee; he just didn’t feel like he could take Scott this morning. “How about you do? Listen, I don’t feel like I know anything about you kids.”

He could see the term ‘kids’ making Scott tense up. At least, it may have been the word. Or it may have just been the fact that Scott was tense all the freaking time . “And I think that’s fine.”

“Come on, anyone?” Clint asked, hoping that one of the other kids would jump in. His sharp gaze swept the room. Warren’s look had gotten more guarded, Kitty and Sean were avoiding his eyes, Rogue had tensed up even more and Kurt seemed to be curling into himself. And of course Scott wouldn’t offer anything up. 

“Seriously, guys.” Clint set down the spatula, fully turning to the kids as the pancakes sizzled. “I’m trying here, but it’s a little hard for me to help you when I hardly even know your names!”

“We don’t need your help—“

“Seriously Scott?” Clint had to bite himself back, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he tried to keep a handle on himself. His head was throbbing, making it harder and harder to properly deal with these kids. He was just getting so tired of the secrecy, and it had hardly been two days. He gestured to Warren. “Like Warren, why’d you sign the Uno cards with two W’s?”

The winged— well, usually winged, not like anyone had told him how that worked— kid tensed up, his usually relaxed posture tightening as he crossed his arms. “Style.”

Clint let out a huff of laughter without any humor. He wasn’t about to buy that. Even just Warren’s posture made him look guilty of something. “Yeah. Right. What’s your last name then?”

The tension thickened and Warren’s cautious gaze turned to a glare. The kids were pretty dang good at glaring. “I don’t have one.”

“Yeah, I believe that,” Clint muttered, unable to avoid the sarcasm in his voice. He was being a jerk, he knew that, but his headache was worsening and the pancakes were a mess and he was just sick and tired of the secrets. “What, are you going to tell me that Rogue is Marie’s real name?”

Silence filled the room. It was like the life had suddenly been sucked from the space. Even Sean stopped fidgeting for a moment to blink in shock. Clint glanced over to see Rogue staring at him, her eyes colder than ever. He felt as if he could get frostbite just from being the subject of that glare.

“ Never call me that.”

“Call you what?” Clint asked, some of the sharpness fading from his tone. The silence that followed the name drop was a bit worrying. “Anne Marie? Is that not—“

“That's not my name.” Her voice held such an intensity that Clint nearly took a step back. Rogue stood up from the couch, her cold, harsh eyes burning holes in him as she stomped off to what Clint assumed was her room. The door slammed behind her, leaving more silence in her wake. 

“So you’ve been spying on us?” Scott said sharply, his fists clenched as he threw the accusation at Clint. The archer shook his head firmly, frustration rising in him once again. Of course that was Scott’s first assumption. 

“Of course not!”

“Then how’d you know that name?” Scott snapped. “What are you after?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I’m actually trying to help you —“

“Yes, yes it is!”

Clint let out a heavy groan. “Why? Why can’t you trust—“

“Why can’t you just leave us alone? ” 

“You're right, I should have!” Clint could tell he was snapping, tell he was being harsh, and it didn’t help that as they were yelling he could suddenly smell something burning. He glanced over his shoulder to see smoke rising from the pancakes, the batter no longer sizzling because it was completely black around the edges. Great. Absolutely fantastic . Clint ran a hand through his hair so hard it was painful, a heavy breath leaving his body. “This was a bad idea,” he mumbled to himself, hopefully quietly enough that the kids couldn’t hear. He wasn’t quite sure what he was calling a bad idea. The pancakes? Bringing up the names? Bringing the kids to the tower in the first place?

He wasn’t sure anymore.

The kids were staring at him, waiting to see what he would do. It was actually Scott who moved first, leaning forward to turn off the griddle before the fire alarm went off. With that Clint moved into action, mechanically scrapping the failed pancakes together to dump them in the trash. He went ahead and dumped the unused batter with it, then started sweeping the mess off of the counter.

“There’s cereal in the cabinet,” Clint muttered as he finished the shoddy cleanup job, the kids still watching him as he did. Kurt had disappeared, Scott had moved to help him once or twice, Sean and Kitty were watching nervously, and Warren hadn’t moved since Clint had brought up his name. Fine. Clint could hardly bring himself to care at the moment. He dropped the last wooden spoon in the sink, then half heartedly gestured to the cabinet. “Knock yourselves out.”

With those words he stalked over to the elevator. None of the kids spoke, so he jabbed the button, willing the elevator to come quicker. The moment the doors slid open he stepped on and asked JARVIS to take him up to the common floor, then quickly corrected himself and asked to be taken to his room. He was done. This day had been a load of crap so far, and it wasn’t even noon. He was going to go back to his room, drink a tall glass of water, then collapse on his bed for an hour and try to will his headache away. And of course, forget that this had ever happened.

Yeah. Great plan.

As the elevator moved he felt a buzz in his pocket. With a groan he fished out his phone to glare at the screen. An email. If it was Fury with a mission assignment, Clint was at least seventy percent sure he would literally jump out a window…

It was Moria. Moira MacTaggert. The lady he had emailed, the social worker.

To: Clint Barton

From: Moria MacTaggert 

Subject: A Large Job

Hello Mr. Barton. I would be honored to take on this project for you. I understand your need for a more specialized source, and I hope that my skill set will be sufficient. I will send you information on my pay rate once you send me the information you have on the children, though I must warn you that this is a very tall order. The chance of me finding a home that will be willing to take all six are slim. However, I will do my best. Please keep them in your care for now, and I promise to work as quickly as possible.

Regards, Moira MacTaggert.

The timing couldn’t be better. Clint hardly hesitated before typing back a quick thank you and attaching the files he had dug up on the kids.

 He needed this taken care of. The sooner the kids were taken off his hands, the better.

Chapter Text

“Rogue?”

Rogue rolled over on her bed, propping up her chin in her hand so she could glare at the door. It felt as if it was glaring back, accusing her for ignoring the first attempt of someone coming to check on her. She hadn’t been going to answer the knock. She didn’t want someone to come check on her. She didn’t know exactly what her plan was after storming off, only that it included being alone. 

But… that was Kurt’s voice on the other side of the door. He was the one person that she thought she could tolerate at the moment.

With a heavy sigh she pulled herself up from the bed and stomped over the door. She only opened it a crack, which was all her little brother needed; there was a soft pop , a plume of smoke, and she was coughing on the stench of brimstone as Kurt appeared in their shared room. 

“Scott wouldn’t want you doin’ that while Clint’s down here,” Rogue pointed out sourly.

Kurt looked a little guilty, his tail twitching to wrap around his leg as he stood in the middle of the room. “Sorry. I wanted to come check on you, and—“

“You know I don’t care,” Rogue grumbled, sitting down on her bed again as she spoke. She played with the strap of her gloves and watched out of the corner of her eye as Kurt cautiously dropped into his signature bow-legged crouch, tail twitching behind him. She could tell he was curious, a bit guarded. The soft movements of his tail and his wide yellow eyes made him look almost catlike in his crouch, and she let out an involuntary huff as he cocked his head at her.

“What…” he trailed off cautiously. “What Mr. Barton said…”

“Yeah?” Rogue pulled her gloves up a bit tighter, trying to keep the bitterness in her voice to a minimum. It was a losing battle. “What about it?”

“I.. I didn’t know that was your name,” he said slowly, one hand moving to rub his arm as he watched her carefully.

Rogue looked away, tension running through her veins. There it was. She knew the question was coming. It would probably come from everyone now, just when she had finally started to believe that she would never hear that name again. Where had he found it? Had he contacted one of her old foster homes? Had he found her CPS file? Had Xavier kept some sort of documents she didn’t know about? 

The leather of her gloves bit into her skin, and she decided that she didn’t care how he had gotten it. It didn’t matter. A piece of her past had been dragged up, one she had hoped to leave buried.

Kurt’s ears twitched, and it took Rogue a moment longer to hear the sound of raised voices down the hall. A minor flash of guilt shot through her, but she quickly shoved it away. Sure, Clint Barton had been nice the past two days or so. Sure, he did seem to be trying to help. But how long would that really last? How much did he actually care? Chances were that once he saw what they could all do— more specifically, what she could do— he would want to drop them like rocks. In all honesty, she could hardly blame him.

“It’s not my name,” she said softly, her attention turning back to her little brother as she spoke. He straightened up ever so slightly, eyes trained on her. “Not anymore, at least.”

Kurt blinked slowly, his posture still catlike as he shifted on the balls of his feet. “Why not?”

Rogue shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not to Scott, not to Warren, heaven forbid she talk to Clint Barton. This wasn’t something she could share, even with Kurt. This was her personal torture, the particular brand of pain and permanence that she had carried in her name for years. It was her decision to let that memory lie, and she was going to stick to it. “It doesn’t matter. I’m Rogue now. That's what’s important.”

Kurt looked a bit hesitant, and Rogue turned her head to stare at the wall in hopes that he would get the hint and drop it. His heart was too big sometimes. He wanted to help too many people. He needed to learn that some people couldn't be helped.

Including her.

But it was still touching that he cared. More touching than she would like to admit. So after another moment she sighed and shifted over on the bed, patting the space next to her to invite him up. She could see the moment that his expression lit up and then he was next to her, the space covered in a single acrobatic bound as he jumped up beside her and nestled into the blankets. Rogue could feel his eyes on her, waiting, silently asking, and with a soft huff of air she stretched out an arm. He took that as permission to lean against her, small arms reaching out to squeeze her into a gentle— yet surprisingly strong— hug as her arm fell across her back. Rogue was a bit taken aback by the force behind the hug, but she could feel herself involuntarily melt into it. She couldn’t let anyone else touch her. It was far too dangerous. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. But Kurt… Kurt knew to be careful. He knew to make sure he had permission. And well, if she was honest with herself, she needed the physical affection. They both did.

Rogue meant for it to be a quick hug, mostly just to satisfy Kurt’s little-brother need to comfort her. But it turned out to be longer than that. They just kind of sat there in companionable silence, only occasionally permeated by a soft murmur of German from Kurt that Rogue couldn’t understand. She wanted to stay upset, but by the time there was another knock on the door the tension in her shoulders had involuntarily eased. It returned a bit as the door was pulled back to reveal Scott, and she shot him a soft glare as he glanced between her and the younger boy still tucked against her side.

“You guys should come see this,” Scott said, his voice much less intense than it had been… how long had then been off on their own? Twenty minutes? An hour? Maybe even more? He no longer sounded angry, which meant that Clint Barton was probably long gone. Now there was another tint to his voice, one that Rogue recognized as his Cyclops voice. 

“What is it?” Kurt asked, his head popping up as he pulled gently away from Rogue. 

“Warren flipped on the news.”

That was all Scott had to say: his grim tone told them the rest. Rogue and Kurt both got up, the younger of the two disappearing in a puff of smoke as he teleported across the room so he could walk out the door. Rogue coughed on the smoke he left, frowning as she did. Yeah, Scott wanted him to practice his teleporting, but she needed to lay down some ground rules of not practicing powers in her room. It was going to start to stink permanently if he kept this up.

Well, hopefully they wouldn’t be in the tower long enough for that.

She followed the two boys out the door and into the common room. The other three were already gathered there, staring at the TV hung across from the couch. It was a nice TV… obviously. It was Stark brand, just like everything else in the tower. It was definitely nicer than their TV at home. The wide screen was huge and high definition, proudly displaying a crystal-clear image of a paper towel brand. 

“Really?” Rogue said, sarcasm dripping involuntarily from her tone as she stared, one eyebrow raised disbelievingly at the screen. “Yeah. This looks enthralling.”

“Just wait a sec,” Warren muttered. The oldest was tense, tenser than he usually was, his face drawn into a sharp frown as he glared at the screen. “It’s supposed to be coming on after commercial break…”

Just as he was trailing off the ad faded to a shot of a newsroom, in which sat a brightly smiling lady dressed in a nice, sharp-looking dress shirt. She was speaking into the camera, welcoming the audience back from the break, but before Rogue could really catch on to what the news anchor was talking about the shot switched to show a man. He was smiling too, but it was less bright and news-worthy and instead made him look smug and sinister. At least, it did to Rogue. But maybe that was just because she recognized the man, that she knew his game.

“Trask,” she breathed sourly.

Scott nodded, the grimness from his earlier tone seeping into his facial features as he stared at the TV screen. 

“ So Mr. Trask,” the reporter started, the camera switching back to her in the newsroom for a brief moment as she began to speak. “ Explain to me the importance of this new facility to Hope Industries.”

“Well ma’am, as you know Hope Industries is a budding company.” Trask, who was once again on screen, gestured behind him. He was in front of a building, one that looked nearly complete but for a few people milling around in hard hats that suggested things were still under construction. “This new location will have state of the art technology, top of the line resources, not to mention much more space than any of our previous factories. It’s a necessary upgrade to accommodate our recent growth.”

“Yes, there has been a lot of support for your company recently, isn’t that right?”

Trask grinned, once again showing off a sinister smile. At least, it looked sinister to anyone in the room that Rogue was standing in. “Indeed. Our growth has been exponential over the past few months. I can send you the charts.”

The reporter laughed. “And do your charts show whether this has anything to do with your recent work in mutant research?”

Mutant research. Yeah, that was a way to put it. Rogue could feel the aggression around her rising. Even she felt a flash of indignance, especially when Trask had the audacity to wink at the camera.

“I do believe so. The charts definitely point to it. I believe that many people see the value of our experiments to the future of mankind, and have invested accordingly.”

“But there is also opposition. That is another reason for moving facilities, is it not?”

Finally Trask’s confident smirk faltered for a moment. “Yes, that was a slight factor. But more so we are looking forward to the future of the company.”

“More than a slight factor, jerk,” Sean muttered. Scott shushed him sharply. 

“Speaking of the future, when is the facititly set to open?” The reporter asked. “I heard the dates may be moving up, and the opening of this facility is bringing nearly hundreds of jobs to the Winchester area.”

“Indeed, with any luck our doors will be open in a little over a month, so long as everything goes smoothly,” Trask said confidently. “The majority of our supplies is set to be arriving Thursday night, and from there it is just making sure that everything is moving securely before we bring in the new hires.”

“Exciting! The jobs that this new factory will bring should prove invaluable to—“

“Wait a minute!” Kurt burst out, his tail twitching as he blinked worriedly at the screen. “That is—“

“Three days from now,” Warren confirmed. The reporter was going on to talk about how many people would be able to get jobs at the new Hope Industries location, but Rogue was only half listening. The weight of that date was settling in.

“I thought we had another month!” Sean said, bouncing slightly on the couch as he stared, wide-eyed at the screen. “Isn’t that what he said the other day?”

“They really moved it up,” Scott muttered.

“—So that’s the plan for the new Hope Industries factory-labratory,” the reporter was saying as she closed out the segment. “Thank you to Mr. Trask for his time here today.”

“No, thank you for having me!” Trask gave another too friendly smile to the camera. “And of course, thank you to our friends at Worthington Industries. Their research is what we lay our groundwork on, and without their support this facility would never have even been dreamt of.”

The TV cut off instantly. Rogue’s eyes slid over to Warren, who was holding the remote. The oldest boy had a tense expression on his face, a sort of venom that almost surprised Rogue. When he caught her eye, he just snorted bitterly. “I didn’t want to listen to that anymore.”

Rogue shrugged slightly. She did not exactly want to hear about them gloating over their new building— a building that they were only creating because the X-Men had forced them to clear out their old warehouse— and she could not say that she was upset that Warren had cut it off. Then her eyes slid over to Scott. He was staring at the screen, the reflection of the dark TV bouncing off of his gold visor as he glared at it. His gaze was firm, his pose solid. Not tense exactly, just determined. She didn’t even have to ask, she was sure she knew what he was thinking. And yet, she asked anyway. “Do you think…”

“We have to go.” Scott’s voice was firm,

“Did you forget, y’know, where we are? ” Rogue asked with a roll of her eyes. Yeah, of course they needed to go. But did Scott really think they could sneak out of Avengers Tower without someone realizing? Or that the Avengers would somehow give them permission? Or not care?

“It’ll be fine.” Apparently he did. Scott’s arms crossed against his chest, his brow crunched in concentration as he glared at the TV. “Best-case scenario, we slip in and out without anyone noticing. Worst-case scenario, we break a window.”

“ Really? ” That had to sound ridiculous, even to him. “ That’s your plan?”

Scott shot her a look. “What else can we do? Just leave it alone?”

No one, including Rogue, replied. The answer was an obvious, glaring no. They had to do something.

And chances were that was going to be something dumb.

Chapter Text

“This is dumb. This is so, so dumb.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Scott asked flatly.

“Just because I don’t have a better one doesn’t mean it still isn’t dumb.”

Scott didn’t reply. Warren didn’t really expect him to. He let out a small grunt, trying to move into a position that didn’t have his feathers scrunched up against the wall as he focused on the tiny slit of light shining under the door.

Over the past three days they had spent hours going back and forth, debating how best to get out of the tower without the Avengers noticing. Yeah. Sneaking out of Avengers Tower without the Avengers noticing. Great plan.

There definitely weren’t many ways to do it. Luckily, the Avengers seemed to be avoiding them. Clint Barton was the only one they had seen much of, and he had only been down once or twice to check on them the past three days. Warren could care less— Sean had gotten help, that was all he cared about— but it seemed a bit disappointing to the younger three. But even with that in mind, they couldn’t exactly just waltz out the front door. Who knew what the Avengers were up to on the other floors, not to mention the fact that JARVIS would probably alert Tony Stark if they were to try and use the elevator. Which meant they were stuck using what they had on their floor, a floor thirteen levels above the ground. Plus, they were in the middle of New York City. In other words, it was not a great situation.

Warren breathed shallowly, trying to keep himself steady. He wished that he could just have just jumped out a window, snapped open his wings, and carried his friends out. That would be the easiest, fastest way. But of course, there were hundreds of problems with that… who would see them from the ground? How would he carry everyone at once? What would the Avengers think when they found a broken window? It was a working way, but Scott had figured out a better plan… well, “better” was subjective. Warren didn’t like putting the weight of the mission on the shoulders of the two youngest. But Scott insisted, and it was definitely more low key…

So there they were, stuck hiding in a supply closet on the first floor as they waited for Kitty and Kurt to find the best exit. 

“If a janitor comes right now, we’re screwed,” Warren muttered. Scott didn’t acknowledge him, but Warren didn’t really care. He could feel his heart beating a bit faster with every minute that passed in the closet. He had to focus on breathing, to focus on clenching his teeth and keeping himself grounded. He had to focus on the light under the door and let the darkness hide how small the space was. He had to just ignore the fact that his wings were pressed up against the wall behind him and pretend that the room was much bigger than it was. He had to pretend that he could spread out his wings if he needed to, he had to forget—

Suddenly the door was opening, and relief sliced through Warren’s thoughts. He shoved it away ferociously, trying to ignore how good it felt to take a deep breath of air that wasn’t stale, how thankful he was that his wings were able to lie comfortably against his back once again. None of that mattered. What mattered was that Kitty and Kurt were waving them forward, that they probably only had a few minutes to get out and move on before someone would wander into the little side hall they were hiding in. 

“We can’t go out the front!” Kitty exclaimed in a hushed tone, her yellow boots tapping softly against the tile floor as she took a step back, Kurt still holding the supply closet door open behind her. “There’s too many people!”

“Wow, who would have expected that?” Warren said with a roll of his eyes. He felt much better being out in the open air, but he was still more on edge than he would like to admit.

“We found a back door that we could use,” Kurt cut in, his voice just louder than Kitty’s whisper. “We didn’t try it, but I think it would get us out!”

“Did it have any red tape on it?” Scott asked quickly.

“Uh…” Kitty screwed up her face in concentration, Kurt’s expression similarly strained. “I… I think so…”

Scott shook his head. “It might be a fire exit. That could set off an alarm.”

“We also found a whole big window wall,” Kitty said a bit more slowly. “I… I think I could phase someone through…”

“And… and since it’s windows I could probably ‘port someone out,” Kurt said, his tail twitching. He sounded even more uncertain than Kitty. 

Scott and Warren exchanged a glance. Warren’s eyes narrowed slightly… bad idea . It was bad enough that Kitty had to phase them down a floor so they could take the stairs. They were only a few minutes into this mission and the little girl already looked exhausted. And Kurt had a hard enough time teleporting himself more than a few feet. The few times he had actually managed to teleport with a passenger, he had nearly passed out. Plus, the two youngest kids would still be responsible for sneaking them back in later… not to mention they still had the entire mission ahead of them. If they could at least get out of the building without using up the rest of the kid’s energy, that would be ideal.

Scott seemed to realize this too. He frowned for a moment, his arms crossed as he glanced between the three other members of his team. Then he nodded to Kitty. “We need to hurry. Let’s go check that exit door.”

Kitty nodded quickly, and Kurt flicked his tail for them to follow. The supply closet door shut softly as the four mutants took off running down the hall. At least it was only the four of them. If Rogue and Sean were with them too… yeah, it was definitely best that those two were staying behind, for their sake more than anything else. No matter what Sean said, he was not ready to be fighting again. Kitty and Kurt really didn’t need to be fighting either… but they had to look at what powers needed to be used, and those two were definitely the pair to get them in and out of places. At least, that was Scott’s reasoning. Warren hadn’t stopped him.

With only the four of them, it only took a minute or two to sprint through the halls and to find the door. Scott stepped forward to inspect it, frowning as he tried to figure out whether or not it would set off an alarm. Warren stood to the side, watching down the hallway they had just passed through so he could warn the others in case someone came. He glanced back at Scott briefly. It did look like there were words on the door, bright white letters against the red tape, but it only took Warren a second of looking at it before he slid his eyes back to the hallway, where he could do some good. 

“It says exit , not fire, ” Scott said slowly. His voice was firm, if hesitant, and as he nodded a second time he seemed more sure. “But that doesn’t mean there’s not other alarms.”

“Here, I got it!” Kitty stepped forward, quickly reaching into the door. Her arm disappeared just above the handle, and she stuck her tongue out in concentration as she wriggled her submerged fingers around inside the door’s lock mechanism. There was a quiet crackle and then she pulled herself back, swaying ever so slightly as she regained solidity in her arm. 

Scott reached out, cautiously pushing on the door. As he was slowly easing it open Warren caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He turned sharply, suddenly noticing the sound footsteps echoing down the hall. His wings flared instinctively and he whipped around to shove the others through the door.

“Time's up, let’s go guys!”

Scott threw the door open the rest of the way and the four of them burst out, straight into an alleyway behind Avengers Tower. The door shut heavily behind them, and Kitty and Kurt exchanged a high five. 

“Celebrate later,” Scott hissed. “We’re out. Now we’re on part two.”

Part two. Right . Actually getting to the secure facility they had heard about on the news: the one that was nearly an hour away, and required getting out of the most crowded city in America. 

Thankfully, they had experience in this particular field. New York cab drivers were surprisingly chill as long as the fee was paid. Plus, some of them were happy to go a bit faster for a good tip. Warren had an eye for these kinds of people; they were usually the ones that leaned forward just a bit too much while waiting for the traffic to move, or who had a few bumper stickers on their back window. Flag down one of those people— a woman in her mid-forties with bright pink hair who had a whole pile of cheap coffee cups on her dash— couple that with some money provided by Scott, then throw out a few loud comments about comic con and cosplay to cover their costumes, and they were all set. Thank goodness for bad Disney channel reruns that detailed the culture of conventions. It was roughly half an hour before the four of them were piling out of the car, Scott handing up the money as Warren pretended to be fixing the “attachments” of his wings to help sell their act. Not that the lady was paying any attention; she was already chugging down some more coffee and nearly pulled away before Kurt was out of the car. 

As she pulled out, Warren’s fingers brushed over the base of his wings, the ugly area where feathers had never quite grown back all the way. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine and he dropped his hand away as a familiar sense of bitterness flared in his gut. He shoved that feeling aside, saving it for later. Those scars were exactly why they were standing outside the new Hope Industries complex. He didn’t want to think about it any more than that.

“They’ll get the trucks in around the back,” Scott said firmly, dropping the cosplayer act as the lady tore away from the curb. “Let’s get back there and find a stakeout point.”

“How do we know they aren’t already in there?” Kitty asked, her eyes wide as she stared at the facility in front of them. It was big, much bigger than it looked on TV. Even Tony’s Stark TV did nothing to give this sweeping campus justice. Warren almost snorted at his own thoughts. Justice was not a word that deserved to be associated with these people. Not in any way.

“We’re just going to have to hope.” There was a note of grimness in Scott’s commanding voice. “We’re not going in, not tonight. We’re just going to rescue anyone that they’re taking in. Don’t be afraid to let them see you. We want to make a statement.”

Warren gave Scott a curt nod, as did the other two. They all knew the plan, as rough of a plan as it was. 

Watch for the trucks. Rescue any mutants they were planning to experiment on. Blow the rest of their equipment sky-high. 

Warren cracked his knuckles and smirked grimly. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

Tony strode into the common room of the Avengers Tower, hardly having pressed the “end call” button on his cell phone before he was announcing his presence to the room. “Where the heck is Barton?”

Steve glanced up from the book he was reading— he was probably the only Avenger who ever read actual paper books around the tower, a fittingly archaic activity for the Capsicle— and frowned slightly. “Probably in his room or the range, if he’s not in the kitchen. How come? Did Fury send a mission?”

Tony shook his head, already starting toward the elevator as he did. His footsteps were loud and sharp against the floor of the common room, and he let out a huff that was probably a touch too dramatic. A part of him wanted to be a little dramatic though. He deserved it for the headache that Barton was putting him through. “He’s going to give my employees a heart attack or a migraine if he doesn’t keep those kids under control. I’ve got to remind him that this isn’t a daycare.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Steve watching him still and a flicker of movement as Bruce glanced up from the digital article he was reading— or maybe writing, half of the research Tony did still pulled up articles by the man— with a curious glance. Natasha was in the kitchen, and her gaze on his back was the one he could feel the most. 

“What do you mean?”

Tony paused a moment next to the elevator, waving his phone as he jabbed the button. “I just got a call from the security desk asking if a group of cosplaying kids had clearance to be in the building.”

Natasha pinned him with a sharp gaze. “And?”

“I told them I’d look into it,” Tony replied. He could hear the elevator sliding to a stop, and he was walking toward it before the doors even slid open. 

“JARVIS, take me to bird boy’s nest,” Tony said quickly. The doors slid shut with a quick “as you wish, sir” from his AI. With that he let out a brief sigh, flicking through his phone as the elevator glided upwards. It wasn’t that he minded the kids. There was an open floor in the tower, they needed a place to stay, great. He could provide an Airbnb. Whatever. As long as he didn’t have to look after them, it was fine. He would never leave a group of children in a gross, rotting mansion like the one Clint had found them in. But he was Tony Stark. He had a reputation to uphold, employees to pay, press to keep off their tails. If one of the news outlets caught wind of this, it could be a disaster. Six kids in Avengers Tower… Channel 6 would have a field day with that. Especially if it got out that they were mutant kids; their political opinion would plummet. Senator Kelly already had issues with the Avengers, and from a Stark Industries standpoint he had to keep some sort of friendliness with Hope Industries and Worthington Industries… Tony has spent months of work trying to keep the Avengers from taking any sort of political side on the whole mutant issue, purposefully rebutting any theories that Captain America or Black Widow or the Hulk or any of them were products of the X-Gene. It was hard work, and having mutant kids running around the tower would not help a thing.

Especially if those kids were the X-Men. He was really going to have to make sure that Larry down at the desk didn’t post about this on his conspiracy theory blog. “X-Men; Secret Avengers Branch”… yeah, that would go down great with everyone.

The doors finally opened and Tony put away his phone so he could stride down the short hallway to Clint’s bedroom. He didn’t even bother knocking, just shoved his way into the room while already thinking of a list of other likely places for the archer to be perched. The shooting range was definitely the next best bet. Not that it was necessary; the man was right there, fiddling with a set of his trick arrows. His head shot up when Tony dropped in, his eyebrow cocking up at the sight of the man.

“You could knock, y’know.”

“Don’t mess with those.” Tony flicked his hand toward the arrows. “You’ll break them.”

“Oh, really?” Clint’s eyebrow quirked up further. “I think I know how to handle my arrows.”

“But do you know how to handle an electro-fiber insulation seal with a forty gammabyte trigger reactor?” That shut Clint up. “Thought so. You also don’t seem to know how to handle kids.”

Clint was speechless for another moment before he frowned. “I told you Tony, I’m working on getting the situation sorted. I’ve been emailing with a specialized social worker, and—“

“Yeah, I told you I don’t care that they’re here,” Tony cut in with a wave of his hand. “That ship has sailed, whatever. But my employees aren’t really in the know, and you said you’d keep it that way.”

Again, Clint frowned. “I thought you said no one would go up to the thirteenth floor?”

“And no one does,” Tony said. “But that’s only helpful if the kids stay on that floor. You letting them gallivant around in costume is going to—“

“Wait, wait,” Clint interrupted him sharply, waving his hand as Tony spoke. “They left the floor?”

“Yeah, Larry down at the security desk just gave me a call,” Tony flicked his phone out, tapping it in an attempt to pull up the security footage. “He was more confused than anything, but come on, this guy runs a conspiracy theory blog. Not a good one, mind you, but—“

Clint was already standing up, dropping the arrow on his bed as he did. Tony very nearly protested at that— Come on Barton, did the words kinetic-thermal tigger mean nothing— But Clint was already talking. “I can’t believe this. Crap. You said they were in costume?”

“Yeah, yeah they were,” the video loaded and Tony projected it into the middle of the room as Clint started toward the door. Sure enough, four figures were darting through the hall out the exit door. That door should have set off an alarm, according to Larry. But just before opening it the smallest one, the little girl with the ponytail, did something strange and stuck her arm through the door. Needless to say, that was enough to pique Tony’s interest. “Woah. Did you know she could do that?”

“No.” Clint was already halfway out the door, and Tony turned to follow him as the projection flickered out of sight.

“You mean you haven’t even figured out their powers yet?”

“They don’t really want to talk about them,” Clint defended lamely. 

“And from the looks of it you didn’t know they left their room?”

“Nope. Why did you hire a conspiracy theorist as a security guard?”

“He doesn’t know I know he’s a conspiracy theorist. It’s helpful to be able to casually slip cover up stories to a guy who supposedly has inside info.” They pulled to a halt as Clint jabbed the button for the elevator. “Seriously, are you even keeping an eye on these kids? They—“

“I’m working on it,” Clint muttered through gritted teeth. Tony rolled his eyes at the taller man. Seriously, he knew Clint Barton was irresponsible, but he kind of expected him to at least know the kids' powers and such by now. They were mutants, after all.

“You better work faster. I’m still not convinced that one of them won’t spontaneously combust.” Tony clicked around on his phone, already working on isolating the security stream that had caught the kids. He didn’t want to erase it, that would look suspicious, but he could definitely tamper with it a bit so their mutations weren’t caught on camera. As long as everyone could believe the blue boy and wings were cosplay; which, honestly, with the amount of cosplayers that Avengers Tower got, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Some of them were impressively intricate. “What do you think this is? Electrical manipulation? Technopathy? Phasing?”

Clint didn’t answer, instead stepping into the elevator and asking JARVIS to take them to the thirteenth floor. Tony followed, rewatching the video clip a few times as they moved downward. It had to be some sort of phasing, the girl’s arm went clear through the door. Maybe something about the molecular shift in density interrupted the electrical flow of the circuits?

He saved the clip. He would have to run it by Bruce later.

The doors slid open again, and Clint practically stormed out and onto the kid’s floor. Tony stepped out a bit more cautiously, the thoughts of the kid’s powers now circling through his head. They had no clue what these mutants could do. Maybe they could camouflage, cast illusions, cause earthquakes… really, who was to say? The amount of known mutants in their world had a deadly array of powers, one that seemed to be growing by the minute. He really needed to perfect Mark 42; having a suit that could come to him telepathically would be pretty handy in situations like these.

Not that he was scared of a couple of kids. Obviously.

There were two in the room when they entered, both sitting on the couch and playing some sort of card game between them. It was the redhead and the curly haired boy… Sean, if Tony remembered. The one who messed up his leg and seemed to have way too much energy. He couldn’t remember the redhead’s name, but she reminded him of Romanoff; similar hair, similar posture, similar death glare that focused on the two adults the moment they entered the room.

“Where is everyone?” Clint’s voice was sharp, harsh, and obviously stressed. For fair reason, of course; more than half of the tiny terrors he had brought to the tower were missing. 

“Hi Mr. Barton! Hi Mr. Stark!” Sean waved, his bright smile showing off a gap in his teeth as he grinned toward the men. “Do you wanna play? Rogue and I were just finishing the round, and we can deal you in if you want!” 

Clint shook his head. “Don’t play around, Sean. Where is everyone?”

“Does it matter?” Rogue was glaring coldly toward them, her green eyes sharp as she watched them. Her voice was thick with a southern accent, which was a slight surprise to Tony. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I know they’re not here,” Clint said bluntly. He let out a sigh, running his hands through his spiky hair as he tried to back off a bit. “Listen, no one’s in trouble, I just… someone saw them in the lobby, and they were leaving. Is that true?”

Rogue shrugged. “They’re workin’.”

“Working?” Tony asked. He didn’t like being left out of the conversation.

“Don’t worry, they’re just stoppin’ some bad guys!” Sean once again showed his gap-toothed grin. Rogue shot him a warning glance, which he ignored. “They’ll be back soon! Come on, you guys know all about stoppin’ bad guys, you’re the Avengers!”

“What bad guys are they trying to stop?” Clint asked, jumping on the opportunity.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rogue cut in. She set down a card, an ace of hearts, on top of whatever game she and Sean were playing. “They’ve got a job to do. They’re gonna do it.”

Clint let out an impressively quiet huff of frustration. “Alright. Fine. Cool. But can you two please stay here?”

Rogue shrugged indescribably, but Sean nodded. Clint seemed to take that as good enough because he spun around to get into the elevator. Tony followed.

“Want me to lock them in?” He asked once the doors were closed. It would be easy. JARVIS could lock down any floor he wanted. It would at least keep those two in while they found the other four. He probably should have implemented that protocol sooner.

But Clint shook his head before Tony could make the move. “No, no, don't do that. It’ll make them feel trapped and… I don’t think that’s the best way to handle this.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure—“

“Of course not but hey, I’m still shooting.” Clint’s voice was strained, and Tony wasn’t sure he had ever seen the archer like this before. Maybe right after Loki’s mind control. That was something similar, where the man seemed to be beating himself up from the inside. He groaned a bit, his hand running through his greasy hair. “This is my fault. I’m stupid, stupid…”

He was muttering to himself more than he was talking to Tony, but the shorter man still felt like he should say something. “I mean, I’m not going to disagree…”

“I should have been watching them more, should have tried more…”

“Probably.”

“I could have at least attempted to apologize to Rogue, even if I don’t know what I even did wrong…”

“Sounds like it. She doesn’t seem to like you.”

“You don’t have to agree with everything I say,” Clint muttered, shooting a sharp pout in Tony’s direction. He shrugged in response.

“Well, it definitely sounds like you need to take more responsibility here.” Ha. Tony Stark talking about responsibility; even he could see the irony. But Clint needed some sort of advice, and they did have four tiny mutants running loose around New York. “I’m just providing the tower. Nothing’s gonna change if someone’s not making sure they’re honoring curfew and whatnot.”

Clint muttered something or other under his breath, which Tony didn’t really pay attention to. The doors were sliding open again to show Clint’s room, and the archer strode in without hesitation. He grabbed his bow and arrows— which he shoved into a quiver in a very unsafe manner— and plucked a suit from his closet. Then he ducked into his bathroom for about three seconds to change before emerging with the pants on and the shirt halfway over his torso. “I don’t even know where they are, but when I find them…”

“Found them.” In those three seconds or so Tony had pulled up the security camera feed again. Luckily he had a camera in the alley above the door the kids had used for their escape, and was able to use that to catch the license plate of the cab they climbed in. A little bit of clicking and searching, and he found their stop. He turned it to show Barton with a smirk. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Where is that?” Clint asked, staring at the nearly-complete building site.

“The new Hope Industries complex.” What a coincidence. “That company run by Bolivar Trask. You know? The one I was telling you about the other day?”

“I probably wasn’t listening,” Clint said bluntly. Tony rolled his eyes. “How long ago was this?”

“About two hours.” Tony double checked the timestamp, then nodded to himself. “Just over. You really don’t have a handle on these kids, do you Katniss?”

“I’m going to get a better one,” Clint muttered to himself. He was already heading to the elevator. “Suit up Stark, we’ve got some kids to wrangle.”

Tony smirked. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“Your tower, your reputation. Don’t want anyone to figure out Tony Stark’s wayward refugees were messing around with a business partner, huh?”

His smirk deepened. “Good one Barton. I’m in. Pepper won’t mind if I’m late to another meeting.”

Chapter Text

 Clint was furious. With himself, with the kids, he didn’t know. No, no he did know. It was definitely with himself. How could he be so stupid? He should have been watching them. He should have been putting forth more effort, or… or something. He had insisted on bringing them to the tower for exactly this reason, to make sure someone was watching out for them and keeping them out of trouble… and yet here he was, trespassing across the Hope Industruies campus because he was too stupid to actually keep an eye on them.

Night air swirled around him and Tony, bringing all of his doubts and self-accusations with them. But there was no time for those, because there were bursts of light up ahead, flashing through the trees along the road leading to the back of the building. And as they got closer, Clint began to realize that the wind was also carrying sounds; shouts, blasts, the screech of metal. There was definitely a fight.

And Clint was positive that he knew who had picked it.

The sun had almost disappeared behind the New York skyline as Clint burst through the small tree grove with Tony following right above him. He did not know what to expect, let alone how to stop it and get the situation under control. He expected something bad. 

What he saw was somehow even worse than he expected.

There, in the middle of the road that led up to the complex, stood three mutant children in the middle of a group of grown adults, flames flickering around them. Only they didn’t look like kids; if Clint didn’t know better, he would have guessed that they were in their twenties from how they were fighting. A dark figure with indigo skin that hardly looked familiar now had his tail wrapped around a man’s throat, choking the air out of him to knock him out. His yellow eyes were flashing from the light of the fires, and he looked more terrifying than any eight-year-old should. Meanwhile Warren— well, Angel right now, Clint supposed— was a solid ten feet in the air, his huge white wings keeping him steady as he shouted to one of his teammates. Against the fading light, he looked as angelic as his hero name implied, minus the fact that there was a huge bruise blossoming on his muscled forearm and fire flickering beneath him. And Scott— Cyclops— was in the thick of it, holding back two men while his visor shot forth blasts of red energy to pockmark one of the four trucks that were parked haphazardly along the road. One of the trucks was already smoldering and burning, and the air was filled with the smoke from it. There were at least six men and women passed out on the ground around the X-Men, multiple guns pulled from their hands and tossed in a pile away from the destruction.

Because that’s what this was: pure, utter destruction.

“Looks like the whole ‘X-Men are terrorists’ thing isn’t that far off,” Tony’s voice crackled over their comm link.

“Shut it, Stark,” Clint snapped, trying to debate how to approach this situation. This was not what he was expecting. These were not the sweet-if-still-hostile kids he had seen a bit over the past few days. These were mutants, vigilantes… these were the X-Men.

Oh boy, he hoped there was a good explanation for this.

Before he could make up his mind as to how to reveal their presence, Warren’s head swiveled around. By the way his eyes narrowed, he must have seen Tony… who wasn't exactly trying to hide himself. Clint was surprised he hadn’t been noticed sooner. 

Warren shouted something down to Scott and Kurt that sounded like “we’ve got company”. Clint couldn’t be quite sure though; his hearing aids were mostly picking up the crackling fire and the sound of Scott’s laser beams going off. But he decided that it was as good a time as any to step forward… so step forward he did. 

“What…” he said slowly, the kid’s eyes turning to him as Kurt set down his newly-knocked-out guard and Warren landed on the ground. “The heck is going on here?”

Scott stopped laserbeaming the truck to turn to Clint. The boy somehow looked less tense than usual, with his hand held out threateningly to two unarmed men and a truck next to him absolutely obliterated by his powers. He looked older in the rapidly dimming light, his visor flickering with the reflection of the flames, his brow creased as he stared at Clint. It was easy to see how no one had made the connection between this man and the fourteen-year-old kid he really was.

This was Cyclops, and he looked every bit the terrorist news reports made him out to be.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the boy said, his voice full of a fierceness that almost had Clint hesitating.

“And you’re not supposed to be destroying property,” Clint shot back. He gestured wildly to the burning truck behind him. “Let me ask you again. What the heck is this?”

“Us doing our job,” Scott said firmly. He was completely unwavering as he stared Clint down, his posture firm and his arm still held out toward the two men. They were far older than Scott, Clint knew that, but with the position that Scott was in it would be impossible to tell otherwise. 

“Your job is to attack a caravan of medical supplies?” Clint asked incredulously. He had to admit, he had heard a bit of Tony’s Hope Industries rant from a month or so ago. He didn’t pick up any details other than the fact they dealt with biotech and also apparently with Stark Industries, but it was still something. “How is that helping anyone?”

The reflection of flames shimmered in the depths of Scott’s red and gold visor. “That’s not just medical supplies.”

“Oh really?” Clint shot back, his voice sarcastic. “I would say we should look and check, but you blew up the truck!”

“That’s the only way to stop them!” Scott’s voice was getting louder, the same way that Steve’s would when he was trying to project his voice to a crowd; the same as Steve’s voice when he was acting as the leader of the Avengers. Scott waved a hand at the two men behind him, and Clint did not miss the way that the unarmed guards flinched at the movement. “They need to be stopped.”

“They need to be stopped?” Clint could not help the incredulous tone. He lifted his own hand, gesturing wildly to the destruction around them. “Scott, you need to be stopped!”

For just a moment, Scott’s posture tightened, and Clint saw a flash of the defensiveness that he was used to. It was gone in a flash, instead replaced by the sick professionalism of a man who had just blown up a truck and was busy justifying it. “That’s not my name.”

“I don’t care what your name or your title or anything is! There shouldn’t be a difference!” Flames crackled, accentuating Clint’s point as he spoke. “Scott, you're a kid. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’m not a kid,” Scott replied, his voice flat and factual, and for once Clint thought that he might actually believe him. “You don’t know what is going on here. You need to leave us alone.”

“No, this is exactly why you can’t be left alone.” Clint thought he saw Scott’s hands curl into fists, but in all honesty he did not care. All he could see was the massive amounts of damage that the X-Men, that the kids, had caused. How had this gotten so out of hand? How on earth would they think that any of this could be defensible? How were kids capable of this? “You can’t destroy things like this and expect it to be ok!”

Tony chose that moment to drop dramatically from the sky, landing next to him before raising a repulsored palm toward the kids.

“Yeah, this is not a great look for you guys,” Tony said, his voice metallic and overly projected as he surveyed the scene. “I like Trask about as much as the next guy, but…”

“We’re here for a reason,” Scott insisted. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? It better be a really good—“

“Guys!” A high-pitched, undeniably young voice interrupted the conversation. Kitty Pryde was jumping down from the second to last truck, waving to the others as she did. “Guys, I found someone! She—“

Suddenly everything happened at once. One of the two guys that Scott had left conscious opened his mouth in shock; maybe at Kitty’s voice, maybe at her size, maybe whatever it was she found. Clint had no idea because before he could say anything, Warren clocked him over the head with one giant wing. The man fell to the ground, instantly knocked out. At the same moment the second man lunged forward, his hands outstretched as he reached to tackle Scott. The mutant had been distracted by his younger teammate and barely had a moment to turn and face his adversary before the man was on him, struggling in an attempt to get the mutant in a chokehold. Clint started to move but not before Warren rushed forward, his wings flashing as he ripped the man away from the other boy. But with that motion a guttural cry followed; not from the man, but from Cyclops… who no longer looked like a cyclops. The man who attacked him had gotten a hold on his visor, a hold that he kept as he was thrown away from the young teen, leaving the boy maskless. 

Clint had been waiting to see Scott’s face without the visor. But, now that it was gone, he found that it was impossible. The moment the visor was gone his entire face was obscured by bright, blinding red light. 

The humming, zapping noise that Clint had heard earlier as he peppered the trucks with shots of his lasers suddenly escalated into a deafening, vibrating sound as light suddenly shot from Scott’s eyes. The boy had looked powerful earlier, when purposefully using his mutation. He looked dangerous earlier. Now all three of the other mutants were screaming, ducking for cover as beams of pure energy poured from the kid’s eyes. Clint didn’t mean to follow their example but before he knew it he was on the ground, dirt biting into his palms as he jerked his head back to see what was happening. Scott was facing the tree line, and trees snapped and cracked under the force of the beams as they shot through them. The boy jerked back, the force of his own power sending him reeling and stumbling as he struggled with it. His gaze swiveled around, narrowly missing Warren—who had all but thrown himself on top of Kurt— and completely tearing through the truck that was on fire. The mess of metal was thrown back at least twenty feet from the blast, crashing into a tree that buckled under the weight. It would probably catch fire in a few moments, but Clint’s attention was torn from that to the fact that Tony had stepped forward, maybe to try and help, maybe to try and get the boy to stop, maybe to detain him in any way possible. It didn’t matter what his intention was; Clint heard his comm link crackle and short out before he even registered the fact that Tony was flying backwards, suit crumpling as he hit a tree with a sickening thud. The light flickered out from the suit's eyes, and he was motionless.

“Tony!” Clint screamed, but it was lost in the violent blasting of Scott’s powers.

The boy finally pulled his gaze to the ground, still crying out as his eyes began to bore a hole in the earth beneath him, dust and dirt thrown up around him. He collapsed to his knees, his fists pressed against his eyes. Then, finally, suddenly, it all stopped. 

The light was gone as quickly as it had come. A stunned hush fell over the road as the thrumming hum faded. The silence was only broken by ragged, choked breathing. 

It was only a few seconds, in total. Maybe twenty.

Clint found himself breathing heavily, the pure sight of what had just happened enough to knock the wind out of him. The dirt beneath him felt cold in comparison to the fires that had suddenly grown so much larger. The twisted metal of the trucks had expanded the area of the battle and stretched it out across the road, and the tree line had now been gouged and gutted where trees had snapped in half and left only jacket stumps behind. Clint could hear the sound of panting over the crackle of the flames, and with a glance he realized that even the other X-Men were still cowering in apprehension. There was a sense of fear in the air, as if everyone was waiting for another wave. 

He had thought there was destruction before. It was nothing compared to this.

And sitting in the middle of it, palms pressed to his eyes, his shoulders shuddering with heavy breaths, was Scott Summers.

Chapter Text

Scott saw the world in shades of red. 

Really, it was impossible for him to see any other way. The ruby quartz in his visor was red, so everything he saw was filtered through with red. Sean’s hair was bright red. Kurt’s skin was a deep purple. Warren’s feathers were a soft pink. Sometimes things took on a blur from the thickness of his visor, but that never mattered to him. The fact that he could see at all was a gift, and he knew that. He would never complain about how he was able to see. Shades of red: that was how he saw the world.

That was, at least, until his visor came off.

Then everything was crystal clear. Every color was violently vibrant, every edge sharp and clear and defined. He could see everything as it was, only the very edges of his vision blurred with red. Without his visor every single thing that he looked at was preserved in bright, clean, shocking clarity. 

And every single thing he looked at was utterly destroyed.

He was pretty sure he screamed, but if he did it was drowned out by the pound of blood rushing in his ears, the violent hum of his powers as they blasted from his eyes. They were painful, powerful, and far out of his reach. He knew he had to shut his eyes, he knew he had to get himself under control. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shut his eyes, he couldn’t control their force, he couldn’t aim them or stop them or do anything . The only thing he could do was scream and watch— with perfect, bright, colored vision— as he destroyed everything in his sight. He could see the trees snapping and cracking under the force of the blast. He could see the truck thrown twenty yards away. He could see Iron Man thrown back, his armor crumpling and the lights fading from his eyes. Scott saw it all in perfect, absolute, unfiltered clarity.

He must have screamed because his throat was raw when he finally managed to drag his eyelids shut and trap the burning, blazing light behind them. The moment he could he instantly pressed his palms to his eyes, burying his head in his hands as he fell to his knees in a fetal position. It was pure instinct to curl up, to try and make himself as small as he could as if it could mitigate the damage he caused. The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating, codeming in a way that pressed down on his shoulders and made his breath shutter. 

He hurt Iron Man . 

He might have killed Iron Man.

Bile rose in his throat, and for a sickening moment he was sure he was going to throw up.

“Cyclops!” There was a noise next to him, a soft bamf that cut above the crackling fire to his right. The stench of brimstone burned his nose as he inhaled heavily. There was a hand on his back, a small, three-fingered hand, and then Scott felt something being pushed toward him. “Here, here!”

Scott let his right hand reach out, his left hand still pressed tightly against his eyes as he grabbed the object that Kurt was offering. The smooth, bulky metal he knew so well slipped into his grasp, and he clutched at it like a lifeline. It wasn’t until he had the visor slipped over his eyes and firmly, tightly sealed against his face that he dared to open his eyes, even the smallest crack. The humming in his ears finally quieted from a roar to a dull buzz, and he felt as though he could take a breath. Then, slowly, he blinked more, until he was fully able to take in his surroundings.

At some point in his life Scott had heard a saying about how “rose colored lenses” made everything look better than it actually was. It was a saying of optimism and naivety, one that had stuck with Scott from even before he was able to see again. It was a bunch of crap. At least, he hoped it was, because every time he looked through his red-tinted visor his life seemed to be burning before him. 

He couldn’t imagine this being any worse. 

Kurt was sitting bowlegged next to him, his tail lashing with nerves as he watched Scott recover. Warren was just standing up, shaking dirt off his wings— dirt that had probably come from the trench that Scott dug while trying to snap his eyes shut. Kitty was on the other side of him, her eyes wide and her shoulders shaking as she watched him move. And Clint… Clint had rushed over to Tony.

Tony still wasn’t moving. 

Scott cursed under his breath, hopefully quietly enough that Kitty and Kurt couldn’t hear it. Warren, on the other hand, was not so subtle. He swore loudly as he caught sight of the crumpled Avenger. 

“Scott, did you just…”

Scott inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as he did before opening again on the red-tinted world. He didn’t dignify Warren’s comment with a response, and to his relief the winged mutant had the decency to shut up. Already his eyes were practically pulsing with his power… or maybe it was the need to cry— no. He cut off that thinking before it could even form, shoving it harshly to the back of his mind. He had shown enough weakness. He had to get himself back under control.

The Professor had tried to drill control into his head. It was his hardest lesson, his most important lesson, the thing that they went over again and again . He should be better than this. He should have control.

He lost control. And now Tony Stark was…

This shouldn’t have happened .

It was all Scott could do to dig his fists into the ground and to pull himself to his feet. His body was aching— from the fight, from the power surge, from all of it— but he couldn’t afford to sit back down. Professor Xavier’s voice echoed in his head, a mantra that sunk in his bones and burned in the front of his skull. You must fight to the last breath . You are the face of mutantkind. You must fight for your people, not yourself.

The professor would be so disappointed in him right now.

Scott sharply shook off those thoughts, ignoring the stabbing pain in his mind. He felt heavy-headed, like a weight was pressing down on his brain, making it hard for him to function. But he shoved those thoughts aside, instead focusing on turning to Kitty, who was still watching with wide eyes. 

“You said you found someone?”

Kitty nodded wordlessly, and after a moment she ducked into the truck. Her movement seemed to shake Kurt and Warren out of their daze too. Kurt bounded to the truck on all fours, and Warren took to the air just behind them.

Scott refused to look at the Avengers. He focused on the mission at hand. 

He moved to open the back door of the truck; Kitty hadn’t bothered to use it, opting instead to just phase through the wall of the vehicle. The door was locked. Of course . Scott only hesitated a moment before taking a deep breath and focusing his eyes on the lock. His hand moved up to his visor, gently easing open the shield every so slightly. There was a pulse somewhere behind his eyes as suddenly the energy had an outlet, and it rushed forward to meet it before Scott slammed the visor shut once again. A tiny zap, and the door handle was a smoking mess.

Just like everything else in his life.

He shoved those thoughts aside. Focus. He needed focus. The word alone sounded like Professor Xavier’s voice, and he could almost see the man staring down at him as he struggled through yet another exercise.

Are you an X-Man or not?

The door swung open easily now, and Scott stepped inside with a deep breath. The truck was cold, like a fridge, and the whole inside was covered with futuristic-looking metal and strange, beeping machines. Kurt hopped up next to him, creeping forward cautiously on all fours. Warren stayed back, still hovering slightly in the air with careful wingbeats. 

There was Kitty, just inside the truck. She crouched next to a metal bed that was tucked into the back corner. She waved Scott and Kurt forward, quickly pointing toward the bed as she did.

“I-I was gonna phase through, try and set her free but, like, look at all these wires! I didn’t wanna—“

“You’re good, Kitty. Good work.” Scott forced his leaderly tone back into his voice, forced himself to stop shaking. His fists were still clenched into tight balls, and he slowly willed himself to let his fingers spread so he could reach out to the edge of the metal bed. There was a girl strapped to it, a young woman who appeared to be asleep; or knocked out, more likely. Her mouth and nose were covered by what looked like an oxygen mask, though Scott doubted that was all that was being pumped into the lady’s lungs. Both her wrists and ankles were secured by metal bonds, and Scott could see some sort of vitals flickering across a small screen on her left cuff. There was nothing notably “mutant” about her besides the fact that her long dark hair seemed to be a brilliant shade of purple, but there was no doubt about what she was. Scott knew the games these sorts of companies played. 

He carefully directed Kitty to phase through the girl’s bonds. The movement made the technology fizz out and disconnect, and then Scott removed her gas mask. The woman seemed to breathe a bit more deeply with it gone. Scott quickly took up the responsibility of gently pulling her up from the metal bed, one of her arms slung over his shoulder as he awkwardly hauled her from the truck. All she was wearing was a paper medical gown, the back of which was open to show most of her back. Through his red lenses Scott could see marks across her back; stitches. Medical stitches. He averted his gaze, instead focusing on getting down from the truck. The woman was about as tall as him, maybe even a bit taller, and it made maneuvering her a bit difficult. Thankfully Warren stepped forward to help, pulling the woman into his arms as Scott made his way out of the truck.

“Is she the only one?” Scott asked, glancing back at Kitty. She nodded quickly as she hopped down from the van with Kurt following just behind her. 

“I think so. I checked every other truck!”

“Good.” Scott waited until Kitty and Kurt were clear, then he turned his gaze back to the truck. He dilated his visor, carefully opening it a bit wider this time. Power shot from his eyes, heat surging forward to slice through anything in its way; the metal bed, the bonds, the weird control panels all were blasted away. Something caught fire as his gaze passed over it, and soon the whole truck was in ruin.

He shut the visor, then turned to the last truck. He went ahead and double checked it, and once he confirmed that it was only filled with supplies, he set about burning that one too. 

That was what he was good for, anyway. Destruction . He just had to be glad that the Professor taught him to aim in the right direction.

“Scott!” He turned to see Clint walking up, his face lit by the fires Scott had set. It was drawn up in shock, anger… maybe? Probably. There was no way he wasn’t angry; it was the only emotion that made sense. The man stepped forward heavily, his eyes wide as he took in the mess around them. He didn’t seem to know what exactly to say. “What… why… ”

Before he could decide, his eyes fell on Warren and the woman he was carrying. That, at least, was enough to make him hesitate. “Who is that?”

“A mutant,” Scott said, his voice as smooth and commanding as it could be. “She was part of this “ medical supplies” shipment.”

Clint blinked. “She… what? Do you know her?”

“No, but we know plenty of people like her.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest, jutting his chin out as he did. It was a commanding pose, a leaderly pose. He needed to look like a leader right now. “So, you want to yell at us for sneaking out? Do it.”

Clint shook his head, almost numbly. His hand reached up to brush through his hair. “I… I can’t… you guys…”

“What?” Warren stepped forward, his wings flaring even as he supported the unconscious woman. “Hard to come face-to-face with the darker side of things?”

“No— well, yes …” The man let out a groan. “You four, you snuck out without telling me, you destroyed a bunch of property, you… Tony… ” The name sent a stab of guilt through Scott’s chest, but he did his best to hold his ground. He couldn’t think about that, not now. Clint groaned again, waving his hand at the scene around them in frustration. “Look at this! You guys could have been hurt, don’t you see that?”

Scott blinked, his red vision flickering a bit. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Yeah? So?”

“This isn’t your fight,” Clint started. Scott interrupted him.

“Of course it is. Who’s fight would it be?”

“An adult’s,” Clint deadpanned. “Someone older, more experienced.”

That made Scott frown sharply. What did Clint think they had spent the past few years and Xavier’s doing? What did he think all their training was meant for? “We’re plenty experienced.”

“What would Professor Xavier say if he saw this?” Clint asked, once again waving his hands to the surrounding flames. “Would he want you out here? Risking your lives?”

“Of course he would!” The leaderly note in his voice broke, and Scott cursed himself. No, no, no. Stay calm. Stay in control. Focus. Control . He took a shuddery breath and forced the cracks from his tone. “This is what he trained us to do: to fight for a world that hates and fears us.”

Clint looked like he had been hit with something. He stared at them a moment, a mass of emotions flitting across his face in the firelight. Shock? Disbelief, maybe? More anger? Whatever it was, it forced a heavy, draining silence over the clearing. The tension was heavy in the air, and Scott— despite himself— could feel his stomach churning as he waited for the man’s response. 

“Tony needs medical attention.” His voice was quieter as he spoke, and Scott almost lost it over the sound of the flames around them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Come on. Let’s go back to the tower. We can… we can talk more there.”

The archer turned away, and Scott felt something inside him deflate. That tired tone. That strange mix of emotions coming from the Avenger… disappointment? Maybe? It must be. Disappointment and anger. Those were the emotions Scott always seems to bring out in people.

And from where he was standing, surrounded by flames and destruction… well, he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve them.

Chapter Text

Tony was alive. Barely.

He was in critical care at the moment. Bruce Banner, Helen Cho, and at least three other multiple PHD doctors were by his side. He had been stabilized, or at least so Clint had heard. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, no one had really bothered to fill him in. Great. Yeah. No need for a “thanks Hawkeye”, it wasn’t like he had dragged the armored billionaire halfway across New York or anything, but a situation summary would have been nice, at least. 

Instead he was stuck pacing outside the medical wing, waiting for any sort of update on his friend’s condition, trying not to think about why he was in critical care. 

He had broken bones, at least. A concussion for sure. And with the way his suit had crumpled… Clint had no clue what kind of damage that could do. More broken bones? Internal bleeding? Crushed organs? And for a guy who already had heart issues… 

He paced a bit faster.

The other Avengers had made their way down as soon as they heard. Steve was pacing at the other end of the hallway, his heavy feet practically wearing a divot in the tile floor with each pass. Natasha was sitting in one of the flimsy folding chairs set up in the hall, hunched over and with her hands clasped beneath her chin. Bruce was in the room with Tony, since that was a privilege that multiple years of medical school provided. And then there was Clint, also pacing, trying to make sense of everything that had happened that night. 

The kids sneaking out.

The Hope Industries shipments. 

Scott’s powers. The utter destruction. 

Tony…

“Stop beating yourself up, Clint.”

It took him a moment to register Natasha’s words. He hesitated, glancing up at her as he did. Her eyes bored into his own, and he could feel the pointed edge of her words. Another moment passed, then he walked over and sat heavily in the folding chair next to her, a sigh slipping between his lips.

“I’m not—“

“Don’t even try that, birdbrain. I know you.”

Another sigh. His fingers ran through his tangled, soot-streaked hair. Natasha turned her knowing gaze on him, watching him as he breathed heavily. He let out a groan, his voice rough. That was probably from smoke inhalation. Or exhaustion. Honestly, it was probably both. 

He spoke slowly, the words more of a breath than real words. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Tasha.”

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. “I know.”

“I’m in way over my head.”

“I know.”

“I messed up.”

“I know.”

“This is my fault— “

“I’m going to stop you there. It’s not.”

“But it is. ” He shook his head to emphasize his point. “I asked Tony to come, I didn’t bother to figure out what Scott’s powers were… I had no clue what he could do, that it could be this bad …”

“It’s not like he was exactly eager to tell you. None of them were.”

“But still. I should have tried harder.” He buried his head in his hands, his breath hot against his face. “I should have been watching them, I should have been keeping an eye on them…”

“Xavier should have been keeping an eye on them, not you.”

“But he’s dead, ” Clint pointed out. His voice was meant to be bitter, but he probably just sounded more tired than anything. “He’s dead, and… and I don’t know if I could have left them with him even if he wasn’t.”

She didn’t speak. She just waited, probably to see if he would elaborate. It worked. “The things Scott was saying, Tasha… it’s like he trained them for this, or something. I just can’t believe…”

“Yeah. Because child soldiers are such an impossibility.”

He winced instinctively, pulling his head from his hands to look at Natasha. But her expression didn’t match her words, the intense mask filtering out any sort of bitterness about her past. Of course child soldiers weren’t an impossibility. He was sitting right next to one. She had seen firsthand what kind of terror the Red Room wreaked, and he had seen a lot of it through her. And the Red Room was just one example. Was it really such a surprise that someone would want to train young super-powered kids to grow up to push their agenda?

He wished it was.

He let out a breath, turning back to stare at the wall. He could see Steve, still pacing, out of the corner of his eye. Part of him wished the super soldier wasn’t in the room. Most of him couldn’t muster up the energy to care. 

“They didn’t seem to care about their own safety,” he muttered, more to himself than Natasha. She probably already knew this from experience. “They were just focused on completing the mission. A mission that totally made them look like terrorists, by the way. I hate that I can totally see why the media labels them the way they do…”

He couldn’t even entirely blame them for their mission. The woman in the medical center with Tony was proof of that. She had woken up just a few minutes after being brought to the Tower; she panicked, of course, but once she was talked down she was able to at least give her name; Betsy Braddock. Clint had been able to look her up, to call her apartment and find out that she was behind several months of payments. It seemed like she had just been picked up randomly, despite the fact that she had a life; a family, even. Pepper Potts had taken over from there, getting in contact with the woman’s real estate agent and family members to arrange for her to be taken home. So yeah. There was a valid reason for the mission.

But they were still just kids. They could have been hurt. 

He had almost been fooled for a bit there. The strong, leaderly voice Scott put on, the burning trucks around them, the men knocked out in the dirt… but then Scott’s visor was off, and in those seconds of unfiltered power Clint saw it. The transformation from Cyclops, the leader of the X-Men, to Scott Summers… he was just a fourteen-year-old boy. A kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders, a kid who could level buildings with just a look. A kid who had been trained to fight for a world that hated and feared him, just for what he was…

“What am I supposed to do, Tasha?” His voice was small, so much smaller than he would have liked, but he could hardly care. He just felt exhausted, guilty, horrible for everything… and completely, utterly, totally out of his depth. As per usual. 

Natasha was quiet for a moment. “Moria hasn’t found anything yet, has she?”

“No.” Clint had already checked his email four times since getting back. It was useless, he knew. Her last message told him that it could be months before she found anything remotely fitting. It had hardly been two weeks. 

“And you’re still set on keeping them here.”

It took Clint a moment to respond. “Yes. Yeah. Maybe… yes . I can’t… I don’t think—“

“So yes.” Natasha saved him from the embarrassment of attempting to put his scrambled thoughts in order, much to his relief. Now was the moment that he was the least sure about keeping the kids in the tower… but it was also the time he was the most sure. Seeing what they could do, what could be done to them… at least with them here, in the tower, he could keep an eye on them. But they deserved better than him, didn’t they? Wasn’t tonight proof of that? But then, wasn’t it also proof that there were much, much worse possibilities?

It was a mess. All of it was a mess, and Clint felt responsible for helping create it. 

“They’re just kids,” he found himself saying. The words were hushed, ragged, and his voice caught as he breathed them out. They were also true, painfully true. The winged hero that had flown above the fires was a kid. The blue devil that had choked a man with his tail was a kid. The masked girl that had directed her team to the woman that needed help was a kid. The unmasked leader that had destroyed had put Tony Stark in the hospital with just a glance and then had crouched, screaming, in the dirt… he was a kid . “They’re just kids .”

“I think…” Natasha’s voice was slow, pondering, and it sliced through the whirlwind that was Clint’s mind. “…It sounds like they’ve had a lot of experience with being told what their role is. They’ve been told who they should be.”

“You think?” Clint barely bit back a groan, his fingers digging into the roots of his scalp as he stared at the tile floor. This is what he trained us to do… what did that even mean ? What did Xavier do to train these kids? What did he tell them to make them fight like this? “Who let him adopt? How many people just overlooked this?”

How many people didn’t care ?

Natasha’s gaze weighed heavily in his back. “I think what they need is a good influence.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah. Let me know if you can find one.”

“I am.” 

Clint snorted again. Natasha’s gaze was still burning into his side, heavy and focused. It took him a second to look at her, to see just how sharp her gaze was, the way it was boring into him with an intense determination. He blinked.

“What? You can’t seriously mean me, Nat.” She shrugged. “Come on. You know me. I’m the worst influence. I’m a mess, I can hardly take care of myself, let alone… I’d probably just make it worse—“

“You didn’t make it worse for me.”

That shut him up for a moment. “Tasha, that… no, that’s different, you’re different…”

“I was just like these kids, Clint.” To anyone else, Natasha’s voice would sound the exact same as ever. But Clint had known her long enough. He could hear the tiny tremor in her voice, so subtle that it was hardly there. The tiny detail that showed just how serious, just how emotional she was, and somehow helped to make her words even more firm. “I know what they’re feeling. And I know just how much changed when a certain archer reached out to me for the first time.”

Clint didn’t know what to say. It didn’t make sense to him. He could barely take care of himself… what was he supposed to do with six kids? Six messed up, brainwashed, mutant kids? 

They were supposed to stay here. He was supposed to find them someplace better. That was it. He had already tried reaching out, and it had failed .

But Natasha’s gaze was still on him, and Clint was beginning to wonder if she had a point. Maybe just coexisting in the Tower with the kids was doing more harm than good. 

“They’re going to be here for a while,” Natasha pointed out. Her hand settled on Clint’s shoulder, and she gave him a gentle squeeze before continuing. “Just spend time with them. Reach out. You never know what impact you’ll have.”

Clint sighed, his hands tangled in his hair. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t think.” She caught his eye one more time, her gaze burning with intensity. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Be a good influence. Yeah right. Like Clint Barton knew how to do that. He was the worst influence, he had to be. He hardly knew how to take care of himself . He was an absolute mess, definitely the worst Avenger… why was he the one who found the kids? Why couldn’t it have been someone responsible like Steve or Natasha? It should have been Natasha. She would be so much better at this than him, no matter how much she claimed that she was terrible with kids. But no, he had found them. This was his responsibility.

And she was right. Someone had to do something to help these kids.

He knew he couldn’t stall forever, as much as part of him wanted to. He waited until he got the assurance that Tony was alright— four broken ribs, a concussion, and a punctured lung, but alright— and then, after being told he couldn’t see his friend yet at least four times, headed up to the thirteenth floor. He did not want to talk to the kids right now. All he wanted was to drink a whole pot of coffee or collapse in bed. Maybe even both. But Natasha was right. Having the kids in the tower would mean nothing if no one was putting forth the effort to check in with them.

So there he was, putting forth the effort.

Oh man, he hoped this wasn’t a horrible idea.

The elevator slowed, and then after a moment the doors slid open. Clint took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out.

The kids were gathered in the living area, all six of them. It was a familiar scene, reminiscent of the one or maybe two times that Clint had come down to check on them. But this time they weren’t playing games and hanging out like they had been in the past. There was no competitive screaming or playful banter this time. Instead there was a sort of tension hanging over the space, a soberness as six sets of eyes turned to watch Clint enter the room. 

“Hey guys,” he started. Wow. That was lame. Great start, Barton. He inhaled softly, taking in the scene a bit more fully as he did. The kids were standing in the middle of the room; well, Sean was mostly standing. He kept sitting on the couch, then popping up, then sitting back down as if he couldn’t decide whether to sit or stand. Each movement made him wince, but he just moved again. Kitty was crouched on the ground, meticulously building a house of cards with the Uno deck. The house definitely should have fallen down by now; luckily, its rickety structure was being supported by the spaded tip of a blue tail that was connected to a little boy trying very hard to not look like he was helping. 

The younger kids were a somewhat silly sight, and Clint couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Then his eyes caught on the oddly-familiar sight of pillowcases piled in the corner, and he frowned. 

“What’s all that?”

“We went ahead and packed.” Scott’s voice was rough, thick with the sound of sandpaper and gravel. As far as Clint could remember, the boy hadn’t said a word since they had gotten back to the Tower, and hardly anything at all since his visor had come off; a visor that was now solidly secured in place, to Clint’s almost shameful relief. 

“Packed?” Confusion clung to Clint’s voice, and he shook his head. “What for, we…”

He trailed off as he was speaking. Oh. Oh. That’s why the room seemed so hollow and lifeless. That’s why the kids weren’t playing games. That’s why Kitty was sniffing ever so slightly, and why Sean wouldn’t meet his eyes as he fidgeted numbly with the hem of his shirt.

They didn’t… did they actually think he was going to ship them off, just like that? 

“No, guys, you’re not going anywhere.” Clint shook his head firmly, hoping they could hear just how serious he was. “I, I mean yes, this is supposed to be temporary, but… no, no, you’re staying here. For now. Until I can find a better solution, but…”

“Wait a sec,” Sean spoke up, cocking his head a bit with his green eyes wide. He was on his feet again, his leg trembling slightly with the effort of standing. “You’re not kicking us out?”

Warren nudged the younger boy sharply, but Clint was already shaking his head even more forcefully. “Of course not.”

“Don’t lie to us,” Scott’s voice was practically dripping with doubt and distrust. But it also sounded rough, hoarse. Nothing like the leader that Clint had talked to a few hours prior, before his visor fell off and… 

Clint shoved those memories to the side. They weren’t helping anyone.

“I’m not lying,” He said forcefully. Truthfully . He almost felt a flash of regret for checking his email with Moira so many times. These kids were expecting to be abandoned. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t right at all. “You six are staying here. As long as you need to, at least.”

The kids stared at him; the younger three, Kitty and Sean mostly, looked excited and hopeful. But the older kids were suspicious, to say the least. Warren’s face was drawn tight and unrevealing, Rouge was glaring at him from beneath her white bangs, and Scott… yeah, Scott definitely didn’t believe him. And honestly, Clint couldn’t blame him.

But he did need to convince him. 

He stood awkwardly for a second, then kind of crouched so he would be at their eye level. But that was even worse, so he just sat on the floor with a huff. Thankfully, the kids followed his lead, sitting in a sort of semi circle a few paces away from him. Scott was the last to sit, his brow creased and his fists loosely clenched. 

Clint let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair once before looking evenly at the kids. “Look… I’m going to be honest with you guys. Alright?” He waited until he got a few nods. “I'm probably not the best person for this job. Probably not even the best Avenger… for this or anything else, honestly.”

“You said you’re the coolest Avenger!” Sean blurted out. He waved his hand toward Kurt, who ducked his hooded head in embarrassment. “Tha’s what Kurt told me!”

Despite himself, Clint chuckled. “Maybe. I guess sometimes I am. It depends on the day.” He shook his head lightly with another half snort, half laugh rumbling in his throat. “I don’t feel very cool today, that’s for sure.”

“How come Mr. Barton?” Kitty blinked up at him with wide, innocent brown eyes. 

“Well…” he said slowly. “I don’t feel cool because…” he hesitated, trying to decide how to word his thoughts. “…there’s these really cool people, right? And I found out about them, and I wanted to be friends with them.”

Kitty and Kurt giggled, and Clint saw Warren roll his eyes, but he continued. “But I’ve been kind of a jerk to these people. I wasn’t spending any time with them, I wasn’t trying hard enough to help them, and then suddenly I found out that they could have gotten hurt. So I got scared.” 

He turned his attention to the older three, watching them closely and trying to channel Natasha’s firm, honest intensity. “I want you here. All of you. I want to get to know you, and I was kind of a jerk with how I went about it.” He made eye contact with Rouge, carefully meeting her glare and hoping that she realized that a lot of this apology was aimed toward her. Even if he didn’t know the story behind why she didn’t want to be called Marie, he still messed up and he wanted to make things right. “I’m going to try to be better now though, alright?”

Was it just him, or did Rouge’s glare soften? He thought so. He hoped so. He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes for a brief second before turning his attention to Scott. “I’m never going to just kick you guys out. But, we do have to work on communication. I can’t jump over your boundaries, I know that… I’m trying to learn that. But you have to talk to me, ok? We have to try and trust each other.”

Scott didn’t reply, but he didn’t outright disagree either. So Clint braced himself and decided to just go for it. “Like your powers. I know you don’t want to talk about them, and I’ve tried not to ask. But I think it’s best for everyone if you just tell me.” He had moved to look at some of the other kids, but now he zeroed back in on Scott. “I don’t blame anyone for what happened tonight. Alright? But it’s for everyone’s safety— ours and yours— that we all know what’s going on.”

Scott held his gaze a moment longer. For a moment he kept up that strong, stubborn air, and Clint was worried that he was going to shut him down. What would he do then, if they literally couldn’t make progress? He had no idea, and the thought scared him. How was he supposed to help the kids if they wouldn’t talk? How was he supposed to avoid another event like tonight?

But then it was like Scott deflated, something inside him gave in, and once again Clint saw a glimpse of the scared little boy he actually was. His fists clenched tighter. “Well, I guess you already know what I can do,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to stare at the ground. “I’m the most dangerous.”

“No, Scott!” Sean interrupted loudly, his wildly curly hair flopping against his skull as he shook his head. “I break stuff with my voice! I’m a lot worse!”

“Don’t flatter yourselves, we all know I’m the worst of us all,” Rouge snapped bitterly. “If anyone should leave—“

“No, Rouge!” Kurt jumped in, his yellow eyes wide and his voice pleading. “We… we all know I scare people. I’m the one that should go, if—“

“No, no , guys,” It took him a moment to catch on, but the moment he did Clint was gesturing wildly, shaking his head as he silenced the argument. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? No one’s leaving. No one’s getting kicked out. Ok? This is just so I know. Just so there’s no more surprises.”

He wanted to add that they weren’t dangerous, to assure them that their powers wouldn’t hurt anyone, but… well, Tony was still in the emergency room. And he still had no idea what half the kids could even do.

No one spoke up. They were all avoiding his gaze, staring at the walls, the ground, anything. Clint waited a moment, watching them quietly until finally he caught the eye of one of them. “Kitty,” he said gently, hoping that his voice was somewhat coaxing. “What’s your power?”

The little girl looked startled, and instantly looked toward Scott for reassurance. When the older boy didn’t object, she looked back at Clint, her finger twisting in a strand of her brunette hair as she spoke. “I… uh… I can walk through walls.”

“Woah,” Clint whistled, not even having to play up the awe he felt. “That is super cool!”

Kitty nodded, a bit more eagerly. “Yeah. I-I mean, I think it is.”

Clint smiled encouragingly, then looked through the other kids. “Sean, what—“

“I’ve got sonic screams!” The little kid burst out before Clint even finished asking. The archer couldn’t help but smile a bit. “I can break stuff with my voice, like glass and stuff!”

“That’s definitely something I need to see in action!” Clint said with a chuckle. “Preferably outside though. I don’t think Tony would like us breaking up his tower.”

The mention of Stark caused a bit of the life to be sucked from the room. But it also gave Clint a chance to look over at Scott— who, if possible, looked even more beaten down. Crap. “Scott, I’ve sort of got an idea so if you don’t want—“

“They’re concussion beams.” His voice was sharp, still rough and raw from the fight earlier. He didn’t look up while speaking, his focus on his clenched fists. “And no, I can’t stop them. Unless I close my eyes. Or wear this thing.” He shrugged in reference to the clunky gold visor over his eyes. “Special metal or something. It stops them. It lets me avoid destroying buildings without going blind.”

Clint could tell that he was trying to keep his voice flat, emotionless, but there was more than one tremor through his short speech. And Clint… well, he was having a hard time finding a response. 

He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t control them. Scott couldn’t open his eyes. Not without destroying something . 

“He’s like Superman!” Sean pointed out. Maybe he was trying to relieve the tension, maybe he was just speaking his mind. “But, like, he doesn’t burn stuff so much as he just throws it back, y’know?” He swept out his arm to indicate the motion as Scott snorted humorlessly.

“Yeah,” he muttered darkly. “Like Superman.”

It was obvious that he did not feel super, and Clint couldn’t even think of a response.

“Mine’s pretty obvious,” Warren cut in before Clint could say anything. The oldest boy shrugged tightly, a small smirk on his face as he spoke. “Just thought I’d get it out of the way.”

“Yeah, about yours,” Clint said, deciding to take the chance to get the focus off of Scott. He nodded to Warren, who— despite his claim that his mutation was obvious— was quite notably missing his wings. He looked like any average teenager; tall, lanky, pretty normal. “You never told me how they work. Are they retractable, or…”

Warren chuckled, though it seemed more dry than his earlier words. He shifted, turning slightly so that Clint could see more of his back, then lifted a portion of the pale blue shirt he was wearing. Clint caught sight of a flash of feathers and what looked to be some sort of leather-and-metal straps. “I’ve got this harness thing. Keeps ‘em under wraps, if you know what I mean.”

Clint blinked. No wonder Warren’s movements always seemed so stiff and restricted. “That… that looks pretty uncomfortable.”

Warren gave another tight shrug as he turned back around. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, don’t feel like you have to wear it,” Clint said quickly. “If you don’t want to, at least. Come on, one of our guys is the Hulk, no one’s going to care about a pair of wings.”

Warren shrugged again, and Clint couldn’t really get a read on how he felt. So he turned his attention to the other physically mutated kid. “You too, Kurt. You don’t have to try and hide how you look. I’ll punch anyone that makes fun of you.”

Kurt giggled, sheepishly tugging down the hood he had been wearing. “I can teleport too!”

It took a second for Clint to register that statement, and he grinned. He hadn’t expected Kurt to offer up any other sort of power, but he was kind of glad to hear that the kid had something going for him other than his… unique looks. “Really?”

“Yeah! Not very far yet, but I’m working on it!”

“Good to hear!” Clint said with a smile. Then he caught the gaze of the last kid. Everyone else, he had at least an idea of what they could do before this; Kitty’s powers were somewhat shown in the security footage, he had theories about Sean based on the broken windows at the institute, and the other three… well, besides some fuzzy details, they made theirs pretty obvious. But Rouge… he hadn’t seen a single thing about her that made her “ mutant” . 

“Rouge? What about you?”

The girl stiffened. Her green eyes dropped to look at the floor, avoiding Clint’s gaze. “I…” she said slowly, her arms crossed as she spoke. “I hurt people, that’s what I do.”

Clint and Kurt both made noises of protest at the same time. 

“It’s true and you know it,” she said sharply, her words directed to the little blue kid next to her. Then she sighed deeply. “I can’t touch people. I take their life force, their energy… I can use other people’s powers an’ such, but… it hurts them. And I can’t turn it off.”

Wow. The words sunk in and left Clint reeling. He thought it was bad that Scott couldn’t see without his visor. This girl couldn’t be touched… No wonder she was always wearing long sleeves, always standing away from the group. The trail of coma patients on her CPS files… How long had her mutation been active? How long had it been since she had physically touched another person?

Clint almost didn’t want to know the answer to those questions.

The tension was heavy in the air. The kids were watching him suspiciously, guardedly. Crud. Did they still think he was going to get rid of them? Try to kick them out for their powers or something? Who put that idea into their heads? Foster parents? Xavier? Both?

“Great,” he let out a breath, forcing down his feelings of… well, he didn’t know exactly what he was feeling. There was a whole mix of emotions churning in his gut, most too complicated to even attempt thinking about right now. He glanced over toward the kitchenette, where a clock glowed against the stovetop. 11:38. Wow, it was getting late. When did these kids usually go to sleep? Should he start enforcing a bedtime?

One step at a time, Barton . He was hungry, very hungry. That meant the kids probably were too. That would be step one. Step two would be getting all their packed up stuff put a way, to help solidify the fact that they were staying, for now. Step three… well, the fact that he had two steps already was impressive enough. He’d make up step three later.

For now, he had to find some food that wouldn’t be as much of a disaster as pancakes.

Chapter Text

This was it. Scott was sure of it. He didn’t care what Clint Barton said; he knew when he was defeated. He knew when the adults were going to want to take charge of the situation. He could feel it, feel himself teetering on the edge, just waiting for his whole life to be ripped away. Again.

And yet, for some reason, Clint insisted on helping them unpack their belongings— belongings that probably seemed pretty meager, based on his raised eyebrows. 

“You guys each have, like, three outfits.”

“Yeah.” Scott shrugged as he shoved Sean’s shirts back into the dresser he had been using. “We do a lot of laundry.”

The archer hesitated at that. “You guys have been doing your own laundry?”

Scott shrugged again. “There’s a washer and dryer in the kitchen, isn’t there?”

Clint made a little hum that led Scott to believe that he didn’t even know about the appliances. He wanted to be able to find humor in that, but… well, humor was hard for him to grasp at the moment. He was too busy waiting. He was waiting for the bomb to drop. He was waiting for the shoe to fall. He was waiting for the inevitable certainty that always came with his powers getting out of control. 

But after eating food— Clint could make decent scrambled eggs, especially with Rouge adding pointers— and heading to bed— not that Scott would sleep much at all, but the younger ones were practically dead on their feet— and waking up in the morning, Scott began to realize a pretty big, pretty important thing.

They were still in the tower.

He was waiting for it. He was waiting for the moment that CPS or SHIELD officials— he honestly wasn’t sure which was more likely at this point— would walk into the tower and take him and his siblings away. He had spent half the night lying awake, tossing and turning on the couch in the front room as he tried to make a plan for how to keep his family together. He was sure it was coming. How couldn’t it be, with how he lost control? Any chance of the Avengers letting them stay any longer was gone. It had to be.

But instead of SHIELD bursting out of the elevator in the morning, Scott was greeted by Clint’s smiling face. 

“Hey Scott,” Clint waved his hand in a sort of half-salute, a wiry grin on his face. “Sleep well?”

Scott gave him an unamused frown, but muttered a quick “fine”. If Clint noticed the slight tinge of sarcasm, or the way Scott’s hair was probably a mess from tossing and turning, he didn’t say anything. Instead he glanced around the empty space.

“Is anyone else up yet?”

Scott hesitated, but slowly nodded. He knew the others were up; he could hear them even from his spot on the couch, though he hadn’t bothered to move yet; he wanted to be there, ready and on the front lines the moment that the ax fell. He was his family’s only defense; he had to be ready.

“What are they up to?”

Again he hesitated, a bit longer this time. Not that there was really any use; he was beaten. “Kitty and Sean are hanging in their room, Warren’s probably doing his workout, Rouge’s just chilling, and Kurt’s still asleep.” 

Clint quirked an eyebrow. “It’s almost ten, isn’t it?”

Scott shrugged. “Kurt sleeps late.”

“Hey, I don’t blame him. If I had a choice, I would probably still be in bed too.” Clint grinned to himself, then rubbed his hands together. “That’s perfect. I want to run the plans for the day by you first.”

That sounded ominous. Scott frowned, shifting a bit in his seat on the couch as Clint sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. “Plans?”

“Yeah. Basically, I was thinking, well, since it didn’t look like you guys had much stuff when we were unpacking last night,” Clint looked genuinely excited, though Scott was genuinely confused so far. “I thought maybe we could go on a shopping trip today. You know? To get you guys some clothes that— no offense— fit?”

Scott blinked. Then he blinked again, his red vision flickering in and out with the movement. Shopping? Clint Barton, Hawkeye, the Avenger, was thinking about taking them, the X-Men, the people who had just put his teammate in the hospital… shopping?

“And before you shut it down—“ Clint interjected quickly. “Know that I’m giving you the choice, ok? We’ll do what you want to do.”

That took Scott back another level. He blinked again. He did not trust himself to speak.

“Basically there are three main choices.” Clint held up one finger. “One, we all go to the mall and have a shopping day. Right? Fun, friendly, admittedly somewhat cheap because I’m not made of money, but cool. And we’d get food after or before, something fun like that.” He put up a second finger before Scott could protest. “ But I know, there’s problems with that. I can think right off the top of my head two big reasons why that wouldn’t work too well.”

Kurt and Rogue . Neither of them had to say it out loud.

“So option two is we could leave them here while the rest of us go out, and they can pick some stuff out online. But I don’t really like the ide of separating you lot, and I’m sure you like it even less than I do.” Clint put up a third finger. “So, of course, there’s option three. We all stay here, and we all order stuff offline. We could get some takeout, eat it here, make a day of it. Not quite as fun, but if it makes you feel safer, then… we’ll do it.” He dropped his hand to his side and shrugged. “Or, of course, there’s the unofficial option four. None of the above. But please, don’t choose that one. Again, no offense, but you guys need some new clothes, and I don’t think Captain America’s hand-me-downs would fit any of you.”

Scott stared at the man, who had fallen silent and was waiting for him. Even after almost a full minute, he was still waiting. He was just waiting for… for Scott’s choice? This had to be a trick. Or a test. Or something. Scott didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust any of it.

“Which one do you want?” Scott asked slowly, testing the waters. There was always something that the adults wanted. He wasn’t stupid enough to think otherwise. 

Clint shook his head. “I told you I’d be honest with you Scott, so I am. I don’t care which you choose.”

“We don’t have enough money.” Scott had counted their stash while he laid awake in the night. They had a bit under a hundred dollars. That needed to be for emergencies only.

“I told you. It’s on me.” 

Scott frowned deeper. “And what if we don’t want to do it at all?”

Clint shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t like that option, because then you guys are still going to be wearing the same three pairs of clothes each. They’re already worn out Scott, I’m shocked some of them aren’t falling apart. But if you honestly, truly don’t trust me enough…”

He trailed off, but Scott got the picture. It sounded like Clint really did want to help. But it always sounded that way at first. 

But… they could use some new clothes. There was practicality behind agreeing.

There was no way they were going to be separated. And Scott did not like the idea of taking Kurt and Rogue out in public. He met Clint’s eyes, still frowning as he did. 

“Online.”

Clint‘a smile didn’t waver. If anything, it got bigger. “That’s awesome, Nat’s a wiz with online coupons and such. Not that it’s a necessity or anything, but hey, a few dollars off is always nice.”

Scott waited, but there was no “ but… ”. No protest, no change of plans from Clint. Even as he kept talking, brainstorming how the day could go, he didn’t once beret Sott for his choice… something that sent Scott reeling in more ways than one. Clint had actually listened. He hadn’t changed the choice or even told him why he was wrong, even though Scott was sure he would prefer to be out of the tower. He hadn’t done anything . 

What kind of test was this?

“That brings us to a more important question,” Clint had pulled out his phone, flicking through something before looking back up at Scott. “There’s a lot of food-delivery options in New York. Got any preferences?”

Scott shook his head honestly. 

“Are you just saying that?”

He shook his head again. Food was food. He had no preference.

“Well, what about everyone else?” Clint asked.

“They would probably care,” Scott said slowly. “But if you ask them all to try and make a decision, it’ll probably be lunchtime before they can figure it out.”

Clint let out a laugh, and despite himself Scott felt his lips twitch in a smile. “Don’t worry, the team does the exact same thing. We can’t decide on anything together… saving the world is a piece of cake, but ask us to figure out a movie for movie night—”

Just like that Scott’s tiny smile disappeared. The team . The Avengers. Tony Stark. The man he put in the hospital… He felt his fists clenching involuntarily, his breathing sharpening as he tried to stay steady. He had to ask. He didn’t want to, but… he had to. He had to take responsibility for his actions. He had to take responsibility for the consequences, and he wanted to know what those consequences would be for. He had to know. “How… how’s Stark?”

He almost winced at how weak and quiet his voice sounded. But he couldn’t force it to be any firmer. At least it was steady, unlike how he felt. The distinct need to throw up was back in his mouth. 

Clint was staring at him with a complicated look on his face. “He’s fine, Scott.” Yeah right. Scott couldn’t believe that. “Hey, look at me.” He hesitated, but after a moment looked up to meet Clint’s eyes. “He’s alright. You don’t have to beat yourself up about it, ok?”

“How bad is it?” Part of him was scared to ask, but he knew he had to. He didn’t deserve to be scared about that. He had to know ; he had to know how much damage he had caused. 

Clint let out a slow, deep breath. “Are you sure I should tell you?”

Scott gave him a firm, solid nod. “Don’t hold any of it back.” He waited a moment, then added a quiet “please.”

Clint looked unsure, but he nodded. “He’s awake now. I was able to talk to him last night.”

He was awake. Good . That meant he really was alive. The relief of the matter settled on Scott for just a moment, and he was able to breathe.

“He’s got four broken ribs, I think. One punctured his lung, but they got that patched up quick. He’s just upset that he can’t talk nonstop at the moment.” Clint let out a little huff of amusement that Scott couldn’t feel. “Apart from that just a concussion and a bruised ego. I’ll admit… you did some damage, Scott. But I’ve seen Tony walk away from a heck of a lot worse.”

Scott’s breathing was shallow. It was bad. Of course it was. It was always bad.

But somehow, he believed Clint. There was something about the tone of his voice, something about the sincerity in his eyes… he was being honest with Scott. He wasn’t holding anything back. 

Listening to Clint made him believe it would be ok. Or maybe that was just what he wanted to believe.

He shoved those thoughts away as quickly and ferociously as he could. He didn’t trust Clint Barton. Not for a moment. He couldn’t trust Clint Barton, and he couldn’t let himself want to either… but he had to work with the man. He seemed to be keeping his promise, for now. Scott didn’t want to upset that. He didn’t want to risk the small, miraculous time that they were getting. So, instead of voicing his distrust, he crossed his arms and glanced toward the hallway with the bedrooms. “Should I get the others up?”

Clint nodded, leaning back a little as he let out a huff of air. “Sounds good to me. But we’ll have to be careful not to start World War III over where to get food. A plate of scrambled eggs can make a shockingly formidable weapon.”

Scott didn’t laugh this time. He just nodded, stood up, and headed to the rooms to gather his siblings.

Clint was being nice. But anybody could be nice. That didn’t mean they were trustworthy. 

Scott couldn’t let his guard down. Not now, not ever.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that she had been supporting Clint since the moment he started looking into the X-Men, Natasha had hardly spent any time with the kids herself. She had briefly met Scott Summers and Sean Cassidy while the younger was getting his leg bandaged, but apart from that she hadn’t done much with them. She prefered to stay in the background, doing research and background information to help them out. Finding the CPS files for the kids, checking that Moira MacTaggart was actually legitimate, and now looking into Hope Industries… those were all one thing. Those were spy work, work she was used to. Kids? Not so much. She wasn’t good with kids, not in her own mind. It made more sense for her to she stay away.

But if Clint needed help, she would always be there, even if it was a somewhat funny request. Online shopping? Honestly not the strangest thing he had ever asked for. And at least he seemed to be taking her advice to get closer to the kids seriously… for once.

Besides, the whole “shopping” thing was actually brilliant, though of course she didn’t plan to tell him that. Buying things could make something feel permanent, like how a new house feels like home once you move in the first piece of furniture. And while going out and buying a handful of clothes was one thing, Clint was consulting the kids. They were picking them out. That choice held power that Clint couldn’t know.

She would never admit it to him, but she still remembered the first day he took her shopping. It was months after she defected from the Red Room. Months after she joined SHIELD. Weeks after Budapest. Clint hadn’t thought anything of it when she stepped away to purchase the small, silver-chained arrow necklace. He had just teased her when he saw the design.

He would never know that was her first free-will purchase, the first one that wasn’t entirely driven by survival. He would never know just how much it impacted her. He would never know the feeling of that first choice.

These were orphaned, abandoned kids. He was offering them choices.

Somehow Clint Barton always managed to do just the right thing, usually without even knowing he did it. 

“So… I’m guessing this isn’t coming out of Tony’s account?”

Clint winced, and glanced toward the bedroom hallway. The six kids were just now starting to emerge and migrate into the main room; the tallest boy, Warren, was in the kitchen with the red-haired girl— Rogue, apparently, Clint had warned Natasha not to use her given name— where they were both helping to divvy out the breakfast items. Kitty Pryde and Sean Cassidy leaned over to watch as they worked, and both of the younger kids would occasionally shout out directions or suggestions about sauces and who should get more nuggets; Chick-Fil-A had been the food choice consensus after some tribulus voting. Scott Summers was still in the other room, busy waking up Kurt. That was probably who Clint was looking for… if Natasha had to guess, Tony Stark would be a touchy subject to the boy who had put him in the hospital.

“Of course not. I got to talk to him last night, I definitely wasn’t about to ask if I could raid his wallet to help house the kids that…”

He trailed off, and Natasha hummed, propping her chin up with her elbow against the couch’s armrest. “Does he blame them?”

“No… I don’t think so. He gets that it was an accident… I hope.” Clint glanced up again. Scott Summers was still nowhere to be seen. “Scott does, though. Blame himself, I mean.”

Natasha hummed a second time. She wasn’t surprised. Scott was a fourteen-year-old kid trying to take on the responsibility of caring for five others, plus being a superhero. Of course he would blame himself.

“This isn’t going to be cheap, you know.”

Clint nodded with another wince. “It’s gonna be a hard one to explain to Laura, for sure.”

“Not if you told her why.”

Clint let out a dry laugh. “One step at a time, Tasha. I don’t think either of us are ready for that.”

Natasha pursed her lips, but didn’t respond. Maybe Clint was right, that it would be better for his barren wife to not be around kids. Maybe he was wrong, and it was just what she needed.

But she would stay out of it. For now, at least. It was his decision to make, and she wouldn’t rush him.

As they were speaking, two more figures joined the others in the kitchen area; Scott Summers and Kurt. They were easy to recognize. She had already met Scott when watching Sean get his leg stitched up, and Kurt was a pretty hard one to miss, even if she was just going off of Clint’s descriptions. She didn’t catch sight of his whip-like tail or his oddly shaped fingers and toes, but the hood of his oversized sweatshirt was down and she could see his blue skin as well as his wide, yellow eyes. They blinked curiously in her direction, his head tilted slightly to the side as he nervously watched her. Natasha offered him a small smile, and found herself glad that it seemed to put him more at ease.

Clint let out a soft huff, pushing himself up from the couch as he set his computer aside. Amazon was already pulled up and ready, but obviously food came first. The only thing that took priority to food in Clint Barton’s mind would probably be coffee. 

He moved over to help the older three kids divvy out the helpings, and Natasha followed just behind. When Clint had said they got two whole catering platters of nuggets, Natasha had thought he was being a little over the top. Apparently, she was wrong. The kids devoured the food, almost as quickly as Thor would have. Had Bruce said something about enhanced metabolism in mutants? That theory definitely seemed probable based on the kid’s consumption rate. Both nugget trays disappeared within just a few minutes, leaving the kids happier and more relaxed now that they had been fed. Then Clint moved everyone to the living area, where he got his Amazon cart pulled up once again. 

“Alright.” Clint rubbed his hands together, an almost boyish look on his face as he turned an excited look toward the kids. “Here’s where we have some fun, and probably light my bank account on fire.”

The kids looked a bit hesitant. Most of them at least— Sean hopped up right away and settled in next to Clint, and Kitty was close behind him. The other four were slower; Rouge sat away from the group at the very edge of the couch, and Kurt curled himself up next to her in an almost cat-like manner. Warren settled himself in the middle of the couch, arms spread across the back as he craned his neck to see the computer screen. Scott stayed standing, his arms crossed and a distinct frown on his face. “Resting-grump-face”, Tony would probably call it. Natasha recognized it as the look of someone distinctly uncomfortable with the safety of their situation; an animal ready to fight their way out of a corner if the need arose.

It was a look she knew well.

“Remember,” Scott muttered, looking toward the other kids as he spoke. “We’re looking for essentials, just in case we stay here longer.”

“Wrong, actually.” Clint held up a finger pointedly. “We’re looking for fun stuff. Essentials, yes, because I’m pretty sure you guys will be here for at least another month, but also I want to get each of you something fun. Just nothing too crazy, like a Stark phone. Alright?”

Scott shook his head. “No. That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, but it’d be fun, Scott!” Sean was bouncing in place, his sandy curls flopping against his forehead as he turned pleading eyes on the older boy. “Come on, please?”

Scott shook his head again, more firmly this time. Clint started to make a noise of protest, but Scott cut him off. “We’re only doing this so we’re not causing a burden on you by living here. We don’t need to be doing this at all.”

Clint and Natasha exchanged a glance. The man shrugged. Good . Scott probably needed to have his opinion heard and accepted. “Alright then. We’ll stick to the essentials. My bank account will thank you for that, at least.”

Sure enough, the boy looked mildly surprised. But the expression was gone in an instant, covered by the clunky old visor over his eyes and the frown on his tight lips. Natasha could see the apprehension and distrustfulness rolling off of him. Rouge looked hesitant as well, and the little blue boy was sticking close to her. But even Warren looked a bit curious, and all six kids leaned in as Clint started pulling stuff up. 

They started simple; four packs of black socks, two in a small size and two in large that should cover everyone. Then some simple toiletries; new toothbrushes all around, toothpaste to last a month, that sort of thing. Then they moved onto clothing, which Natasha was sure would end up being the most difficult. After a few unproductive minutes of random clicking in the kids section of Amazon, she gently suggested to Clint that each kid took a turn.

“Yeah, yeah that’s a better way to do it.” Clint turned to the kids, but before he could attempt to select a candidate Sean had his hand up and waving in the air.

“Can I go first? Please, please?” 

Clint chuckled. “Alright. Go for it, kid.”

Natasha watched as he shifted the computer toward Sean. The little boy was soon reaching forward and clicking through it as the rest of the kids craned their necks to watch. She couldn’t help but pick up little details; the way his eyes skimmed right over the words, lingering on pictures— he was ten, right? What school level should that place him in?— the way that he was still twitching as he clicked around on the website, the way he would wince once and a while as he shifted and jostled his still-bandaged leg. Her spy-wired brain couldn’t help but pick apart these details, to form questions about the kid… but mostly she noticed the smiles. Not smiles that came from the buying so much— though there was definitely that— but the genuine smiles that came from the kids quietly teasing each other, goading each other on as the computer slowly transferred hands. She noticed how under Clint’s watchful gaze and kind comments, the kids each began to pick out their own styles, their own likes. Sean had a collection of comic-book-like T-shirts in the cart while Kitty had chosen some cute, pink shirts with just enough frill for the younger boys to gag. Rouge opted for more of her band T-Shirts and hoodies, a choice that Kurt followed pretty closely. Warren seemed to have the most fashion sense, all of his chosen outfits carrying the same aethstetic, while Scott was obviously practical with simple, pocket-filled pants and shirts.

Scott was hesitant, to say the least. He watched every move that Clint made with careful defensiveness, his eyes locked behind the red shield of his visor as he glared at the man. He was suspicious, wary, on guard, all of the above. Clint had not been exaggerating. Scott didn’t trust him, let alone her. And yet, as they worked their way to the checkout screen, he stayed quiet. Watching. Waiting. He was letting them make the move.

A smile pulled at Natasha’s lips. Scott Summers may be stubborn, but so was Clint Barton. She knew him, had known him for years, and knew that he had a sort of feeling about him. He was a good man, a man that you wanted to trust, no matter how much you wanted to avoid trust.

He had reached an ex-KGB soldier— a Black Widow, an assassin— and pulled her into the light. He had changed her life no matter how much she pushed back or how much she tried to shut herself off from him. He had still reached her.

She had no doubt that he would be able to reach these misguided kids too.

Chapter Text

Bruce rubbed a hand over his eyes, the heat of his coffee mug seeping into his hand as he walked. The first-aid kit in his other hand felt heavier than usual. He was tired, very tired. How much sleep had he gotten over the past three days? Not much. Not much at all.

 Tony was… Tony was in rough shape. For a while there… Bruce didn’t want to think about how it was for a while. That alone was enough to cause nights of sleeplessness, but then there was the girl, Betsy Braddock, as well. She was so drugged up that it took her nearly twenty four hours just to regain a semblance of lucidity. Helen Cho took point on helping her, but just the thought of the girl was enough to drive Bruce to work to keep his own memories at bay. And then, of course, there was the thought of Scott Summers. The catalyst of all of this: the mutant kid who had taken down an Avenger with a single miss aimed glance. 

He should have told Clint to be more careful with the kids. If anyone should have guessed they could have dangerous abilities, it should have been him. He should have seen this coming. 

But he didn’t. No one did.

Bruce sighed softly to himself, rubbing the side of his coffee mug as he took a moment to just stand in the hallway. He had to center himself. To breathe. 

The Other Guy was quiet today. Maybe he could sense that this was the kind of stress Bruce Banner had to handle. He seemed to be getting better at that since New York.

Bruce shook his head to himself, then continued on down the hall. Focus on the steps in front of you, Banner . It was like the scientific process, or like solving a chemical equation. Sleeplessness plus coffee equals productivity… except for the fact that biochem was nothing like mechanics. One plus one did not always equal two because biochem felt with living things, not robots. Robots could be programmed. Living things acted on instinct, living things made mistakes. 

Mistakes, like putting an Avenger in the emergency room.

Bruce took a slow, measured sip of his coffee. He liked the kids. When he had checked out Sean Cassidy’s leg laceration, it was almost impossible not to smile next to the boy. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. He always liked kids, whether it was the kids he helped out back in Rocinha or New Delhi or his friend’s kids that he would watch from before the… accident. He liked kids a lot. They should make him more nervous, and at first they did. He was terrified that the Other Guy would come out while he was treating some little child, that his heartbeat would rise just a little too fast to be safe. He was terrified that he would hurt them. But somehow with kids, the Other Guy just… didn’t come out as much. It was almost like he somehow liked kids too.

But of course, these weren’t… normal kids. He knew that from the moment Tony burst into his lab ranting about Clint’s latest crazy idea. He had been surprised, nervous, and at first tried to avoid the young mutants… but of course, Sean Cassidy needed help. And once Bruce met the bright, energetic little boy and his tense, stubborn brother… well, he was glad that Clint had brought them in. Even if it was only for a little while. 

He hadn’t expected it to take this turn.

With everything that had happened, Bruce knew should feel nervous going to check on the kids. He should be on edge; they had just blasted his best friend into a tree, after all.

But he understood what it was like to have something inside you that you could not control. 

His coffee was half drained by the time he got to the elevator. He stepped in, and JARVIS took him down to the thirteenth floor without question. The first aid kit in his hand trembled ever so slightly with the movement of the elevator. He should have checked them out the day of the fight. But he was so preoccupied with… with everything else that it didn’t even cross his mind until this morning. Better late than never, that’s what he kept telling himself. If they were hurt, they were liable to try and hide it. They seemed capable; they might have already tried to handle any injuries themselves. This way he could ensure they were alright, plus he would be able to check that Sean’s stitches had come out fine. 

He gulped down the last half of his coffee far too quickly as the doors slid open. 

The room was brightly lit with morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the main room. It cast the whole space into an almost golden glow as Bruce stepped awkwardly out of the elevator. He hadn’t actually been down to this level yet, and he took a moment to orient himself— living area on the left, kitchenette on the right, a hallway that presumably led to bedrooms straight ahead— before even noticing the lack of people in the room. The whole main space was empty, and for a moment he felt a flash of worry. But then he heard the sound of laughter from down the hall, and he cautiously ventured forward.

There were four doors, two on each side of the wide hallway, and the sounds seemed to be coming from the first door on the left. It was only about seventy-five percent closed, and he could see movement inside. Bruce hesitated a moment, then gently knocked on the wall next to the door. The noises came to a halt, and Bruce felt a flash of uncertainty. Maybe this was a bad idea . These kids hardly knew him, and from what Clint had said they were skittish as squirrels, and that was before the whole accident. He didn’t want to startle them, or scare them, or anything of the sort and showing up unannounced, without Clint could easily accomplish any number of those things…

His heart rate was rising slightly, and he was immensely thankful that the Other Guy stayed silent.

Then the door opened, and Clint Barton stepped out. 

“Bruce!” The archer grinned in surprise. He stepped farther out into the hallway, but didn’t close the door all the way behind him. “What are you doing here?”

It took Bruce a moment to gather his thoughts, relief flooding him at the sight of his friend. “Clint. I-I didn’t know you’d be down here.”

Clint seemed to deflate ever so slightly. He ran his hand through his scruffy hair, his eyes sliding to the door behind him. “Yeah, yeah I know. I haven’t been very good about it. But… I’m trying something new.”

Bruce almost asked what he meant by that, but thought the better of it and just nodded. He raised the first aid kit weakly. “I, uh, I just had the thought that the kids probably hadn’t been, uh, checked out or anything. After the fight.” He winced a little at how uncertain his words sounded. “I’ve been kind of caught up with.. you know. But I thought they should probably be checked over just to be sure, and, uh, better late than never, right?”

“Of course!” Clint’s hand flew to his face, and he shot another glance over his shoulder toward the door before cursing under his breath. “How did I not… yes, yes, please. I didn’t even think to check—“

“Hey, it’s ok,” Bruce said quickly as he watched emotions flicker over his friend’s face. “There’s been a lot going on.”

Clint shook his head, and muttered something else under his breath. Maybe another curse, it was too quick and quiet for Bruce to tell. “I thought to get them new clothes but not to check if they hurt themselves in a literal firefight. I’m an idiot. Absolute idiot.”

Bruce shrugged, though he didn’t contradict the man. “I’m a literal doctor and I didn’t think of it.”

“Come on, let’s… or, actually, just stand here…”

Bruce nodded, though Clint was hardly talking to him at that point. He was mostly muttering to himself, as if he was trying to plan out what it was he was doing before he nodded to himself and pushed the door open all the way.

Now Bruce could see the whole room. He blinked. Clint had told him that there were six kids, but thus far he had only actually met Sean and Scott. Now all six were staring at him, a forgotten game of what looked like Jenga in the center of the room.

“Hey, Sean,” Clint spoke up with a smile. “You remember Dr. Banner?”

Sean Cassidy jumped up from one corner, a wide grin on his face that showed off his gap tooth. He waved a hand in the air. “Hi, Dr. Banner!”

Bruce couldn’t stop the smile that spread to his own face. He gave the boy a small wave in return. 

“Dr. Banner is one of our…” Clint glanced at Bruce, as if trying to remember how to introduce him as a normal person instead of “the guy that turns into the Hulk”. Bruce couldn’t decide if that meant the archer needed to spend more time with normal people, or if Bruce spent too much time in the tower. Probably a bit of both. “…Well, one of our doctors. Obviously. He just wanted to come make sure none of you got hurt the other night.”

“We’re fine.” Now that was a voice Bruce recognized well. It only took him a moment to find Scott’s face in the small room. The lanky teen was standing off to the side, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his brow creased over the golden rim of his clunky visor. Bruce felt a pang in his chest. Somehow the boy looked even more tense than when Bruce had first met him. He wouldn’t have guessed that was possible, and yet here he was. “You don’t need to check anything.”

“Just to be safe, Scott,” Clint said. 

“And if not, that’s fine.” Bruce’s voice finally felt steady as he spoke. Obviously it wasn’t fine, they needed to be checked out. Already he could see bruising around the edge of Scott’s visor and a large discoloration on the arm of the tall, blonde boy in the other corner. But he wanted to be cautious about this. “I’m mostly here to look at Sean’s leg. Just to make sure the stitches came out alright.”

“It looks great!” Sean was bouncing forward before Scott Summers had the chance to stop him. The little kid was still limping a bit, but it was almost unnoticeable as he beamed up at Bruce. He lifted his leg, strenuously balancing on one foot as he tried to show Bruce the injury. “See? It looks cool now!”

Bruce chuckled and crouched down to Sean’s level so he could see the injury better. Sure enough, the stitches were gone, a pale scar line in their place. It still looked somewhat raw, but it was completely closed up now and hopefully wouldn’t reopen… well, as long as Sean wasn’t moving around too much. Which, by the look of it, would be hard. He could hardly sit still, and Bruce had barely gotten a decent look at the scar before he was back on his feet, bouncing in place. 

“What d'ya think, what d'ya think? Does it look cool? Kitty doesn’t think it looks cool. She said so.”

He motioned vaguely behind him, where a little girl in a ponytail and a purple t-shirt wrinkled her nose. “I did not! I just said it looked, like, gross!”

“That’s basically the same thing as saying it’s not cool!” Sean pouted. 

“No, I think they're different.” Another young voice joined the chatter, and Bruce’s gaze was drawn to a boy sitting next to Kitty, a large gray hoodie drawn up so that most of his face was in shadow. Kurt. Bruce’s scientific curiosity perked up at the thought of the physical mutation that Clint had told him about, but he very quickly shoved it down. These were kids, not science experiments. But that thought couldn’t stop him from observing. The range of accents surprised him; Kurt’s was probably German, Sean’s was definitely Irish, Kitty almost had a faint Brooklyn tint to her voice… and then a fourth of the kids spoke up, a red-haired girl that Bruce couldn’t remember being told the name of. 

“I dunno, y’all didn’t see at first. That was gross.”

Southern. Very southern. This group of kids had a whole mix of accents and cultures: the most beautiful kind of family.

“We’re talkin’ ‘bout it now Rogue, not whenever.” Sean rolled his eyes. “It’s cool now , right?”

“Well,” Bruce cut in with a soft smile. “I think it looks pretty cool.”

“ Ha! Told ya so!” Sean turned a triumphant gaze on his friends. The little girl, Kitty, stuck her tongue out at him, and he quickly returned the gesture. 

Bruce chuckled, hoping that the sound wouldn’t get caught in his throat. He knew they were kids. He knew it. But… they were so young . He had thought Sean was the youngest. But he was ten, and there was no way Kitty was that old. And from what Bruce had heard, she was one of the ones out fighting. 

“Kitty?” Bruce said, still crouched on the ground eye level to where Sean was. The little girl looked up at him with wide, curious brown eyes. “Did you get hurt at all the other day?” He could feel other eyes in the room boring into him, so he shot a glance at Scott Summers. Even with the visor, the boy’s gaze burned. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I…” Scott had obviously been about to protest again, but then he shot a look at Clint. The boy hesitated. His arms stayed crossed, his fists clenched. Kitty watched him, waiting for his signal. Scott looked down at the ground. “Yeah. Whatever.”

That was enough of an answer for Bruce, no matter how much Scott didn’t like it. He turned his attention to Kitty, who shifted under his gaze.

“I’m, like, totally fine,” she said quickly.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

She shrugged. “I-I mean I scraped up my elbow or something, but it’s not, like, bad or anything.”

“Does it hurt at all?”

She shrugged again. “I mean a little, but…”

“Here.” Bruce pulled out his first aid kit and began to rifle through it. Soon he produced a type of neosporin and a box of bandaids. “Want me to put something on it? Just for fun?”

Kitty hesitated, but soon curiosity seemed to get the better of her and she scooted closer. Bruce held up the bandaids with a grin. “I hope you like Avengers. I think Tony gets a discount or something.”

Clint snorted behind him. “You really think Tony Stark would care about a discount? He probably just likes that they have his face on them.”

Kitty giggled at that, and Sean soon trotted over to look at the bandaids as well. 

“These are so cool! ” He exclaimed, taking the box from Bruce to better see the bandaids. Kitty craned over his shoulder as best as she could to see them until Sean sat on the floor and began spreading the bandaids out across the carpet. “You’ve got all of ‘em!”

Bruce chuckled. “Yeah, we do.”

“Look!” Sean held up a bandaid, one that had a print of Captain America on it. “He’s the coolest! You should take this one Kitty!”

Bruce exchanged a glance with Clint, and chuckled quietly at the archer’s expression of mock offense. Meanwhile Kitty shook her head, her nose wrinkled. 

“Here, here’s Hulk!” Sean bounced up and down, shoving another bandaid at Kitty. He grinned and lowered his voice into what was probably supposed to be a Hulk impression. “Hulk, smash!”  

Bruce had to choke back his reaction. He shot a pleading look at Clint. He didn’t really sound like that, did he?

Clint grinned mischievously. “You like Hulk, Sean?”

“Oh yeah!” Sean jumped up so he could bounce on his toes. “Yeah, yeah, the Hulk is so cool! I don’t know, Captain America is awesome but Hulk might be even cooler! I wanna meet him!”

Clint grinned at Bruce, who’s face had started to flush red. “Maybe not a good idea,” he said with a soft, slightly strained chuckle.

Sean shook his head. “Hulk’s a cool guy,” He said stubbornly. “He saves people, he saved a bunch of ‘em in New York ‘n stuff. Even if he does smash a lotta stuff, I bet he’s pretty awesome.”

Bruce could feel something in the back of his mind. A presence. He was quiet, but he was there. It almost felt like he was smiling.

Bruce echoed the smile on his own face. Sorry, Big Guy , he thought. I guess I doubt you too much .

He could almost hear his grunt of agreement.

“I don’t care, I want this one.” Kitty‘s words shook Bruce out of his silent thoughts. She pulled out a purple bandaid, then rolled up her sleeves to show Bruce the cut. It was a bit more than just a scrape— her elbow had been torn up, probably by gravel based on the shape and size of the abrasion. It had probably been messy the first night, but it looked like it was already on the mend. Bruce just had to hope that it had been properly cleaned and taken care of to avoid any infections. He should have come sooner… but there was no use worrying about that now. He just smiled at Kitty, gently rubbed a bit of ointment on the graze, and then placed the chosen bandaid over as much of the cut as possible. It didn’t nearly cover the whole thing, but it made the little kids grin in excitement. A covering wouldn’t really help at this point anyway; the neosporin should do plenty. 

It wasn’t until Bruce had finished treating the wound that he noticed what bandaid it was that Kitty had chosen. The sight made him smile. A Hawkeye print. He shot a grin up at Clint, who looked a bit dumbfounded.

He must have been doing something right these past few days. Most kids went for Iron Man or Captain America. 

His eyes traveled from Clint Barton to Scott Summers: the boy who had led the excursion. He was definitely sporting a bruise under his visor, probably a black eye… but then, Bruce had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to do much to help with that. Who else went on the “mission”? Clint had said there were four.

“Does anyone else have something they want me to look at?” Bruce asked hopefully. It didn’t look like any of the kids were banged up too badly. The red head, Rogue, looked untouched and he had a feeling that Sean didn’t go because of his leg. He couldn’t really make a call on Kurt, but the boy didn’t seem to be in pain. It was Scott and the blonde boy— Warren?— who seemed the most battered. 

“No. We’re good here.” Scott said definitively.

Bruce’s gaze over again flicked to the bruise on Scott’s face. That one was obvious and visible… but there was probably no way he would get the boy to take the visor off. He didn’t even want to ask. “…are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He glanced over at the blonde boy. “How about you? I can, uh, see that your arm’s bruised…”

The mutant shook his head. “No. No, thanks.”

“Are you—“

“We’re fine, ” Scott snapped. His arms were crossed, so tightly that Bruce was worried he was going to end up with another bruise. But then he looked down at the ground and sighed slowly. “Seriously. We’re fine. But… thank you.”

Bruce was taken aback by the sudden sincerity. It was masked by a thick level of apprehension, but it was there. 

He smiled softly at the boy. “You’re welcome.”

Scott didn’t reply. Sean bounced up and down, the Captain America and Hulk bandaids still in his hand. “Can I take these?” He blurted out. “They’re cool!”

Bruce chuckled. “Of course.”

Sean fist pumped the air in triumph, and little Kitty rolled her eyes. Bruce went ahead and stood up, closing up the first aid kit as he did. He waited one more moment, just to see if someone would suddenly volunteer an injury. But no one did, so he gave them one last smile and turned to the door.

Clint set a hand on his shoulder as he left. “Thanks, doc. Seriously.”

Bruce smiled at him. “Call me up if they seem like they are more hurt or anything. Scott and Warren are definitely bruised, but it looks surface-level. I… I hate just leaving, but…”

“—you don’t want to push them.” Clint chuckled, his hand running through his hair. “Yeah, I wish I had figured that out sooner.”

Bruce smiled. “I think you’re doing just fine. Really.” He glanced back to the room behind the archer. “They… they seem to like you.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You play Uno with someone long enough, they either love or despise you. Not sure which side I’m falling on yet.” 

Bruce chuckled. It was true. Some of the kids— Kitty and Sean in particular— they really seemed to like Clint. The others… they seemed more hesitant. But they were all in there. They were all playing a game. They were acting like kids . As someone who had been used for his… condition many times before, he had a feeling that they hadn’t experienced much of a normal childhood. This was good for them. 

“I…” He wasn’t really one to give advice about this. Not in any way. “…I think they just need time. Effort.” He gave Clint a smile. “And I think you’re covering that.”

The archer let out a breath. “You know, Natasha said something similar…” he trailed off, then nodded. “Thanks again, Bruce.”

“I mean it. Call any time.” Bruce glanced at the floor. “They… they seem like good kids. They deserve a chance. Thanks for giving it to them.”

Clint huffed. “We’ll see…” 

With that he gave Bruce one last nod, and then disappeared back into the room. From the sound of the shouts that soon followed, the Jenga tower had already reached its demise. 

Bruce smiled, and the weight of the first aid kit in his hand felt less heavy. His empty coffee cup felt less draining as he turned toward the elevator. 

Somehow, he was less tired than he had been.

Chapter Text

Being out of commission sucked. Really, really, sucked . 

Yeah, it meant that he got out of a few meetings. That was a plus, a big plus. There were conferences with Hope Industries and Worthingtonton Industries on the horizon, and Tony did not feel like attending those after everything that had happened. He still hadn’t yet decided if he would cut all business with Hope yet. There was still research that needed to be done for him to confirm whether or not the kid’s accusations were true, or if maybe the entire “mission” had been a fluke. And if they did have some merit, Worthington was so close to Hope that he wouldn’t be convinced that the two weren’t working together. He would happily leave them up to Pepper for now. But while he was very happy to avoid the meetings, at the same time he hated leaving her to clean up his messes and cover for his absences when she was already working so hard. Plus, while he would be getting back to meetings and the like soon enough, it would be even longer before he could even train with the team again, let alone go out on missions. Recovery was a long and boring process, and being out of commission generally sucked.

Tony Stark was never one to sit around, and being forced into it? That made it even worse.

Like right now. Bruce was glaring at him from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, a stern expression echoing his words of “ you should be resting, Tony ”. It made Tony want to groan and ram his head into a wall just to give himself something to think about other than the nothingness he had been up to for the past week.

“ Relax , Bruce,” Tony insisted, his voice still rough from the punctured lung. He really hoped that wouldn’t last much longer, the rough edges totally threw off his charm. “I’m fine.”

“Tony, you are nowhere near fine,” Bruce deadpanned. 

Tony smirked, then continued reaching toward the top cabinet for a coffee cup. “Barton’s right. You really are starting to develop a sense of humor.”

“Tony, I’m not—”

“No, it’s a good thing! I like the whole flat charm you’re working toward, it really—”

He cut off with a sharp gasp, pain raking up his side as he stretched just a bit too far. The coffee cup that had been almost in his hand wobbled dangerously on the edge of the shelf as he buckled, his hands instinctively going to his side. He sucked in another breath as pain washed over him in waves, straight from his ribs.

“Broken ribs take a lot longer than five days to heal.” Suddenly Bruce was beside him, coffee cup in hand. He set it safely on the counter, stern gaze fixated on Tony as the man winced. “I don’t even know how you made it this far, honestly. You shouldn’t be on your feet at all.”

Tony tried for a wiry smirk, but it probably came out as a grimace. “Come on, I’m Tony Stark. Didn’t you hear I’m developing my own mutant powers?”

Bruce gave him an unimpressed frown. Tony didn’t respond; despite his banter, he was nearly doubled over from the pain now. Once his ribs were aggravated, it was like all of his other injuries— the lacerations and bruises from his broken suit, the concussion, the blunt force trauma, all of it— decided to flare up as well. 

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Tony unintentionally slumped into it. He could hear Bruce sigh, but his voice was firm. “You're going back to the Med Bay, Tony, or I’m calling Pepper.”

Tony groaned, but didn’t put up a fight as his friend began dragging him away. He did, however, toss one longing look over his shoulder at the coffee station. “Coffee?”

“Nope. You know the deal— coffee doesn’t mix with pain medications.”

Tony groaned again. He knew he should be thanking Bruce: the man had been by his side nonstop for the past five days to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. But it just sucked that he couldn’t do anything . Usually when he was injured on a mission it was a broken arm, or a concussion, some particularly deep cuts, things of that sort. Then it was nothing but a hindrance; usually a very annoying hindrance, but he could still do things. Usually he could still go down to the lab, or slip into meetings, or at least coach the team through whatever exercises they were doing.

But this wasn’t a walk-it-off set of injuries like he usually got from their missions. This wasn’t even from a real mission .

The fact that a fourteen-year-old child could cause this sort of damage had been a big portion of Tony’s thoughts over the past five days.

This coffee station was on the same floor as the Med Bay— Tony had made sure of that after the amount of times he and the team ended up here at unreasonable times of night— so it didn’t take long for Bruce to usher him back to the prison that was his recovery room. Tony made sure to be over-dramatic about it, collapsing into the chair with a great sigh as Bruce helped him in. That was a bad idea though; he instantly winced as his expanding chest shifted his still-broken ribs and sent another wave of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth and leaned his head back.

“This sucks.”

“It will suck less if you actually stay here and rest,” Bruce pointed out. As he was speaking he reached up into one of the cabinets and pulled down a bottle of what Tony quickly recognized as painkillers. He gratefully took them when the doctor offered, and the pills slid down his throat easily with the help of some metallic tasting tap water that Tony wrinkled his nose at. 

“You know I’m not good at that, green bean.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Hence why it takes you twice as long to heal.”

“Not true.” Tony pointed a finger at Bruce. “Everyone else has speed healing. I just heal normally.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Steve and Thor, yes, but Clint and Natasha?”

“Clint has to be hiding some sort of secret healing power.” Tony took another sip of bad tap water. “Have you seen how much he gets his butt kicked? No way does he recover normally.”

Bruce snorted. 

“And Natasha doesn’t need it, obviously.” Tony shrugged, forcing his smirk to stay on his face despite the flash of pain in his chest. “She only gets injured if she wants to be.”

Bruce shrugged, but didn’t deny it. The doctor turned to riffle through some cabinet or another, and Tony carefully reached over to the nearby table where his laptop was. He pulled it into his lap and booted it up. It wasn’t like he could do much else anyway.

There were probably hundreds of tabs that loaded in the minute he turned on the computer. He had literally reinvented the way the StarkTech computers ran a few months ago to better support the amount of tabs he usually had opened. Usually half of them were Stark Industries related, half of them were Avengers related, and the rest were just whatever was on his mind at the moment.

Right now a website glared at him, an almost garishly bright blue banner across the top reading, quite simply, “ Mutation ”. The rest of the tabs in his current, crowded browser were pretty similar.

Tony had basically become an expert in astrophysics in one night when Loki attacked Earth. And once he saw what exactly Scott could do… well, he had basically become an expert on mutants as well.

Bruce glanced up as the computer came out. He frowned slightly. “Are you sure you’re relaxing , Tony?”

“Come on, Brucie. You know this is how I relax.” Tony scrolled through his tabs, smirking as his eyes caught on an article he had pulled up the night before. “You had a spelling error in your article, by the way.”

“I know it’s… wait, a-are you serious?”

Tony smirked, flipping the laptop around so it was facing Bruce. “Yep. ‘The Variability of the X-Gene’ , paragraph four, line six.”

Bruce walked a bit closer, pushing his glasses up the brim of his nose as he glanced at the website. He cursed under his breath. “You’re serious.”

Tony kept smirking. “I would hope so. I had no idea that andesite was a component in the biological makeup of mutants.”

“It’s supposed to be adenine,” Bruce muttered, more to himself than anything. He let out a soft groan that ended in a bewildered half-laugh. “I can’t believe that. Scholars read those, you know. Emmanuelle Charpentier, Hank Pym, Jennifer Doudna, Erik Selvig, Hank McCoy…”

“I was reading some of their stuff. Pym even referenced you. I can hack in and fix it real quick.” Tony’s fingers were already searching for the source code of the website, practically flying across the keys as he searched for an access point.

“No, no, don’t bother, I-I’ll go in and edit it later,” Bruce quickly stuttered. 

“No need.” Tony had already bypassed the website's very flimsy firewalls and located the error. “You want me to work on making this thing a bit more secure? Anyone could change up your words with this cyber wall. I literally think a five year old could hack it.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” Bruce insisted, his face flushed red with embarrassment. “You guys aren’t supposed to even see those.”

“Come on, I read all your work Bruce.” Tony saved the fix, then shot Bruce a more serious smile. “It’s way more informative than some of these, trust me.”

Bruce seemed to hesitate, but after a moment he walked around to glance over Tony’s shoulder. “What other ones were you looking at?”

“As many as I could find,” Tony said honestly. He strolled through the tabs, trying to remember which ones had brought up interesting points or contradicted Bruce's article at all. There were not many; Bruce’s was a very open, informative speculation on the geonomial growth of the X-gene and how it developed. Some of the other articles he read were much less factual, much more opinionated, to a level that honestly surprised him. “Worthington Industries had a few, of course. But they just got really deep into the anatomical theory, you know? Physical mutations, bone structure, that kind of stuff. Good stuff, but it’s not like they had live test subjects or anything. This other guy, Charles Xavier, he did one on the less physical stuff, like mental powers, and that was… interesting.”

“Charles Xavier?” Bruce leaned forward. “Isn’t that the guy that took in the kids before…?”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, it might be.”

“I knew I recognized that name when Clint mentioned it. I didn’t think it would be from a genetics study.”

“I mean, if he was a professor and he was a mutant, it would make sense that he’d have some published work on the subject.” Tony shrugged again as spoke, his eyes flickering over the article as he did. It had definitely been an interesting piece to read. It was actually just an excerpt from a novel-length paper the man had written, ‘The Key to Our Evolution’ . Tony hadn’t gotten around to reading the rest yet, mostly because it was a strange style, to say the least. Reading it felt almost like the guy was just rambling some great speech for pages upon pages. There was good information, but it was buried under a mess of tangled thoughts. He had some… extreme views about mutant martyrdom that bled into his work. 

If this was the guy who had trained the X-Men, Tony could see why they had turned out looking like terrorists. 

“This Hank McCoy guy really knows his stuff,” Tony said, moving on to another article. “Another one about the more physical aspects of mutation, and also a bit of the social effects.”

“Really?” Bruce seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. “That’s an interesting focus.”

“Probably helps that he is a mutant, a physically afflicted one at that.”

Bruce hesitated. “Is afflicted the right word?”

“Well…” Tony stared at the screen a moment, his cursor hovered over the index of Hank McCoy’s paper. The tip of the mouse was just over the title “ The True Test” , a section he remembered vividly. It was part where the doctor shirked the science of mutation and dived into the sociological theories and debates; the test of society versus change, culture versus evolution. It tackled the topic of those stricken with physical mutations and how society could— and would, according to the author’s own experiences— react. It also talked about the debate over what to do with mutants whose powers were uncontrollable, detrimental to themselves and others. Mutants who had the capability to hurt others whether they wanted to or not. Mutants who were dangerous by chance, not by choice.

Mutants like Scott Summers.

Tony breathed out slowly. “That’s a good question.”

Bruce pulled one of the flimsy folding chairs closer and sat down slowly. He glanced at Tony and then looked down, his wire-rimmed glasses reflecting the sterile lighting as he fiddled with the edges of his shirtsleeves. He opened his mouth, closed it with a frown, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Have you… thought about the kids any more?”

Tony cast him a sidelong glance. “Kind of hard not to ponder the reason you’re under house arrest, huh?”

Bruce didn’t laugh. “Do you…”

“…Blame them?” Tony supplemented. Bruce didn’t respond, but the silence that followed was answer enough. Tony leaned back a bit further in his chair, another thinly-dulled shot of pain running up through his chest as he moved.

Did he blame Scott Summers? The kid had shot him. Plain and simple, the kid shot him into a tree, crushed his armor, and shattered his ribs from just a look. On paper, at first glance, yes. It was the kid’s fault. He had been playing superhero, he had put himself in a stupid situation that had gotten out of hand and gotten Tony hurt. And in the moment, in those brief seconds when he saw that red, burning gaze turn toward him, the answer was yes. Yes, Tony Stark had a moment of complete, unfiltered blame toward the kid.

But this wasn’t that moment.

He obviously couldn’t blame the kid. Not entirely. Maybe not even at all. Scott hadn’t been aiming for him, first of all. Secondly, he definitely wasn’t in control of his abilities. Third… well, Tony just wasn’t in the business of blame. 

It wasn’t like the kid had chosen to shoot laser beams from his eyes. There were so many factors that went into mutation, it was almost incomprehensible. Mutation in relation to the X-gene was something that was almost always related to a traumatic event, something that demanded quick and drastic development in order to ensure the survival of the mutated individual. Barton had mentioned something about an accident, hadn’t he? A train wreck, maybe a plane crash? There was something along those lines, something that this child had gone through that had forced his cells into enough stress to cause literal evolution. That was not his fault. Plus, from the look of it, the kid couldn’t turn it off. It could be the nature of the mutation, could even be a form of brain damage from the accident. They had no way to know. They had no way to know what had happened to Scott Summers, let alone what had been going through his head when he had shot Tony.

But whatever it was, it wasn’t malicious. It was an accident. It wasn’t the kid’s fault.

“No.” Tony breathed out slowly. “No, I don’t blame him. Any of them.”

Bruce nodded, and Tony almost thought he heard a sigh of relief. “Good.” There was a pause. “They’re good kids.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, and twisted to get a better look at his friend. “What was that?”

Bruce shrugged sheepishly, like a deer in headlights. He fiddled with his shirtsleeves a bit more and avoided Tony’s gaze. “I-I just said they’re good kids, you know?”

Tony smirked. “Awww, Bruce’s got a soft spot!”

Bruce shook his head, but he was grinning. “You’re ridiculous, Tony.”

“You like the little mutants!” Tony chuckled at the doctor’s embarrassment. “I never expected you to be a fan of kids.”

“I worked with kids a lot in New Delhi,” Bruce said, rubbing his arm as he did. “They… well, they’re not as complicated as adults most of the time.”

Tony let out a mock gasp, pressing his hand to his aching chest. “What are you saying? That I’m complicated?”

Bruce didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes.”

Tony gasped again. “I’m insulted. Absolutely insulted.”

Bruce grinned, but soon it faded into a more serious look. He took a deep breath, then finally met Tony’s eyes. “So… you’re not going to… kick them out, right?”

Tony’s humor evaporated. “What?”

“I mean, i-it’s understandable. If you were planning to, I mean.” Bruce looked away, once again rubbing at his arm. “They think you are. After Scott… but I mean, it’s not the first time you’ve kept someone dangerous in your building, right? I’m still here.”

A shot of pain went through Tony’s chest, and this time it wasn’t from the broken ribs. “Bruce. You—“

“Don’t try to deny it Tony,” Bruce chuckled, but despite his efforts it sounded like broken glass. “I just… Clint’s still working on the arrangements. And I… I don’t like the prospects for these kids if they don’t stay here. For now, at least.”

Tony opened his mouth, but for once it wasn’t the busted lung that was making it hard for him to speak. He hated it. He hated that there was nowhere else for them to go. He hated that Bruce felt like he was dangerous. He hated that these kids felt the same way about themselves. 

He hated that they were right . 

But, no matter how out of commission he was, he was not about to give up on any of them. That was not a question. He was Tony Stark, and Tony Stark was never one to give up.

“I wouldn’t let them leave if they tried.” Bruce glanced up at him, and Tony chuckled. “I don’t mean that literally. Well, maybe I do. And I still want them out of my tower as soon as Clint can figure out a better solution. But kicking them out? I mean, Rogers is still here, isn’t he?”

Bruce chuckled slowly. “Yeah, yeah he is.”

“If I can put up with him, I can definitely put up with that lot.” Tony bit back a tentative I hope , instead turning his attention back to his computer screen. The article about difficult to control mutations still stared at him, like an accusation. He looked at it for a moment, thinking.

“Hey.” Tony tapped his finger against his chin thoughtfully. “What’s the stuff that Scott’s visor is made of? Do you have any idea?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Clint mentioned it. Or maybe Natasha did. Someone dragged it out of Scott.” Bruce frowned in thought. “Ruby quartz? I think that’s what it's called. It’s apparently the only thing that can block his blasts.”

Tony snorted. “Sounds like something out of a 60s comic.”

Bruce shot him a sidelong glance. “Well, so does a man that dresses up in a flying metal suit to fight aliens.”

Tony smirked. “Touché. You really do have a sense of humor, doc.”

Bruce flushed sheepishly. “I’m working on it.”

“Keep going. Maybe you can teach some of it to The Other Guy.” Tony’s fingers started to flick across the keyboard, a familiar feeling running up his spine. An idea . “In the meantime, I need your brain. There’s got to be a better solution for Scott than that ugly visor, right? Something more practical?”

Bruce grinned, an air of grateful relief clinging to him as he stood up. “I’ll go grab some paper.”

Tony smirked. “Good. This is going to be a lot harder without coffee.”

Chapter Text

There was no telling who would be out at midnight in Avengers Tower. Every night there would be someone different wandering the halls. No one ever knew who would be coming back late from missions, suffering from insomnia, from nightmares. It was like a game of roulette to see who might be awake and wandering. 

Steve hoped that he was the only one awake tonight. He felt shaky, uncertain, distant in a way that made him want to be alone. He wanted to keep this to himself. He didn’t want the rest of the team to see him like this. He was Captain America. He was the country’s poster boy, far more so now than he had ever been back in 1941. He had an example to set, a duty to fulfill.

That duty did not include waking up in a cold sweat because he dreamt he was drowning.

Steve’s footsteps wore a well-known trail into the tile floor to the elevator. His movements were automatic to the point that he hardly thought about them. He just stepped into the elevator and quietly asked JARVIS to take him to the gym floor. The elevator had already started moving by the time he had finished speaking; even though Steve couldn’t quite understand it, he recognized that Tony’s AI recognized his patterns. He could never decide if that fact brought a sense of comfort or a sense of shame. 

“JARVIS,” Steve said after a moment of silence. “Is anyone else in the gym?” 

He hoped not. He had nowhere else to go. But it would be better to know beforehand than to be surprised. 

The elevator seemed to slow as JARVIS thought. That is, if an artificial intelligence could think… Steve was really fuzzy on the details of how it worked.

“Yes sir. There is one other person awake at the moment. They are currently present on the floor that you are heading to.”

Steve bit back a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. There was one other person in the whole tower awake. Of course they would be in the gym. Should he turn back? Just stay in his room? No, no he couldn’t do that… he had too much emotion inside of him. The silence of his room would drown him. He had to do something, and the gym was still the safest place. “Do you know who…?”

“Mr. Warren.”

Steve’s internal turmoil halted for a moment. He was expecting Natasha or Tony, maybe Clint if the shooting range had already done him its due. He didn’t even recognize the name Warren. 

It was as if the AI could sense his confusion— for all Steve knew, it could. “He is one of Mr. Barton’s temporary wards, sir.”

“Oh,” Steve said slowly. Right. The X-Men— or, more accurately, X-kids. He rubbed a hand across his face. “I thought they were staying on level 13?”

“They are, sir,” JARVIS replied. “But Mr. Warren has been coming down here once every few nights.”

“And you allow that?” 

“Mr. Barton said not to lock them in their room. I have monitored closely to ensure he conducts himself in a safe manner.”

Steve was about to ask what exactly that meant, but the elevator had stopped and the doors were sliding open. Steve went ahead and looked up, out into the huge, expansive gym. What he was faced with… well, it wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. Not that he knew what to expect. But he definitely wasn’t expecting a shirtless boy in a pair of oversized black shorts doing summersaults ten feet off the ground. Oh, and the wings. He definitely wasn’t expecting the wings. 

Steve stepped out of the elevator, but that was all he could get himself to do for a moment. He was struck motionless by the kid’s movements. It took him a moment to get over the wings— because that in itself was enough to shock him into silence— but next he noticed the boy’s fighting style. He was obviously fighting… not anything visible, not anything real. But he was doing some sort of training regimen, one that consisted of a style Steve had never seen before. It was fast, ferocious, almost animalistic in its bluntness. He had a punching bag— one of the hundred pound ones Steve used on nights like this— up there with him where he was hovering under the twenty-foot high ceiling. The goal of his exercise seemed to be to keep the bag above the ground in whatever way he could, mostly by slamming his shoulder or entire body into it. Every time he hit the bag, sand rained down on the floor.

Steve was not sure what to think about the kids. On one hand, he respected Barton for taking on the responsibility. They were kids— they needed help somehow, and if he were in Clint’s place he would want to give it. But, at the same time… kids. Mutant kids, living in Avengers tower. It was crazy. They were superheroes. Their line of work was dangerous. Distractions could be costly to them, and even being near them could be putting the children in a position of danger. 

And yet, watching this kid enact his unique midnight training exercises… maybe they were more capable of surviving in the Avenger's world than Steve had realized.

It was a solid five minutes before the bag finally slipped. The boy had landed a weak punch, one that didn’t force the bag up enough, and even though he dived to catch it the bag had already hit the floor with a resounding thud . Steve heard an annoyed curse muttered from the boy as he stretched out his wings and fluttered to the ground, apparently ready to pick up the bag and try again.

But then he saw Steve.

There was an instant change in the air. The boy— Warren, Steve supposed his name was— froze instantly. His posture tightened. His wings— which had been spread out in full twenty-foot-span glory— snapped to his back and pressed between his shoulder blades so tightly that Steve could hardly see them. It could have been a trick of the fluorescent lighting, but it seemed as if the color drained from his pale face. The heavy, free breaths that he had been taking shortened into small, almost silent gasps that left the room eerily quiet. In an instant, there was nothing left but the two of them staring at each other.

Steve Rodgers suddenly felt out of place. Suddenly, it seemed like he was intruding. Sure, he was an Avenger. Captain America, at that. He had more of a claim to this room than the kid did. But he also knew what it was like to have a moment like this. This was a moment of private struggle, where there was no mask; just raw, unfiltered emotion.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“Um… hi.” Steve cringed at the way his voice carried. It was a gym. It was practically made to amplify noise. The fact that it was two or three in the morning did not help; he could probably whisper and it would still sound as loud as a shout. “You’re… one of the X-Men, right? Warren?”

For a moment the kid stayed frozen; wings tight, expression pale, hand still reached out toward the punching bag on the floor. But then he seemed to steel himself and tried to relax. Steve could tell it took effort; his smirk was forced, his arms still tight as he crossed them with feigned effortlessness. The wings, despite a few twitches, remained pressed so tightly against his back that Steve almost couldn’t see them. 

“Yeah. And you’re Captain America, aren’t you?” Steve nodded slowly. The winged boy chuckled dryly. “My little brother thinks you’re cool.”

Despite himself, Steve smiled. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. He’d be jealous if he found out I got to meet you before he did.”

Steve instinctively glanced around the room. Despite JARVIS’s report that Warren was the only one awake, he half expected another mutant kid to pop out of the shadows around the gym’s corners. “Are any of them…?”

“Awake still? Nah.” Warren shrugged with what looked like nonchalance, but it was an oddly tight shrug; probably because of the fact that his wings had not yet relaxed. And despite his light tone, the boy seemed to be regarding Steve with a very guarded look. The tension in the air was pliable. “At least, none of ‘em are down here.”

Steve looked around the huge, empty room, then at the punching bag at the boy’s feet. The lighting was dim— only half of the gym’s lights were on— but they were enough for Steve to see that Warren had wrapped his hands, that his shoulders and forehead were glistening with sweat. He had obviously been driving himself for a while. 

The question slipped out before he could consider the repercussions of asking. “And you're down here because…?”

The boy hesitated. At least, Steve thought he hesitated. It was only a moment before he gave another shrug and another smirk. “No one’s down here right now. I’ve wanted to scout it out… Scott’s been having us do some exercise up in our area, but that doesn’t really compare to a gym, y’know?”

Steve watched the boy, unsure if he believed him or not. “JARVIS said you’d been down here a couple times.”

There was a longer beat of hesitation. “Well, you can’t fully scout something out in one visit, right? Plus, I like it. Y’know, it’s… quiet.” His voice lost a bit of its nonchalant tone, petering off slightly as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “Gives some space to think.”

Steve found himself nodding before he even processed the boy’s words. It sounded just like what he was thinking as he came down the elevator. A quiet place. A safe place. A place where your emotions could be filtered out through action, where things could make sense. 

Warren seemed to notice how quiet it had gotten, because he shook himself awkwardly. “Want to spar, or something?” He blurted out, his brow furrowing even as he spoke. “I mean, I’m assuming you’re here for a reason…”

Steve raised an eyebrow. He noticed that the kid didn’t offer to leave… a bold move. A good move, in his eyes. He also didn’t ask what Steve’s reason was… something he appreciated. Even if he’d come down looking for solitude… somehow, even in this short conversation with a teenager he barely knew, his nightmare had faded slightly and the coldness in his chest seemed to have eased. Just slightly, but… it felt good.

A spar couldn’t hurt.

Before he knew it, they had squared up on the mat and were circling each other. There was an official sparring ring in one corner of the gym, but Warren made no move toward it, so neither did Steve. It really wasn’t necessary. It was an overly nice gym, in Steve’s opinion, with a section marked out for everything— sparring, weightlifting, both treadmills and a track for running— when really all that was necessary was a punching bag and a mat. Then again, Steve hadn’t even had access to those things growing up, so anything felt like overkill to him. Still, he appreciated that Warren seemed to have the same mindset. There was no need for anything fancy; just two men going up against each other. 

Well. A man and a teen, at least.

“How old are you, kid?” Steve asked as he stepped around the mat. 

The boy smirked, and Steve could see his fists clench in anticipation. “What? You gonna go easy on me?”

Steve mirrored his smirk and found himself surprised at how easily it came. “Just for accountability.”

The kid shrugged. “Eighteen.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. He didn’t believe that for a moment. How old had Clint said the kids were? They were definitely under age. Warren was close enough to almost pass, but still a bit too lanky and gangly to be a legal adult. 

But hey, Steve had lied on his enlistment form. He had lied on it many times. So instead of challenging the kid he kept his mouth shut and waited for Warren to throw the first punch.

He didn’t have to wait long. Warren sized him up for a few seconds, then jumped forward with a simple punch. Steve dodged easily, but Warren quickly changed into a kick that nearly hit its mark. Thankfully Steve’s reflexes were fast enough for him to react, but he had to admit that the kid was already exceeding his expectations. Even as his kick fell short, he was already transitioning into another punch, and as Steve blocked that he was already aiming a jab for the ribs. He was quick. His attacks were fast, furious, and Steve found himself honestly forced onto the defensive. He barely managed to block most of the hits, and Warren even got a few honest licks in. But once he got over his initial surprise, Steve started to find openings in the boy’s attacks. Soon Steve parried a blow from his fist and managed to get enough of a hold to kick the boy in the shin. Warren didn’t fall, but he faltered enough for Steve to turn the tables.

Even as he was forced on the defensive, Warren still seemed to be pushing. He kept getting hits in, despite the fact that he was spending most of his time blocking. He had a certain style in his movements, in which there was no style to his movements. He wasn’t like Natasha, who had a dancer-like grace to her fights, and he wasn’t like Clint who was constantly working to put distance between himself and his opponent. He fought with an erratic energy, the kind that came from being self-taught and used to fighting people twice his size. Steve could pick it out, because it was his fighting style... at least, before he got the serum and had to relearn how to make his body function. It was the fighting of an underdog, and Steve found himself enjoying the fight more and more as it drew out. 

Soon he couldn’t even tell who was on the offensive and who was on the defensive. Despite his age— whatever that may actually be— the kid fought hard. The only time Steve had to pull his punches any more than he would have with any one of the Avengers was when he accidentally hit Warren’s forearm. The boy faltered at that, his face twisting in a wince, and Steve noticed the evidence of a fading bruise in the dark light. It was probably from the fight they were in the other night. Steve hesitated, almost expecting the kid to take a second to nurse his wound, but Warren struck back almost instantly with a renewed force that had Steve blocking once again. 

Warren was grinning the whole time. It was not the forced smirk that he had been wearing earlier. This was a genuine grin of exhilaration and despite his earlier melancholy, Steve found himself grinning too. It felt good to get his blood running and to get his heart pumping once again. It was the exact opposite of how he felt under the ice. Here, he felt alive.

Warren seemed to be relaxing too, to the point that his wings were hanging more limply by his sides; enough so that Steve remembered that he wasn’t fighting a regular human. He dodged to Warren’s left and watched as the wings pulled hastily out of the way, nearly flapping to give the kid balance before he planted his feet and turned back to face Steve. 

“Aren’t you gonna use the wings?” Steve asked between heavy breaths.

Warren’s next punch hit a bit harder. “Wouldn't be fair, would it?” He swept his leg, attempting to knock Steve over, but pulled back before Steve could take advantage of the outstretched limp. “Aren’t you gonna use the super strength?”

Steve’s smile deepened. He aimed a quick punch at the kid and watched as he dodged it. “Wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

Warren ducked away from another blow and charged at Steve, as if to barrel him over. It was not the first time he had tried that trick. It had nearly taken Steve out the first time. This time he was ready for it; he edged to the side so that he took about half of the boy’s intended blow, and stuck out his foot as he did to trip him. Warren would have regained his balance if Steve hadn’t already been reaching out, pushing the boy down even as he fell. 

Warren ended up sprawled on the mat, face down, wings splayed out over him. Steve steeled himself, half expecting the kid to pop back up and keep fighting— he had the past two times Steve had knocked him down, after all. But this time he seemed to accept his defeat.

“Well, now I can tell Sean I’ve been beaten by Captain America,” Warren wheezed. Both men were breathing hard, but the younger one managed to chuckle. “He’ll still be jealous.”

“Barley,” Steve said between breaths, chuckling as he whipped sweat from his eyes. “You almost had me there a few times.”

Warren pushed himself up slightly, his wings shifting as he did. “Be honest. Were you going easy on me?”

“No, actually I—”

Even as he spoke, Steve cut off. As Warren was shifting into a sitting position, he couldn’t help that his eyes drifted to the point where his wings connected to his back. But as he looked, he found himself frowning. At first he thought it was a trick of the fluorescent gym lighting. Or maybe it was just something with his mutant biology. But as he looked closer he realized no, no there was definitely something wrong with the base of his wings. Where there were obviously supposed to be feathers, there… weren’t. There was a twisted mass of tissue that only sported a few bent bits of plumage, ones that seemed to be growing almost in the wrong directions. And more than that, there were marks around the wings, around his shoulders… it only took Steve a moment to realize that they were scars . There were scars painted across the mutant’s shoulders in thick, consistent ribbons that made the untouched skin look like an oddity. They were distinct, almost like gouge marks in their placement and frequency. There were a lot, so many that each scar seemed to bleed right into the next. The whole base of his wings was covered in scar tissue. 

Warren turned over and pushed himself into a sitting position. Steve quickly glanced away, but he could tell that it was not quickly enough. He could feel the boy’s eyes burning into his back, cold and accusatory in a way that made his skin crawl with a strange, unexpected guilt. So Steve looked back at him… only now he noticed that there were marks on the boy’s front too. Sure, there was the fading bruise on his forearm and another on his side, but there were more; older marks that were long since scarred over, but were there all the same. Steve couldn’t help but stare at the marks: a fine line across his abdomen. A faded slash down his ribcage. A long, dark mark straight down his chest. There were scattered across his lithe body, more than Steve could count, most of which strangely symmetrical in their placement. Were those cuts? Gouges? Surgical marks? 

Steve was only able to take in the scars for about two seconds. The next Warren was on his feet, his wings once again drawn in tightly against his back. 

“What?” The boy snapped. All of the mirth that had danced in his movements as they spared was gone. His voice was cold and sharp, and his eyes bored into Steve with a ferocity that chilled him to the bone.

Steve blinked. He inhaled slowly and tried to deflect the question. “I… have you had Bruce look at those bruises yet? They look bad.”

Warren snorted. He did not buy that excuse. The tension in the air was pliable, the only sound in the whole, giant room the sound of two men breathing heavily. No . Not two men. One man and a boy … a boy who knew full well what Steve had seen.

Warren stared him down for a moment longer. Then he turned sharply, heading toward the elevator.

“The gym’s yours,” he called back over his shoulder. He did not turn around. His wings stayed tight against his back, so tight that the feathers covered his scarred joints and hid them from view. “Thanks for the spar. Hope you can deal with the reason you’re down here.”

Steve didn’t respond. He wanted to, but it was too late; Warren was already stepping into the elevator. Steve could only watch as the doors closed behind the boy. The soft, usually unnoticeable sound of them sliding shut echoed deftly in the empty space. For a moment there was a hum as it slid away. Then, the sound was gone.

Steve let out a long, slow breath, and it echoed in the silence. 

What was he thinking? He had completely forgotten who this kid— kid — was. He was a child. A mutant. He was a mutant child, one who had obviously been through some things in his short life. 

Steve had been too caught up in relating to the kid to remember everything. He had forgotten just where they had come from. He had forgotten why they were here. He had forgotten how these kids had put Iron Man in the emergency room just over a week ago. 

Steve let out another sigh. It echoed in the empty room. Loud . Empty . Hollow . Suddenly the feeling of coldness was back, and it was harder to fill his lungs with air.

His movements were mechanical, but fast; practiced, but hurried. He walked to the supply cabinet, pulled it open, and wrapped protective bandages around his hands. It was familiar. He walked rehearsed steps back to the bag that Warren had dropped on the floor. He picked it up. Hung it on the hook. Punched it till it flew off, only to pick it up and start it back again. Then he repeated the motion, easily falling into the rhythm that was ingrained into his skull. Punch the bag. Pick it up. Hang it up. Repeat . He did it again, and then again; anything to keep his blood flowing, to keep some semblance of warmth in his veins.

The kids were just that… kids . He was an Avenger. He had a job to do. They all had jobs to do. They had jobs that kids couldn’t— shouldn’t — be involved in.

The bag flew off the hook again. This time sand leaked out of it, much faster than it had when Warren used it.

Steve just dragged it back to the hook to punch it again.

Their lives were dangerous. They all had their nightmares. He didn’t want these kids to be dragged into their mess. 

He hated to think that they might already have their own.

Chapter Text

“This is kinda stupid, Kitty.”

“Nu uh!” Kitty shook her head sharply, pouting at Sean. “It’s not stupid!”

Sean crossed his arms. “Is too .”

“Is not! Mr. Barton’s been super cool so far!”

“ Obviously, but Scott said we gotta be careful!” 

Kitty rolled her eyes. Careful? When was Sean ever careful? Like, ever? He was the least careful and the least likely to listen to Scott of all of them! He was obviously just trying to act tough and older, even though the two of them were in the middle of playing with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles toys.

Maybe it was stupid. But she didn’t think it was. 

Kitty Pryde had never really had a dad. Sure, the professor was, like, there for a while and she really really liked him, but he seemed a lot more interested in the older kids or her powers. He wasn’t, like, a dad, at least not like she saw in movies and TV shows. He wasn’t like Andy Griffith or even Master Splinter… he was more like Sensei Wu, the wise old guy who told the good guys what to do and who to fight. He wasn’t a dad, he didn’t eat dinner with them or help them with homework— not that Kitty had ever done homework at all— or anything like that. Of course, Mr. Barton wasn’t a dad either. That was silly, at least that’s what Scott said. And she believed Scott completely. Scott always knew what he was talking about; he was her big brother, after all. He always knew what to do.

But he did not know how to make cookies, so when Kitty decided that she really really wanted cookies… well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right? Mr. Barton had been really really nice so far, ever since the crazy mission that they had gone on. Scott kept saying that he was gonna kick them out— well, not saying it, but Rogue said that was what he was thinking— but it had been, like, a whole week and they were still here. And Mr. Barton was super nice. He bought her the really cool Black Widow shirt she was wearing! He was, like, the coolest guy she knew. He would totally help them out!

At least, if her brother would stop being a butt and let her ask already.

Kitty tried walking past Sean and into the kitchen, but he stepped in front of her and pushed her back. She didn’t fall, but huffed at him in annoyance. Then she tried walking past him again. He moved to block her, but she ducked quickly to avoid his hand. It took him by surprise and he let out a noise of protest, his leg moving up to kick her as he did. Kitty saw it coming and concentrated, concentrated hard , concentrated so hard that her body felt all tingly and funny and his foot went right through her. Phasing was so weird. She couldn’t feel anything for a moment, and yet she felt his lame kick slide through her, like a ghost or something spooky like that. Then his foot was gone and she stopped concentrating so she could sprint past him and into the kitchen, giggling the whole time and only pausing to stick her tongue out at him. 

She bounded into the kitchen and stopped just soon enough to avoid crashing into Scott. Her older brother looked down at her, his visor glinting in the light from the fluorescent kitchen lights as he raised an eyebrow at her. 

Kitty chuckled, her finger twisting in a piece of her long brown hair as she looked up at her brother. She knew Scott would be in the kitchen, but suddenly her cookie idea did seem a little bit silly. Only a little though. “H-hi Scott!”

Scott opened his mouth to reply, but another voice got there first. “What are you up to, Kitty?”

Kitty popped up on her tiptoes to peer over the table that Scott had been leaning against. Leaning against the other side, smiling a lopsided smile, was Clint Barton. Kitty waved, a flash of her confidence surging back as she returned his smile. “Hi, Mr. Barton!” 

“What happened, Kitty?” Scott’s voice took on a little bit of an edge as he glanced over her shoulder, and Kitty followed his gaze to see that Sean was sprawled out on the carpet. “Is Sean alright?”

Kitty quickly shouted a “ yes!” , even as Sean let out a moan that sounded like a “ no” from the adjacent room.

Both adults tensed up, and Mr. Barton pushed himself away from the table as if he were going to run over there. Kitty even felt a flash of fear for her brother… but then she saw the little grin on Sean’s face and frowned.

“He’s just faking!” She whined.

“I’m wounded! ” Sean called out dramatically, stretching his hand to the ceiling as he let out another moan. “I’ll never walk again!”

“You’re fiiiine!” Kitty put her hands on her hips and let out a huff that blew her bangs from her face… at least, she tried to. They didn’t really move. She tried one more time, then gave up. How did Rogue always do it?

“I’m not fiiiine!” Sean called out, his hand flopping against the carpet as he let it drop. “Kitty brutally attacked me, and now I’m parsalized!”

“That’s not a word, dummy!”

“Ooh, now she’s insulting me! Scott, Kitty’s insulting me!”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Scott stepped forward before Kitty could get another word in, and shot her a stern look as she stuck her tongue out. “Kitty, you’ve got to be careful. Sean is still hurt.”

“No! I’m fine!” Sean protested his own defense, abandoning his sprawled-out state to jump to his feet as if to prove Scott wrong. It backfired though, because the moment he put weight on his left foot he stumbled a bit. He recovered quickly, his arms crossed over his chest as he jutted his chin out at Scott. “See? I’m totally fine!”

“Told you he was faking,” Kitty murmured. Scott didn’t say anything, but she heard a little chuckle behind her. She turned, and she could see Mr. Barton smiling at her. A bit of worry and self-consciousness flashed through her, and she found herself fiddling with her hair again. “Well he was. He’s, like, super dramatic sometimes.”

“I believe it.” The Avenger nodded seriously. 

“I didn’t even touch him!” Kitty said, the self-consciousness fading as she turned to fully face Mr. Barton. She grinned mischievously at the truth of her words. “It’s not my fault he can’t touch me!”

Mr. Barton laughed at that, and it bolstered Kitty’s confidence enough for her to hop up on one of the stools and prop her elbows up on the table. “Brothers can be annoying.”

He nodded seriously, sliding into the seat across from her as he did. “You could say that again.”

“Brothers can be annoying ,” Kitty repeated with a grin. Mr. Barton laughed. He had a really nice laugh, the kind of laugh that sounded warm… like wood and smoke instead of like plastic or something. She always felt like her laugh sounded like plastic. “Do you have any brothers, Mr. Barton? Or sisters?”

The man stopped laughing, and for a moment she thought he looked a bit sad. But then he smiled. “Not really, but I have some really close friends that give me a taste of what siblings are like.”

“Like the other Avengers?” Kitty glanced up to see Sean climbing up onto the stool next to her with help from Scott. Sean’s eyes were wide as he looked at the Avenger, and his wide grin showed off the gap in his teeth as he practically bounced in anticipation of the superhero’s answer. Kitty couldn’t help but feel a flash of annoyance at her brother butting into their conversation, but Mr. Barton just chuckled.

“Yep. Exactly.”

“The Avengers are a lot cooler than brothers an’ sisters,” Sean said. Kitty whipped around, her ponytail hitting the back of her head as she shot a wide-eyed look at her brother. Hurt flashed through her, despite the annoyance she had been feeling. Yeah, the Avengers were cool , but did he really think they were cooler? 

“Not my brother and sisters though!” Sean said quickly. He was grinning broadly, and he reached to throw an arm over her shoulder and pull her into a hug. “I’ve got the coolest siblings.”

Kitty made a noise of protest and squirmed to get out of Sean’s side-hug, but she couldn’t deny the relief that seeped into her features. He scared her for a second. Sean was more than her brother, he was like her best friend… when he wasn’t being a jerk, at least. And when Kurt wasn’t around. When Kurt was around they were tied, but she had known Sean for longer than she had known Kurt. She didn’t like the idea that he liked the Avengers better than his family. 

Clint gave him a smile as Kitty pushed his arm away. “I can tell.”

Kitty couldn’t help but grin a bit… though she tried not to let Sean see that. He had still been mean a lot today. 

Then her grin deepened into a mischievous smile. She leaned further against the table, her arms stretched out against the chilly marble. “Y’know, Mr. Barton, Sean coulda hurt his leg.”

Sean probably didn’t know where she was going with this, but he didn’t need any more prompting to play along. “It hurts ,” he sighed dramatically, leaning against the table with his palms pressed to his cheeks. “I’m dying.”

Kitty rolled her eyes, but continued. “Y’know what would totally help him feel better?”

Mr. Barton was regarding them with slight suspicion, the grin still on his face. “I’m almost scared to know.”

Kitty pushed herself up so that she was as close to eye level with the man as she could be, and shot him a look of complete sincerity. “Cookies.”

Sean let out a dramatic groan for emphasis, obviously having completely forgotten his earlier insistence that they don’t ask. “ Yes, cookies…”

Mr. Barton raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?"

“ Obviously ,” Kitty said with as much certainty as she could muster. She had to do her absolute best to convince him. “Don’t you know? Mutants need sugar to survive. It’s like, better for us than vegetables.”

“ Definitely! ” Sean agreed, nodding furiously. “ Especially better than brussel sprouts. Y’know, we don’t have to eat vegetables at all .”

For a moment while Kitty was talking it looked like Mr. Barton actually believed them. But then Sean said that and the look passed, and he put on an expression of over-exaggerated sincerity to match their own. 

“Well then,” Mr. Barton said in mock seriousness. “We better get to it!”

Kitty and Sean cheered, the older of the two throwing up his hands in so much excitement that he nearly tumbled off the chair and onto the floor. Kitty laughed at him, then shimmied down from her stool and darted toward the fridge to start pulling out ingredients… and almost ran into Scott again. She had pretty much forgotten that her older brother was in the room. She glanced up at him, and suddenly she felt worried. He had his arms crossed and he was frowning, the way he usually did when he was about to say no to something. And he had been really, really strict with telling them to be careful around Mr. Barton. Maybe Sean was right; maybe this was something Scott wouldn’t like. But would he really stop them from making cookies? 

Scott looked down at her for a moment, then sighed silently and stepped to the side. Kitty took that as a green light and shot her brother a big grin before resuming her run to the fridge. She used to make cookies all the time with Miss Julie, the foster lady she lived with before… well, before Professor X took her in. Miss Julie always made the best cookies, especially because she always let Kitty put in the chocolate chips. Kitty didn’t have the recipe, but she was pretty sure she remembered all the ingredients… chocolate chips, obviously , milk and eggs… how many eggs? Eh , she’d just grab the whole cartoon and they’d figure it out. 

Kitty was tall enough to grab the milk, but the eggs were way out of her reach. She tried to reach for them, but fell back on her heels with a pout. She turned to see Sean snickering at her, and her frown deepened. She turned a pleading look to Scott. His stony expression twitched into a small smile and he moved forward to help, easily reaching up to grab the eggs and set them on the table. Kitty couldn’t wait until she was tall like her siblings. She didn’t want to be the smallest forever, it was so annoying. 

The ingredients were soon on the table, and Kitty soon found herself lost in a flurry of flour. Mr. Barton figured out that there was a recipe on the back of the chocolate chips, so he read stuff off while she and Sean dumped things into the bowl. She mostly followed his direction, but she definitely put a bit more sugar in. More sugar means they taste better, obviously . 

Turns out Mr. Barton knew way less about making cookies than she did. He almost mixed up the sugar and salt measurements, and he forgot to start preheating the oven until after they had mixed everything up. But Kitty hardly noticed because she was completely focused on how fun it was. Mr. Barton was hilarious; he made funny jokes the whole time, and told them a story about a time that Tony Stark picked up donuts on a mission. Sean laughed so hard at that story that he almost dumped the whole bottle of oil in the bowl. Thankfully, it mostly ended up on the counter instead. So did the flour. And some of the eggs. It was awesome! And Scott just stood and watched them the whole time, only stepping in if they really, really needed help with something. He didn’t say a single word of protest, which meant that baking cookies had to be ok!

Once they had the cookie dough done, they just had to wait for the oven to preheat. As they were waiting Mr. Barton pulled out four spoons and scooped out some of the cookie dough, then offered one to each of them. 

Kitty gaped at him. “Are you going to eat the cookie dough?”

“Of course!” Mr. Barton winked at her. “That’s the best part, isn’t it?”

Kitty’s mouth was still open in shock. Sean’s mouth was already full of cookie dough, his flour-dusted face nodding emphatically. She had seen her siblings eat cookie dough the one or two times that they tried making it back at the institute, but she had never seen an adult eat raw cookie dough! That was crazy! 

“But there’s eggs in it!” She protested, just in case he didn’t remember. “ Raw eggs!”

Mr. Barton shrugged. “Yeah, I mean there is…”

“That’s bad for you!” Kitty pressed. “It can make you sick!”

“True, it can,” Mr. Barton said, shrugging again. “But I’ve been eating it since I was your age and I’ve never gotten sick.”

“Really?” Kitty asked warily. She was getting hungrier by the moment, and the cookie dough did look pretty good. “Are you sure?”

“The cookie dough is the best part!” He assured her. He leaned forward, putting up a hand to whisper to her conspiratorially. “I’ve made cookie dough before just to eat it raw. I didn’t cook any of it!”

Kitty’s mouth fell open even more as she gaped at the Avenger. Then she glanced at Sean, who had taken Scott’s spoon and already licked that clean as well. She tried to remember if she had seen him get sick after eating cookie dough before… but it had been so long since they’d made it themselves that she wasn’t sure.

If Mr. Barton was eating it, it had to be safe, right?

She shrugged and stuck the spoon in her mouth. Instantly her eyes widened. It was so good! Just like cookies, but better somehow! 

Mr. Barton laughed at her expression, and Kitty found herself laughing too through the mouthful of deliciousness. The unbaked cookie dough always looked a little gross, she couldn’t believe how good it was! 

They ended up only putting about half of the cookie dough in the oven. The rest they ate while they were waiting. Once the cookies were baking Sean got up and ran off, but Kitty stuck around to help Mr. Barton clean up the huge mess that they had made. Scott helped too, still quiet even as Kitty and Mr. Barton chatted. He was so cool ; he listened to her as she talked, and he gasped and laughed at all the right times when she told him about the time she and Sean had convinced everyone else to play Ninja Turtles with them— Sean was Mikey, Kurt was Donnie, Rogue was Karai, Warren was Raph, Kitty was obviously April, and Scott was Leo. Technically the Professor was Master Splinter, but of course he didn’t really do anything. Kitty couldn’t help but think that Mr. Barton would make a much better Master Splinter, but she kept that to herself. 

It was a good thing that they ate most of the cookie dough, because halfway through Kitty’s recountanance of Kurt’s surprisingly impressive bo staff skills they could smell smoke. There was a slight panic as they realized that the cookies were literally on fire and they barely managed to get them pulled out before the fire alarm went off. 

Once the pan had been set on the counter, Kitty found herself staring at the black, smoking lumps on the tray. Involuntary sadness bubbled up in her chest, and she could feel tears forming in her eyes. It didn’t make sense. How had they burnt? They were right there watching them! It wasn’t fair!

She bit her lip, staring at the cookies, trying not to let the smoky smell remind her of Miss Julie’s house. She tried not to think about the smell that clung to her clothes, to everything around her as she phased through the flames. It was a foggy, hazy memory, like a thought you couldn’t quite remember… but she remembered enough to hate the smell. She remembered it enough to be sad. 

“Well, I think they turned out well!” Mr. Barton’s voice was bright, sarcastic. Kitty couldn’t muster up a smile, too busy trying not to think about the smoke to think about anything else. He glanced down at her, and she must have looked upset because his joking tone faded. “Hey, are you alright Kitty?”

She blinked furiously, hoping that it would clear her eyes. It didn’t work very well. “They’re ruined…” She said softly, still staring down at the black cookies. 

“No, they’re not.” 

She sniffed, trying not to inhale the smoky smell as she looked up at the man. “Yeah they are! They’re burnt!”

“Not too bad though!” Mr. Barton hesitated, then reached out. He grabbed one of the blackest cookies, and without hesitation popped it in his mouth. Kitty watched, wide eyed as he smiled… then made a face. He gagged suddenly and ran to the sink, where he stuck his head half under the faucet and gasped as he started gulping down water.

“They’re good!” He exclaimed through gasps. “They’re just… hot!”

The sadness disappeared from Kitty’s mind and she nearly fell off her stool laughing. As Mr. Barton kept his head in the sink she reached over to the pan of cookies and grabbed one for herself. It was black on the bottom and it nearly burnt her hand, but she bit into it anyway. Instantly she stuck her tongue out and gagged. It was terrible! The extra sugar was a horrible idea— it threw off the whole cookie, made it way too crumbly, made it hard and brittle and gross even without the burnt part. 

Kitty found herself laughing even louder. “They’re terrible!”

“Hey, I warned you!” Mr. Barton pulled back from the faucet, his hair dripping with water, and shook his head so that droplets showered the kitchen. Kitty squealed, dropping the half-eaten cookie as she tried to duck and cover. 

“No! You said they were good!”

“I said they were… well, I did say that, but—”

“Next time you’re not putting the timer on!” Kitty said, still laughing. “You burnt ‘em!”

Mr. Barton was laughing too. “I’m not the one who dumped an extra cup of sugar in!”

The commotion had drawn the attention of not just Sean— who had been playing something or other in the adjacent room and was now reaching to try one of the burnt cookies himself— but Warren and Kurt as well. Both of them had come into the other room while the cookies were baking, and Kitty could see them grinning at the failed attempt. Warren leaned against the hallway wall, watching the event with a smirk, while Kurt’s yellow eyes were wide under his hoodie as he grinned at Kitty from across the room. She shot him a thumbs up that was covered in burnt cookie crumbs. 

It didn’t take long to clean up the rest of the cookie mess. The good news was that only about half of the cookies actually caught on fire; the rest were pleasantly burnt, to the point that they were still edible, at least. Not that they were very good, but they were edible. And Kitty had so much fun making them that she really didn’t care how they turned out. 

Mr. Barton left to head back up to the Avenger’s part of the tower a bit after, which was probably good because it was getting pretty late and Kitty was starting to feel tired— not that she would admit it, of course. But she was sad to see him go.

As she was watching the elevator doors close, Scott walked up beside her. He was silent as the elevator slid away, watching it with his usual wary expression. Once he seemed sure it was gone, he crouched down so that he was eye level with her and put a gentle, brotherly hand on her shoulder.

She cocked her head at him. “Scott? You ok?”

He sighed, glanced over at the elevator, and then back to her. “We need to remember to be careful, alright Kitty?”

She nodded, her finger twisting in her hair. “I know Scott. But… Mr. Barton’s not, like, a bad guy… right?”

Scott was quiet for a moment. Kitty could see herself reflected in his red visor as he hesitated. “We need to stay alert,” he finally said. “Alright?”

She nodded again. Scott nodded too, and pulled her in for a tight hug. Kitty squeezed him back, and then her big brother stood up to corral Sean— probably to keep him from getting a bellyache from eating all the burnt cookies. Kitty watched him go, but found herself glancing back at the elevator before long.

Scott was right. Of course he was right. He was always right, it was part of his job as the big brother. He knew what they needed to do, so if he said to be careful, then she would. Yeah . She would be careful. 

But… maybe she could trust Mr. Barton just a little bit more than Scott did.

Chapter Text

“Really?” Kurt asked in astonishment, tail flicking wildly despite his attempts to sit on it. They were at the end of an Uno game, one that Warren had won for the third time in a row. That had been enough for Sean to quit, and Kitty and Rogue had already moved on to other things two rounds ago. Kurt had almost gone with them, but he had stuck around because… well, Mr. Barton was there. He hadn’t forgotten about Mr. Barton’s words in the elevator on their first day, the Avenger’s promise to teach him how to use a bow and arrow. After the first few days, he had kinda been sure that Mr. Barton had forgotten, but that didn’t matter. Obviously he was still hoping to hear the man bring it up, but he didn’t really realize how much he had stopped expecting it until Mr. Barton mentioned it. “Like, right now?”

Mr. Barton nodded with a quick smile. “Yeah. I mean, I told you I’d teach you, right?”

A grin split Kurt’s face, but before he could express his excitement he was interrupted by a stern voice. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Kurt glanced up to see Scott towering over him with arms crossed and in full big-brother mode. Scott was the only one left in the main room; Warren had gotten up right after Sean had, leaving Kurt and Scott alone with Mr. Barton. Kurt realized self-consciously that his hoodie had fallen down during the game, and he hadn’t pulled it back up. Was that why Scott didn’t want him to hang out with Mr. Barton? Probably . Scott always thought it was best for him to cover up his features. Which made sense, of course, but…

“Please Scott?” Kurt asked, putting on his best pleading expression. He really wanted to learn archery from Mr. Barton. 

But Scott was already shaking his head. “Kurt, I don’t think…”

“You can come of course,” Mr. Barton jumped in. Scott’s visor-covered gaze turned to focus on the man. “Supervise and whatnot. Or I can teach you too? That way it’s not just me and blueberry down there.”

Mr. Barton kind of stuttered at the end of his sentence and he glanced down at Kurt, as if to see if he was offended. But Kurt was grinning even wider, unconsciously puffing up at the little nickname. His tail twitched happily behind him.

Scott, on the other hand, did not look happy. He was frowning, arms still crossed tight as he glowered at the Avenger. “Why?”

Mr. Barton’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment. What was that? Exasperation? But then he was shrugging again. Nothing devious or underhanded. 

“I told the kid I’d teach him archery, and I like to keep promises.” He hesitated, then glanced down at Kurt with a flicker of uncertainty across his features. “Only if you want to, of course, I don’t…”

“ Ja !” Kurt blurted out, flushing as he interrupted the man. He pulled his tail closer to himself and tried to make himself seem smaller before continuing. “Yes. Yes, I mean, I very much would like to learn…” 

Mr. Barton seemed to relax a bit, and he turned his gaze back to Scott, who had not relaxed a bit. “Come on, Scott. The archery range is just two floors under us. We’ll only go for an hour or so… we’ll be back before you know it.”

Kurt felt a tiny flash of disappointment that it would only be an hour. But then… a whole hour of archery with Mr. Barton, superhero and fellow circus kid. Kurt wanted any time he could get.

“ Please, Scott?” He turned a pleading gaze on his brother, his tail curling around his leg as he sent up a silent prayer to the Lord that Scott would say yes. It seemed like a silly prayer, but he shoved that thought away. It didn’t matter if it was silly. He had faith, faith that his God answered even the silliest of prayers…

Scott let out a sigh, his fists clenching. “One hour.”

Kurt’s head shot up and he jumped to his feet, excitement coursing through his veins. Did he hear him right? “Really?”

“I’m coming with,” Scott said sternly, his gaze sharp even behind his visor. But Kurt didn’t even care. He hopped forward, wrapping his arms and his tail around Scott in a tight hug.

“ Danke, thank you , thank you!” Kurt let go, bouncing in excitement as he gave his brother a toothy grin. 

Despite the obvious tension in his features— which Kurt felt a flash of guilt for— Scott chuckled and gave him a tight smile. “Alright, alright.” He reached out, playfully nudging his shoulder and simultaneously tugging Kurt’s hoodie up over his head. He didn’t even care. He was way too excited. “Let me go tell Rogue. Then let’s get it over with.”

Kurt nodded quickly, his tail lashing. He quickly grabbed Scott’s hand and dragged him toward the rooms before he could change his mind.

“Rogue!” Kurt rapped on the door to the room he and his sister were sharing, almost shivering with anticipation. There was a noise of affirmation from inside, and Kurt quickly pushed it open. Rogue and Kitty were sitting inside on the carpet, a decent distance from each other as Rogue helped Kitty sort through the clothes that Mr. Barton had gotten them a week or so ago. It had been a while, but Kitty kept pulling them out every few days or so and trying to make new combinations with them. She had already stolen one of Sean’s shirts as well as one of Kurt’s… not that he minded. He was already wearing one of Rogue’s new hoodies, and probably would have borrowed Kitty’s cat t-shirt if it wasn’t too small for him. That was just how clothes worked with them, how anything worked with them really. Things got passed around all the time, and no one item really belonged to anyone in particular. 

Kurt shot Rogue a toothy grin as Scott stepped up behind him. “Scott and I are going out with Mr. Barton for a little bit!”

Rogue raised an eyebrow. “Y’all are goin’ out? ”

“Just down a floor or two,” Scott interjected. “To the archery range.”

Rogue huffed, blowing her white bangs out of the way so she could properly fix them with a cold green stare. “Why?”

“Because Mr. Barton’s gonna teach me archery!” Kurt blurted out. “Remember? He promised, and now he said he’s going to really show me!”

“Aww, that’s no fair!” Kitty piped up. She crossed her arms and frowned. “I wanna hang out with Mr. Barton!”

“This isn’t “hanging out” ,” Scott said sternly. “Kurt’s doing some extra training and learning a new skill. Plus, he’s getting Barton off our backs for a bit. That’s all.”

Kurt nodded, but there was no feeling behind it. Because, well, he wasn’t going just to learn archery… he kind of wanted to hang out with Mr. Barton. He wanted to hear about his circus experience. He wanted to find out how he became an Avenger. He wanted to listen to his stories. He wanted to listen to someone other than his siblings who would actually bother to talk to him.

But he also wanted to make Kitty feel better. She was his best friend, and he didn’t want her to feel left out, so he nodded a bit more firmly. “Just extra training. Do you want extra training?”

Kitty made a face so quickly and violently that Rogue snorted a bit. Kurt just grinned and stepped forward to give his little sister a hug. 

“Can we play when I get back, katchzun? ” Kurt asked. “I want to finish our pirate game!”

Kitty hugged him back tightly, giggling as she did. “We never finish it!”

“Exactly!” 

Kitty giggled again and then pushed him away. Kurt let himself fall, then turned to his older sister and waved. Rogue frowned, brushing her bangs back again before glancing at Scott.

“Yah sure ‘bout this?”

“Course not,” Scott muttered even as Kurt nodded enthusiastically.

Rogue’s eyes slid to Kurt momentarily, then back to Scott. “What if I went instead of you?”

Scott shook his head. “No. I want to keep an eye on him.”

“And I wanna keep an eye on both of ‘em.”

“It’s fine, Rogue!” Kurt shot a pleading look at his sister, his hands clasped in front of him and his tail lashing. He loved Rogue, he loved her so much, but he could recognize that protective glint in her eyes. Scott was already so close to keeping him from going. If they hesitated for too long, there was no way he would ever get to do this. “I promise we’ll be ok! And we’ll be back soon!”

Rogue turned her sharp green gaze on him. Her eyes were narrowed and cold, but Kurt held her gaze. He’d been with Rogue longer than he’d been with any of the other X-Men. He had been her brother long enough to know that the harsh gaze was just out of concern.

After a moment, she let out a breath. “If you come back with an arrow in your foot, I’m not pullin’ it out.”

Kurt pretended to pout, though his lashing tail probably gave him away. “You don’t think I’ll shoot well?”

Rogue chuckled. “Nah, I know you will. Jus’ make sure you’re aimin’ at Barton and not Scott.”

Kurt laughed before giving her a quick salute. He gave one last reassuring grin to Kitty and then bounded out to where Scott was waiting in the doorway. He grabbed Scott’s hand as quickly as he could and half-dragged him back to Clint Barton. It was a short walk down the hallway, but he didn’t feel like it was short enough.

“Can we still go?” He asked the moment they were in the same room as the man. Clint had been sitting on the couch looking at his phone, probably scrolling through something. The archer looked up in surprise as they burst in, and he chuckled in amusement.

“It’s only been two minutes, Kurt. I’m not about to change my mind just like that!”

“Some people do,” Kurt pointed out, his tail lashing nervously. Lots of people changed their minds really quickly. Mr. Barton didn’t seem like that kind of person, but sometimes it was hard to tell. Kurt wanted to be sure.

Mr. Barton’s smile faltered momentarily. Then he stood up and waved Kurt and Scott forward. “Come on, let’s go see what you can do.”

Kurt’s tail lashed in excitement. He hoped that he got a chance to show Mr. Barton what he could do, and he was just as excited to see what the Avenger could do. What had Mr. Barton done in the circus? Had he been an acrobat at all? Would he recognize some of the moves Kurt had learned? Would there be a chance for him to show off at all? He couldn’t help but hope that there would. 

The trio made their way to the elevator, which opened almost automatically. Once they stepped in, Mr. Barton glanced down at him. “Wanna ask JARVIS to take us to the range?” 

Kurt felt himself flush. He glanced up at Scott, but his older brother was basically just watching Mr. Barton. So he just ducked his head, tail flicking self consciously as he spoke.

“Um… Herr JARVIS?” Kurt said uncertainly.

The AI responded immediately. “ Guten Tag, herr Kurt.”

“Can… can we go down to the archery range?”

“ Jawohl, einen moment.”

The elevator started to move, and Mr. Barton blinked. “Was that… German?”

“ Ja ,” Kurt said sheepishly. He grabbed his tail and began nervously running the spaded tips through his thick fingers. Mr. Barton probably wanted a bit of an explanation. “I-I mean, yes. Deutsch— German—is my first language, a-and herr JARVIS knows it, and so…”

Mr. Barton grinned as he trailed off. “Sounds like you and JARVIS are buddies now.”

Kurt felt himself flush even further, to the point his face was probably purple. Did Mr. Barton know how much he talked to JARVIS? Had he guessed somehow? He hadn’t told Scott, or Kitty, or even Rogue how he had been talking to JARVIS, and he told Rogue everything . Only Warren knew because he was the one to venture into the elevator to go train in the Avenger’s gym, which was how Kurt had ended up sitting outside the elevator and talking to the AI after the first few nights. It was just… JARVIS was super cool, and more than that he was easy to talk to. Plus, Kurt could talk to him in German, something that none of his siblings understood besides the few phrases he used constantly. So when he couldn’t sleep at night… it was nice to just be able to gush out his feelings and not worry about tripping over the words he still didn’t know, or be self-conscious and embarrassed when he forgot a word in his own tongue. JARVIS was a good listener. 

But whether he knew about Kurt and JARVIS’s midnight conversations or not, Mr. Barton turned away. His attention was now focused on the doors, which were already sliding open. 

Kurt was snapped out of his thoughts as his jaw dropped in awe. He had seen archery ranges before, of course, but usually they were ones set up in the circus tent for practice and were not much more than two or three targets. This was an entire floor of the tower covered in targets! There were targets all along one wall, big windows on another, a third covered in what looked like white boards for keeping score, some of which hadn’t been erased. Kurt couldn’t read the names, but something told him that the one with tally marks almost completely filling up the board was Mr. Barton’s.

He thought he couldn’t have gotten any more excited; he was wrong. 

“Let’s see…” Kurt bounded over to Mr. Barton, who had already stepped out of the elevator and over to a long silver counter, where a bunch of bows were sitting. The Avenger was frowning as he looked at them. “I wasn’t thinking about this… not sure if we have any child-sized bows…”

“I’m not really a child,” Kurt said quietly. Mr. Barton raised an eyebrow at him.

“Remind me how old you are?”

“Seven.”

“Yeah, sorry kid, but you’re not even halfway adult yet.”

Kurt stayed quiet, shooting a glance over at Scott as he did. His older brother didn’t say anything either, but Kurt could tell by his expression that he disagreed. Kurt did too. Sure, he wasn’t that old yet, but if he wasn’t even halfway adult, then did that mean Scott wasn’t an adult either? That couldn’t be right, because Scott was definitely an adult. 

He thought Mr. Barton was wrong on this one, but he still decided not to say anything to be polite. 

The Avenger picked out three bows. The smallest one he handed to Kurt— who was admittedly almost the same height as the weapon— and the second he offered to Scott, who turned it down. The third he selected quickly, with practiced ease and relish.

“I like to call this one Ringer,” Mr. Barton explained as he led Kurt over to the shooting range, a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder and the bow held out proudly in his hand. “See? There’s like a ring around the tips here, and here. It makes her look cool. Plus, I usually use her to try and hit the rings around the target.”

Kurt cocked his head. “I thought you were supposed to aim for the spot in the middle?”

“The bullseye is wherever you’re aiming,” he said with a shrug. “That doesn’t always have to be the middle.”

They stopped in the middle of the room, where a dark black line on the floor marked that they were some distance from the targets. Mr. Barton went ahead and drew an arrow, lined it up in the bow, and pulled it back.

“Call a ring.”

Kurt blinked, then looked across the room and squinted at the targets. “Uh… yellow?”

“Right next to the bullseye?”

Kurt nodded uncertainly. 

He hadn’t even stopped moving his head before the arrow was whizzing through the air. He turned to watch it, but by the time he did it had already hit the target with a deft thunk that echoed through the huge room. Kurt’s mouth fell open. Mr. Barton had nailed the arrow squarely through the yellow ring. 

“ Woah. ”

Mr. Barton grinned. “Cooler than Tony Stark yet?”

Kurt grinned, glancing up at the Avenger from under his hoodie. “I mean… he still has the suit…”

Mr. Barton made a coughing noise and for a moment Kurt was worried that he actually offended the man, but he quickly realized that he was exaggerating. The grin on his face proved it. “Seriously? Well then, I better prove myself before teaching you, huh?”

Kurt gave a playful shrug, watching in excitement as Mr. Barton pulled out three more arrows. He hardly even saw the arrows fit into the bow; they flew out like bullets, each burying itself in the exact center of three different targets. They hadn’t even stopped quivering before the archer pulled two more arrows and hit two more targets— once again, dead center. With five neat bullseyes in the span of about twenty seconds, Mr. Barton sent him a smirk.

“Impressed yet?”

Obviously he was dumbstruck. But Kurt twitched his tail and grinned at the man. “I thought you said the middle was an easy target?”

“I just said you don’t have to aim for the middle… but I gotcha. You’re a circus kid, right?” Kurt nodded eagerly. “Makes sense. Ok, then I’ll really need to impress you…”

Mr. Barton seemed to size up the targets for a moment, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he studied them. 

Then he pulled out three arrows at once, pulled all three back on the single bowstring, and let them fly. In one swift shot they zipped through the air, spreading out as they flew. There were three simultaneous thunks as they landed in the bullseye of three of the targets he had already hit, and before Kurt could even gape about the fact that he just fired three arrows at one time he was already pulling out another. And another. And another . They slipped through his fingers like grease, faster than a pistol shot as they nailed the middle target. Soon there were about seven perfectly placed arrows around the outer ring of the target, just on the edge so that any farther and they would be in the wall. 

“Now, back in the circus I had rings of fire and such,” Mr. Barton wasn’t even out of breath, he was just loading up another arrow. “Which we obviously don't have here, so we’ve got to get more creative.”

He turned so that he was facing away from the range, his arrow pointed straight at the whiteboards. Then he crouched slightly and leapt into the air. Kurt watched in awe as he twisted into a backflip, bow still in hands. When he was halfway through the flip, he let the arrow fly. It hit straight in the middle of the target. He did a second backflip and hit the fifth target, and then loaded up one last arrow and shot it into the ceiling. 

The whole display took about thirty seconds.

“Tony hates when I hit the roof.” Mr. Barton gave him a smirk. “It’s concrete. You’re not supposed to be able to get an arrow to stick in concrete.”

Kurt’s mouth was hanging open, and he looked up at the last arrow. It was stuck firmly in the ceiling— along with a bunch of others that he hadn’t noticed before— and the rest were stuck fast in the targets.

Mr. Barton was still grinning at him. “Impressed yet?”

Kurt couldn’t even pretend. He just nodded dumbly. “Wow .”

Mr. Barton laughed. “Come on, let’s get the arrows. Most of ‘em should work fine for another round or two.”

With another nod Kurt followed Mr. Barton out to the range. He half expected the man to pull out more arrows; he could probably shoot one through the window before they would even realize what was happening. He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Scott… even his older brother looked at least a little impressed, and Kurt couldn’t help but be excited about that.

“What do you think?” Mr. Barton started pulling arrows from the first target. Kurt’s eyes widened as he noticed that the second arrow he had fired at the target had actually split the first arrow. Glancing at the other targets, he realized that this was true for all of them. “Am I as cool as Iron Man yet?”

“ Way cooler.” Kurt grinned widely. “He just has a suit of armor, right?”

Mr. Barton fist pumped the air, and Kurt giggled. Soon they had an armful of arrows, most of which they would be able to reuse; excluding, of course, the five that had been skewered. 

“That should be all of them,” Mr. Barton said as he plucked the last from the ring around the middle target. Then he gestured up to the ceiling with a smirk. “Except for that one, of course, but we can’t exactly—“

“I can get it!” Kurt burst out. Mr. Barton stopped, raising an eyebrow at him. But Kurt didn’t wait to hear what he had to say… this was his chance! So he quickly ran and darted to a corner of the huge room, the one where the target wall met the wall with the elevator. The walls were smooth, sleek, made out of some sort of plaster. There were no handholds at all… but that, of course, didn’t matter to Kurt. He lept into the air, quickly kicking at the wall as he did. It gave him just enough traction to move up so he could kick at the wall again. He was basically able to run up the corner, kicking alternatively at each wall, until he had parkoured up to the ceiling. It was made of intersecting tiles of concrete that had thick supports running between them. Kurt was able to grab the supports, his strong fingers nearly sticking to the surfaces even as gravity dragged at his fur. He glanced down long enough to see Mr. Barton staring at him, then grinned and scuttled along the ceiling to where the arrow was embedded. Soon he grasped it, pulled it out, and waved it at Mr. Barton in triumph. 

“Got it!”

The Avenger made a noise of affirmation and shock that had Kurt grinning even wider. He quickly shoved the arrow into the pocket of his hoodie, then quickly shimmied along to where a few more arrows were stuck. Those also disappeared into his pocket, and then he glanced at the floor. How high up was he? It wasn’t that far… maybe twelve feet? He had to make an impressive finish. This was cool, but it wasn’t real showmanship…

Yet .

Kurt looked down, made eye contact with Mr. Barton, then let go of the ceiling. Instantly he was dropping, upside down as he began to fall. He could hear a loud gasp and grinned. He quickly twisted, tucked himself into a ball, squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated. He had to grit his teeth and strain, but after a moment he smelt brimstone and a cloud of smoke engulfed him. Then he was further down, only six or seven feet above the ground. There was no time to waste; he quickly twisted into a flip, a twist, and then landed in a crouch on the floor of the archery range. 

There was a minute of stunned silence. Kurt was breathing pretty hard, but he grinned hopefully at Mr. Barton. Was that too much? Too little? Was he trying too hard to show off?

Mr. Barton blinked slowly, his mouth open as he ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “ Wow. ”

Kurt’s tail twitched. That was a good “wow”, right? It sounded like a good “wow”. And Mr. Barton’s shocked expression had morphed into an open-mouthed smile. He chuckled.

“You weren’t kidding. You’re definitely a circus kid.”

Kurt took that as a cue to hop up and bend over in an over dramatic bow.  “The incredible Nightcrawler, mein freund!”

Mr. Barton laughed again. “Is that what they called you? Because that was definitely incredible.”

Kurt kept his smile and shrugged, despite the little twinge of self-consciousness that ran through his shoulders. He called himself that. And Logan had. That counted, right? “Logan did all the time,” he added for good measure.

“Logan? Mr. Barton bent down to pick up a couple of arrows; he must have dropped them while he was watching Kurt. “Was he your ringmaster?”

Kurt felt his back go rigid. No. No. He shook off the feeling as quickly as he could, but the “ No! ” that he tossed at Mr. Barton came out a bit sharper than he intended. He swallowed quickly and felt himself trying to shrink back. “I-I mean no, he… he wasn’t, he wouldn’t—”

Mr. Barton looked up at Kurt as he cut off with a sharp inhale. He didn’t want to continue that thought. He didn’t want to think about the ringmaster, and he definitely didn’t want Mr. Barton thinking that Logan was anything like that. Kurt blinked, his tail twitching anxiously behind him as he tried to get his mouth to move. He felt shaken, his brain felt jumbled. Focus. What was the word in English? What was the word in German? He couldn’t quite remember what Logan’s role was in the circus… and he didn’t really want to.

But he did remember Logan, and the thought of the man made his grin return. He grabbed the memories and held them tightly, forcing them to exist over any bad ones. Soon, he was smiling again, and he pressed forward. “He was my friend,” he said simply, more fuzzy memories coming back as he spoke. “He was also a mutant. And he could heal from anything! ”

Mr. Barton smiled. To Kurt’s relief, he did not seem to notice the way that he had faltered. That was good. There was nothing wrong. There was no reason to think about it any more. He could just focus as Mr. Barton spoke. “I don’t know if there were any mutants in my circus. Maybe the strongman… he was always a colossus. But the acrobats were some of my best friends.” He nodded up at the ceiling, where Kurt had dropped from. “Is that what you did? Acrobatics?”

”Uh,” his smile faltered again and he glanced away, flicking his tail as he focused on pulling the arrows out of his pocket. Would it be a lie to say yes? He… No, no , he was an acrobat, of course he was an acrobat. He smiled again, quickly shoving certainty into his voice. “Yeah, yeah that's what I did!”

“I always loved the acrobatics show,” Mr. Barton said with a little shake of his head. “You guys are always the act people come to see. Archery's just a side thing.”

Kurt felt a tiny flash of guilt, like he was an imposter. But he quickly shook it off. He was an acrobat. He was . If he believed it, then everyone would believe it. “No way! You’re the world’s greatest marksman, you’re the guy people want to see!”

Mr. Barton chuckled, and Kurt grinned. “Well, let me show you how I got started…”

They were standing at the black line again, and Mr. Barton handed Kurt his smaller bow back and started talking him through the process. Stringing the arrow, notching the arrow, how to pull it back, how to keep control… it took Kurt a few times to actually get the arrow to fly, but by the end of the hour he had hit the target a few times. Nowhere close to the bullseye, but Mr. Barton assured him that he hadn’t even hit it his first time training. Kurt wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he didn’t say anything. It was the circus. Reality could be whatever you wanted it to be.

He was still buzzing with excitement long after Scott shut down their practice and took him back to their room. Even by the time he was sitting in the living room that night, long after the others had all fallen asleep, he still itched with the excitement from earlier. Would Mr. Barton ask him to try shooting again? He hoped so, he really hoped so. Scott hadn’t said anything against going again… but, then again, he hadn’t said much of anything about it. Kurt really hoped his brother wasn’t upset at all. He hated when his brother was upset, especially when he was the cause.

He sighed into the silent room, leaning against one of the walls near the elevator. Tentatively, he spoke. “Herr JARVIS?”

“ Guten nacht, Herr Kurt.”

Kurt smiled at the sound of his AI friend’s voice. He curled his tail around his leg and rubbed the blue spade between his thick fingers as he looked out the nearby window. The whole city was bright under the dark indigo sky and hardly any stars were visible against its glow. “Herr JARVIS, did… do you know if Mr. Barton knew we’ve been talking?”

“ No, not that I am aware,” the AI said, still in German. 

Kurt rubbed his tail a little more before responding, also in his native tongue. “Have you… told anyone?”

“ No.”

He smiled, breathing out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“ Do you not want people to know that we talk?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, you’re my friend! I don’t mind if people know.”

The AI’s voice didn’t quite carry emotion, but Kurt thought he sounded slightly concerned. “ Then why were you worried?”

He kept his eyes fixed on the short carpet beneath him. Not that there was really anything to look at, but… It was like JARVIS could sense that there was more than minor embarrassment in his thoughts. His tail twitched under his fingers. His fangs poked at his bottom lip, and he had to inhale and shut his eyes against the sudden surge of emotion. There were so many things that he had told the AI. There were so many nights when he had just talked without thinking, without caring if he was speaking German or English, without worrying about the concerned glances that his siblings would give him or the questions that would come with his fears, with the scars that he carried, with the fact that he had never been a part of the performances and acrobats or anything that would let him step out of his cage—

No. No . He didn’t want to think about that, about any of that. JARVIS wouldn’t tell anyone about his nightmares, or… or anything. No. None of that mattered.

He was an acrobat. A circus kid. And Mr. Barton didn’t mind how he looked.

That was all that he wanted to think about. 

He let his tail drop against the carpet and he leaned back against the cool elevator doors. He thought again about the archery lesson, and he latched onto the warm feelings that came with that. It was good. It was fun. It was one of the best things that had happened to him since he met his siblings. Clint Barton was so cool, and he was really a circus performer. He was a circus performer who was kind and who didn't care how he looked. It was amazing. 

After another moment, he spoke. “Herr JARVIS?”

“ Yes?”

“Do you think Mr. Barton is a good guy?”

“ Yes, I do.”

Kurt let out a small breath and smiled into the darkness. “I think so too.”

Chapter Text

It was awesome to be able to finally run again. Like, really run around without Scott or Rogue or someone yelling at him for almost breaking his stitches or aggravating the cut or messing with the healing or anything like that. His leg didn’t hurt at all now so he could run and run as much as he wanted and no one could stop him. He wished he had super speed powers so he could really run off all the energy that seemed to be running through him, constantly demanding he move or run or do something other than sit in a boring old room and do nothing like everyone else was. How could other people just sit around? He had been sitting around for way, way too long while his leg got fixed up, and now all of his energy was bursting at his seams and itching beneath his skin. He was going to go nuts if he couldn’t move and get some of it out —

“Sean!” He skidded to a stop, his thoughts scattering as he turned sharply on his heel to face a sharp glare from Rogue who oh crap, she looked mad, she definitely looked mad. She was sitting on the couch, her white bangs drifting into her eyes before she blew them out of her face with an annoyed huff. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna hafta take the gloves off and knock you out to make you sit still for once.”

Sean let out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know I know!” Her glare didn’t leave him. She wasn’t serious. Right? No way was she serious… right? Oh man, yeah, he should probably be safe at least, just… just in case…

He slowed down enough so that he was just trotting as he left the living room, but as soon as he ducked into the hallway and was out of Rogue’s sight he sped up again. He ran to his room and threw himself on his bed with a mighty leap that nearly tangled him in the mess of blankets that he had left completely unmade and then rolled over so he could sit up. He pulled up his leg to look at his scar for probably the fifth time that day, who knew how many times throughout the week. It was gnarly— that’s what Dr. Banner had called it when he and Scott had gone to get it fixed up the first time. “Gnarly” didn’t really sound like a science word, which surprised him, since Dr. Banner used so many science words like lac— lacera— laceration? Was that the word? Sean couldn’t quite remember, but it was a really big word that basically just meant a cut and Sean asked why he didn’t just call it a cut and Dr. Banner laughed which made Sean feel pretty good. He liked making people laugh, especially Dr. Banner because he was so smart so if he could make a joke that made a smart person laugh there was no way he could be as dumb as he felt sometimes. Right? Yeah, that made total sense.

His leg looked so much cooler with the scar, and he couldn’t wait to see it fade more so that it was just blended into his skin, like the scar Scott had on his arm from one of their fights or the ones that Kurt had on his back and didn’t like to talk about, but Kurt’s looked different of course because he was blue obviously. Warren had some cool scars too, but he didn’t really like to talk about them either and Sean had never really seen them clearly. He didn’t know why, the Professor always said that battle scars were memories and marks of fights that had been overcome, stories to tell. But then, Warren didn’t know the Professor as long as he and Scott or anyone else had. But Warren was always super tough anyway; Sean hoped his scars would make him a bit more like Warren. His scar was still a bit red, still kinda fresh, and if pressed on it too hard it still hurt a bit, but it was good enough to the point that the little scratches had faded away and all the stitches were totally gone and he could really be active again. Scott would probably let him do missions now, if they were going to do missions at all. It was so much harder since Scott insisted on them going around the Avengers, and they hadn’t even done anything since the one he hadn’t been allowed to go on— which had still been totally unfair but whatever. He was back to training, at least, that was a good thing, but they were only doing little exercises and things because they only trained and practiced when Mr. Barton wasn’t there. They couldn’t even practice their powers, like, at all because Scott didn’t want Mr. Barton seeing their powers if they could avoid it. And, y’know, broken widows always seemed to be something everyone was worried about. 

Mr. Barton had been coming down every single day since the mission. Like, every day for more than a week, more than two weeks, almost three weeks now. Three whole weeks! And that meant they had been at Avengers Tower for more than an entire month! Sean still couldn’t quite get over his excitement that they were still here. It seemed surreal. Scott had told them so many times that they would leave soon, and at first he had believed that, he had really believed it after the mission, but then after a while it had been harder and harder. And now they still hadn’t left! He was a little disappointed that he hadn’t seen more Avengers yet, despite the fact that he kept asking Mr. Barton about them. He knew that Iron Man was hurt at the moment so he couldn't really see him again right now and that Thor was in space or something, but he hadn’t seen Captain America yet, or the Hulk, and Black Widow was only, like, twice. Yeah, Hawkeye was cool and he was starting to think he was cooler and cooler the more he hung out with him, but he still was, like, the sixth Avenger. He wanted to at least meet Captain America before they were moved somewhere else, like Scott kept saying they totally would be.

He hoped that Scott was wrong. He liked it in the tower, maybe even more than he liked it at the Institute. But… Scott was his big brother. And Scott was never wrong. 

Sean huffed, already bored and already sick of sitting on his bed. So he hopped up and started to run back toward the living room/kitchen area to see if he could find anything to do… and the moment he was out of his room he ran straight into Hawkeye. 

Sean stumbled back with an “oof”, and Mr. Barton just blinked in surprise for a moment before fully registering what happened. “Woah! Woah, sorry Sean, I—“

“S’okay!” Sean said quickly, already back on his feet. “Sorry, my fault, I was runnin’ too quick and I wasn’t lookin’ where I was going, my bad!”

Mr. Barton let out a little laugh. “Lots of energy today, huh?”

“Yeah, tons!” Sean said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. “But, y’know, makes sense since I’m finally really back on my feet now, I know the stitches came out a while ago but…”