Anonymous request: Imagine being Clint Barton’s son and a vigilante
“Oh dad is going to be pissed.”
You knew there was no explaining your way out of this one. This was supposed to be a difficult one but you had been confident you could handle yourself here. You were mistaken and now you had a bullet wound going through your shoulder. And it was, unmistakably, a bullet wound. A hospital would have to report it so you thought about stitching yourself up at home but since it was on your dominant arm, you didn’t think you could manage it.
You didn’t want your youngest siblings to see any of this - your injury or your outfit. They didn’t need to know you were out here doling out vigilante justice. That was not something that would go over well with them.
Instead, you gritted your teeth and called your dad.
“Dad,” you said when he picked up.
“Hey bud, what’s wrong?” You’d said only a single syllable but that was all he needed to hear to know something was wrong with you.
“I, uh, I need your help.” You winced as you spoke, trying to find some way to manage your wound for the moment. “I messed up.”
“Where are you? I’ll be right there.” He tried to keep the worry out of his voice but did a bad job of it. The way you were talking, the slight shake in your voice, he knew it had to be bad.
“I’m just ah,” you groaned as you shifted your position. “One sec.” You simply shared your phone’s location with him.
Clint looked at the location. It wasn’t too far away from where he’d been. He did wonder why the hell you were there but he knew he had to hold his questions until he figured out what was wrong.
“I’m on my way, hold tight okay?”
“’Kay.” You replied, slumping a bit against the wall.
Honestly you’d expected the blood loss to be worse. You guessed the pressure you had on it must be helping. Must have missed any major veins or something too. In a sense, maybe you were lucky. In every other sense though, you knew this was bad.
Time passed strangely as you waited. It was both interminably long and barely a few minutes. You saw the headlights and heard the screech of brakes mere seconds before your dad came down the alley toward you. In the darkness, he had to search a bit before catching sight of your form, still leaning heavily against a wall.
“What’s going on, what-” His questions were interrupted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he took in the sight of you. The dark clothes, no costume, the bow on the ground, and your hand, darkened with blood, clutching your shoulder.
“I’m sorry Dad,” you began, trying not to cry as you felt so much relief seeing him.
The weakness in your voice put any anger he might have felt in the moment on pause. He wanted to hug you tightly but clearly that was out of the question.
“What happened?” He asked, trying to sound calm as he gently reached out for your shoulder.
“I was trying to stop these guys, I was doing good, I thought I was doing so good, and then one of them got an angle and he, he shot me.”
You hadn’t taken an injury like this before. Scrapes and bruises sure. Even a possibly dislocated shoulder that you did have to get popped back into place at a clinic. But none of that had felt like this. None of those were mere inches away from death.
“Okay, I’ve got you.” He said. He cautiously felt around the wound, discerning as best he could what the situation was and how it would need to be treated. “Feels like it went all the way through, that’s actually good. It means we don’t have to get the bullet out. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
Your dad peeled off his jacket and wrapped it around your arm, tying the sleeves tightly above the injury.
“Come on, let’s get you home and I’ll stitch you up.”
He picked up his bow from the ground and offered an arm to you. Leaning on your dad, you began to walk to the car. In your stillness, the blood loss hadn’t felt so bad. But walking, you felt the lightheadedness hit you and the pain again as your heart rate increased just by a bit.
Clint helped you into the passenger seat and carefully buckled you in, making sure your injury was protected, before getting behind the wheel and driving you home. The drive was silent, both of you doing a lot of thinking about the situation.
When you made it home, Clint slipped you to the bathroom and helped you sit down on the edge of bathtub while he got out a med kit. He helped unzip the black jacket you were wearing, sliding the sleeves down. Then, he took a pair of scissors and cut your shirt so he could access your arm without you needed to raise your arms.
“So, you want to explain to me what you were doing out there?” He asked as he began setting out the supplies he needed.
“I, well, I’ve been,” you tripped over your words, both from a fuzzy mind and being truly unprepared to answer, despite having the whole drive to think about it. “I was just trying to do something.”
“Something?” He questioned, as he wet a washcloth and began dabbing it on your shoulder.
You hissed at the pain of him cleaning the wound.
“I wanted to make a difference. You and the rest of the Avengers, you all save the world.” You took a deep breath. “I’m good with the bow.”
“[Y/N], you don’t have to be fighting aliens with a bow and arrow to be making a difference. And you don’t need to be saving the world yet. You need to be saving that GPA of yours.”
“Dad.” You rolled your eyes before flinching as he injected you with a local anesthetic. “Is that even legal?”
“About as legal as my kid running around like a vigilante.”
You had no response for that. Once the numbing kicked in, he began stitching up the bullet wounds.
“I’m sorry.” You said quietly. “I thought, I thought that I could be like you.”
Clint put down the needle as he finished and put a hand on your shoulder.
“I love you so much buddy. And I’m so proud of the man you’re growing up to be. You don’t have to be like me to make me proud, okay?”
“I know.” You did, you knew that if anything he would prefer you didn’t follow in his footsteps. “But I want to. I want to make it safer. I’ve seen what’s really out there.”
Clint really was so proud. You were convicted and driven and stubborn as hell. He was also so scared of what could happen to you.
“Tell you what, if you really want to do this, you’re going to do this the right way. No more sneaking out alone in the middle of the night. I’ll,” he took a deep breath, “I’ll help you train. If you want to do this, we do this together. No more solo act.”
“Deal.” You agreed. “You’re not going to tell mom about this are you?”
Clint’s head snapped up from where he was trying to interest Baby Natasha in some cheerios and Banana, but she was more interested in chewing on her hands. “What’s wrong, baby,” he asked.
“This is gonna be the shittiest family reunion,” you answer, taking a deep breath. “Stay here with Nat,” you tell him gently, turning your head to kiss his jaw as he peers out the window over your shoulder.
Clint nods, watching the black car that rolled to a stop. With the top down, he could see the shape of your mother behind the wheel. He watches you go towards the porch, and through the screen, he can see you standing. Staff in hand on the steps.
Natasha, sensitive to the moods in the house, fusses, and Clint turns, smiling a little as he picks her up to comfort her. “It’s alright, Little Bit,” he soothes, rubbing her back. “Mommy and Grandma have a complicated relationship,” he explains, “But that’s what happens when you put your kid on a bus to the other side of the country and tell then their evil.”
Natasha looks at him with wide eyes, and Clint kisses her little blonde head, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, baby girl. Mommy and I aren’t gonna let anything like that happen to you. Mommy would tear heaven and Earth apart if it meant you were safe... I just hope she doesn’t kill Grandma to make it happen. It’s hard to get blood out of wood grain.”
The air outside was tense. Like the coming of a violent storm. Thick and oppressive. Clint can feel it, and he knows, from the trembling in Natasha’s lip, that she can too. Her chubby, rosy cheeks are a little pale, and he hugs her closer. Clint wishes he could go stand next to you, but. You’d talked about it often. About protecting Natasha from their hateful influence. And they can’t influence her if they don’t know she exists. No letters. No calls. No contact.
“Mom,” he hears you say, nodding slightly.
“Y/N,” she starts, “I-I-I you. You look good.”
“Thank you,” you say politely, “Now what do you want?”
“I-” she looks around anxiously, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”
“No,” you say flatly, “My closest neighbor is 3 miles away. Unless you plan on screamin’, ain’t no one gonna hear you.”
She looks around again, clearly uncomfortable. Clearly feeling the energy whipping through the air, attracted to you and your staff. You’re a woman with presence, and Clint can, in some small way, sympathize. He had felt the ire that roiled through you. The subtle crackle of energy that came with the darkened eyes and set of your jaw. He didn’t need to see your face to know what you looked like now. Hair wild and twisting into dark loops and elf knots, looking down on her like some vengeful goddess. His vengeful goddess. And he counted his blessings that he was not on the receiving end of your anger, however reasonably controlled.
“Family business-”
“Not,” you say, warningly, “My family.” It was at that moment that Natasha broke into a wail, unable to contain the discomfort anymore, despite the security offered from Clint. Despite his arms clutching her close to his chest.
Your mother looked at you and then at the door, and you glance back over your shoulder, “Bring her here, Clint?” you ask softly.
Clint nods and walks across the Kitchen, shouldering the old screen door open to bring you your daughter. He wasn’t sure how, if it were magic or just the fact that you were her mom, but. Natasha would always quiet in your arms. When you hold an arm out to take her, she goes smoothly. Hiding her face in your shoulder for comfort. But not before your mother has time to get a look at her face. The blonde hair and blue eyes from Clint and your jawline and delicate nose and cheekbones. And Clint understands why you had him bring her. To save yourself the frustration of having your mom start accusing you of stealing a baby.
“My-” your mother starts, but you cut her off.
“No,” you say in the same warning tone, “She’s no grandchild of yours. After today, you will not see her again.”
The older woman blanches, and her head falls forward, “Please,” she said, “You have to help me.”
“I have to do no such thing. I tried. Almost three years ago to save the boys. But you and Stirling chose to play dirty.”
She cringed at the memory, “But-”
“Call me a murderer, and I’ll add matricide to my list of sins,” you say calmly.
“And I’ll personally buy the pig we feed you to,” Clint added helpfully, thankful that Natasha was too small to understand you.
“I need you to save them they-” The woman broke off and choked back a sob.
“They’re monsters,” you finish. “Made so by your own actions.”
The woman fell to her knees with a wail, and Clint wants to reach for your hand. He knows your heart. And he knows that this is painful. That you kept yourself apart from and new of Stirling’s church. And the boys. But he knows that you need this woman to see you as an immovable force. As stronger than you see yourself.
It was something you and Clint had discussed often before you got married. Your need to control this. To keep the toxicity from getting back into your life. And he understood. He wanted you to stay out of it. To let them tear themselves apart as they had watched from a distance while you struggled. Pretending you didn’t exist. You deserved better. Natasha deserved better. So watching you now, gazing dispassionately as your mother knelt in the dirt, he didn’t have to try to decipher the tension in your jaw. You were furious. And hurt. And the only reason you weren’t showing your teeth was the baby that was clinging to your shirt, seeking comfort.
“There is nothing wrong with them that I have the power to fix,” you tell her. “No spirit, no demon, no curse... They are only men. Ment that have been allowed to live in an echo chamber. Men who were never taught how to live. Men who, even if I could help then would want nothing to do with me.”
Your mother looks up at you and wipes tears away, “You evil bitch,” she spat.
“Always and forever,” you sigh, unmoved. You remember this from before her time as a God-fearing woman. The turn from pleading to posturing. Banking on a fear of her fists to get her way. And reflexively, your grip tightens on your staff. “And now,” you tell her, “It’s time for you to go.”
“Help them!” She screamed, “Help them or I swear to Christ I’ll see you burn!”
Your staff bangs on the wood of the deck making a sound like a gunshot. A bang that sends forth a shimmer of magic that washes over her. Her face contorted in a rage-filled growl. Until suddenly, she looked around dazed. “Where am I?” she asked, eyes unseeing.
“I’m not sure,” you answer, “But your car will take you home.”
She turns from you with a vague thank you and climbs into the driver’s seat before making her slow, winding way back up the drive. Clint cannot hear the words you speak, but the power behind them makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I can’t help the boys. But I can get her out of there.”
“But you sent her home,” Clint said frowning.
“Home. Not back to Stirling,” you clarify.
You kiss your daughter’s head and return her gently to Clint, “I think,” you tell him, “That I’m going to go take a bath. Read for a while.”
He nods and shifts Natasha over, hefting her chubby little body more comfortably against his side, “And Little Bit and I will eat some lunch.”
“Yum,” you chuckle, Kissing his cheek, “Lima beans huh?”
“Absolutely not,” Clint said, “I Only had to have her spit them at me once.”
Bucky Barnes returns to Brooklyn ready to get back into the world, make friends and sleep with Steve's super hot neighbor. The fact that the guy turns out to be a single dad to two-year-old triplets who spend most of their time causing mischief, trouble and mayhem doesn't deter Bucky at all. Steve would like it on record that he thinks Bucky is insane.
Summary: When you accidentally hurt yourself, Clint is right by your side in the blink of an eye and being the father you feel he is to you.
Warnings: super fluffy, papa!Clint is a warning on itself, mentions of blood
9) “This is going to hurt.”
10) “Keep your eyes on me.”
Marvel Masterlist
The team had taken you in as one of their own after Clint saw potential in you. It was during a mission and he had spotted you defending yourself and knew that you had to be apart of the team. Naturally, you agreed to the offer not having anything to your name and nothing to lose. And Clint became like a father to you.
You were happy living in the compound and felt like the happiest, luckiest teenager in the world. I mean, who can say that they live with The Avengers? Sure, some times you felt like you could strangle some of them but at the end of the day, they are still the family you basically never had.
A loud, crashing sound that’s followed by you shouting a cuss pulls Clint away from what he’s doing and sends him rushing towards the sound. You’re in the kitchen. He knows that because that’s where your pained grunts are coming from and the sound only makes his walk turn into a steady jog.
When he reaches the kitchen, your eyes snap up at him as you sink your teeth into your lower lip. Clint steps forward as his eyes spot the shattered glass on the counter in front of you. “You okay?” he questions, making you give him a sarcastic look as you glance down at your hand.
“Do I look like I’m okay?” you yell, hissing when you move your closed fist that has blood slightly dripping from it. Your other hand tightly grips the bleeding hand’s wrist and you turn towards him when he reaches your side. “I think all this training is making me underestimate my strength,” you joke, glancing at the glass on the counter.
Clint chuckles with you and takes your hand in his, making you grunt in pain as you head snaps to him. “I’m gonna have to have a look at it,” he says when you try to pull your hand away from him. “Make sure there’s no glass in there.” You give him an unsure glance before slightly nodding your head before he starts prying your fingers open.
Gasping at the sight in your hand, you shut your eyes and slightly shift on your feet. “Oh God,” you mutter, panting as you open an eye to glance at the blood running out the wound.
Noticing your discomfort, Clint lifts your head up to him before grabbing a paper towel. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” he says, making you nod furiously as he starts to wipe up the blood on your hand.
Closing your finger, he makes you clench the towel in your hand and lead you over to sit on a bar stool. “Keeping looking at me,” he orders, walking around the counter with his eyes still on you as he opens a cupboard.
He turns away for a second to grab the first aid kit buried in the back of the cupboard and your eyes betray you and glance down at your hand. “Why’s it bleeding so much?” you question, your grip desisting on the towel when you start to feel queasy at the sight.
“Hey, hey,” Clint speak, quickly moving to you and lifting your head up again. “What I say, huh?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as he waits for your answer. Biting your lip in guilt, he shakes his head before turning his attention back to your hand. “It’s bleeding so much because when you cut yourself, you bleed,” he mutters, lifting his head slightly up to smirk at you as you glare at him. “This is going to hurt,” he warns before placing something damp on the cut.
You hiss out loudly and your head jerks down as an impulse. But you quickly look away from the wound as he starts to wrap your hand up in a bandage. “There we go,” he says, smiling proudly to himself before glancing up at you. “You can look at it now if you want to,” he teases as he turns to put the first aid kit back in the cupboard.
Rolling your eyes at his back, you slowly lower your gaze to your wrapped up hand and gently wiggle your fingers. “Thanks,” you murmur, lifting your head back up at him as he walks back over to you.
He shrugs his shoulders and places a comforting arm around you. “I know you don’t like the sight of blood. Which is kind of weird in this line of work,” he teases, playfully pushing your body and making you laugh at him.
“Hey, I can handle being around blood. It’s just...” you pause, sighing out deeply as you look up at him. “I kinda freak out when it’s my blood.”
Clint shakes his head as his smile grows wider. “You’re so weird,” he chuckles at you and you roll your eyes at him.
“Well, it looks like you’re rubbing off on me then,” you tease, laughing when he glares down at you before pushing away to clean up the shattered glass on the counter.
You can only laugh at him as he mutters something under his breath. “You’ll need to change that every six hours,” he states, pointing towards the bandage on your hand before sweeping up the glass shards.
“Yeah, dad,” you tease with a bright smile on your face as he looks up at you. He gives you a small wink before throwing the glass shards in the bin as you stare down at the covered wound on your hand, thinking that you’d never be able to do something like that by yourself.
Request: reader is being sassy to her dad, so Clint gives her a lesson on manners @heyyyyyworld1235
Your dad was always leaving you. You knew he also left your mom, Lila, and your brothers, but you still felt like it was personal.
Your dad had only been home for a few days and he was leaving again. You couldn't help but be angry.
You woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon and you knew your dad was making breakfast. You put your slippers on, and a determined face to make sure your dad got the message on how you felt about him leaving. If you were actually 45% upset, you had to make it seem like 89% upset.
You walked out of your room and Nathaniel was staring up at you like he was every morning.
"Good morning, Nathan!" You picked him up and gave him a series of kisses on his cheek, making with giggle.
"Morning. I wanna play legos." You low-key rolled your eyes. He wanted to play every day.
"Later. Maybe after lunch time." Nathan groaned and walked with you to the kitchen. Lila was already there and Cooper was asleep on the table. You entered the kitchen without alsaying a word because if you said good morning to your siblings out loud, dad would interpret you also saying morning to him.
You sat at the table right when dad turned around.
"Oh hey, y/n. Didn't hear you come in. Good morning." He was in such a good mood. How dare he? Being so happy when he knows he's leaving.
"Morning." You responded dryly, not bothering to make eye contact with him. Clint gave a confused look to Lila and she shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, here's breakfast." He served the plates with Lila's help and soon mom came to eat.
After breakfast, you were the first one to leave the table and you went outside. It was a breezy day and made your hair go in every direction possible.
You ran to the tire swing on the tree and got on it and just let the wind swing you gently.
How could he leave me? Us? I thought he loved us.
You quickly shook your head out of your thoughts. You knew he loved his family to death so it wasn't fair to think that. But you just wish that the avengers didn't need him.
You were Interrupted from your thoughts by a hand rubbing your back. You turned to see your dad softly smile at you.
"Baby, what's wrong? You've been avoiding me all weekend." You turned away.
"Go away." You mumbled. Clint wasn't easily fazed however. Especially with his kids.
"Nope." He picked you up from the swing, ignoring your protests and set you on the floor a few feet away from the swing. "Tell me. What's got you so moody?" He asked. You turned away again but he only shuffled around to face you again, smirking. You turned again, and he did the same. This continued on until you both had done a 360 rotation. You audibly groaned and he chuckled, bringing a strained smile which you quickly tried to hide by turning away again.
"Uhp! I saw that! You're smiling! It's ok to smile, baby." He poked your sides, making you squirm.
"Stop!" You spat, trying to intimidate him. But, he was a spy. And most importantly, he was your dad. Your eyes widen as his smile did the same and he pulled you to him, and pressed his back to the floor, making you fall with him. "Dad!" You thrashed around with no avail. "DAD! Stop-ahahahahaha nohohoho!"
You immediately melted into giggles and tried your best to get out but he had a firm grip on you. "No getting out now, you've awaken the tickle monster!" He scratched deeply at where your ribs meet your armpits and you squealed.
"NOHOHO DAHAHAD!" You were mostly mad at the fact that you were laughing, and that gave him satisfaction.
Ughhhh
He repositioned you so that you were being carried bridal style and you were too busy giggling your head off that you didn't notice your belly was at eye level with your dad's.
"Wahahait. Whahahat are- NOHOHOHOHOHO!" You screeched as he blew a big, fat, very slobbery raspberry on your belly, making your laughter dissolve to silence. "GROHOHOSS!"
When he stopped to catch his breath, he smiled fondly when he heard your tired hiccups, making him chuckle. "Had enough?" He wiggled his finger in your belly button and you arched your back violently.
"YEHHHES!" You wheezed. Your dad hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead. You were so tired, that you had forgotten that you were giving him the sassy treatment and instinctively leaned into him closer.
Clint rubbed your back affectionately and sighed. "I think I know what it is. Y/n I love you so much. And I know you know that I do this to protect all of you. I fight so that I could come home to see all of you guys. I don't what I would do if I lost you, or... Your mom or your brothers or Lila. I... I don't know what I would do. I just... I-" You cut him off by shaking your head.
"It's okay, dad. I'm sorry for being mad at you. I just didn't want you to go. I still don't but, just promise you'll come back. Please?" He smiled at you and nodded.
"Of course, honey. I'll be back. I promise." You smiled lightly, nodding your head.
Song: Goodnight Laura from the album Transference by Spoon.
Summary: Clint tucks his family in for the night.
Characters: The Barton family.
Length: 709 words
A/N: Domestic fluff. See here for what this is all about.
***
“Don't you know your bed awaits and now it's time for sleeping,” Clint sings as he carries his youngest, Nathaniel, up the stairs.
It feels good to be home, to have his family back together again. It’s bittersweet, too, knowing that he’s here, that he can enjoy this, because Nat isn’t.
The toddler in his arms is named after two people who sacrificed their lives to keep him alive. Clint hopes that he can keep their memories alive through his son. When Nathaniel is old enough, he’ll explain to him who Pietro and Natasha were, leaving out some of the less savoury bits.
He definitely won’t be explaining what he got up to during the five years they were gone. Laura had asked, once, but when Clint made no noise and his eyes became glassy, she realised she didn’t want to know.
Entering the golden room, Clint pulls back the dinosaur print comforter and sets his son down on his ‘big-boy’ bed. He’s a good kid, much better at bedtime than his siblings were at the same age.
“What story would you like tonight?” Clints asks him, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“The one about you,” Nathaniel enthuses.
It’s not really about him, he’s not interesting enough for anyone to write about, but Nathaniel has decided that because Robin Hood and Clint both use a bow and arrow, they must, therefore, be the same person.
“Ok,” he says, and grabs the book. He’s read it so many times now, he knows what each page says, could recite the whole thing from memory, but Nathaniel gets upset if he doesn’t do it from the book, flipping the pages at the right times and doing all the voices.
Once Nathaniel is fast asleep, his nightlight making patterns on the ceiling, Clint begins creeping down the hallway. Cooper is up playing Call of Duty. He thinks about saying something but decides not to. As long as the kid goes to sleep at some point, and isn’t disturbing anyone, does it really matter? He doesn’t have school in the morning or anything.
He’s almost past Lila’s room when she pipes up.
“Dad?” she asks.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can you come here a sec?”
Clint pushes open the door and sees his teenage daughter curled up on her side, facing towards him. Her eyes are red and he can see that she’s been crying. Of the four of them, Lila is the one finding it hardest to adjust to being back. Her friends grew up while she was gone, they don’t want to hang out with a ‘kid’ anymore.
“What’s up?” he asks, stroking her hair.
“I can’t sleep,” she admits. “I keep worrying that I’m going to disappear again.”
“Oh sweetheart, no,” he says, his heart breaking for her. “That’s not gonna happen. Let me tell you a little secret about how to fall asleep, just between you and me. You can fall asleep by being very still. And let your breath slow down. And when you think your thoughts be sure that they are sweet ones.”
She was still before but she closes her eyes, and Clint can hear her breathing slowing down. He sits with her, on the side of the bed, just as he did with Nathaniel, until he can hear her softly snoring. There’s no nightlight in this room, so he leaves the door slightly ajar and keeps the hallway light on, just in case she has a nightmare.
Clint moves along the hardwood floor of the hallway, stopping in the bathroom, before making it to the room he shares with Laura.
“All done, daddy?” she asks as she puts down the heavy tome she’s reading. Since they’ve been back, Clint has been spending a lot more time with the children. He’d missed them so much over those five years, he didn’t want to lose another minute with them.
“Yeah, all done,” he explains, “unless you need me to put you to bed too.”
“Can I get a song like Nathaniel?” she asks as Clint cuddles up to her.
“Sure, honey,” he says, resting his head on her shoulder. “Goodnight Laura, close your eyes. Your worries are meant to stop, for now, you know they're not for keeping.”
Your Dad not noticing the mutual hickies was a long shot. Another long shot was Peter actually surviving the rest of the night.
“PARKER I SWEAR TO GOD YOU COME NEAR MY DAUGHTER AND SO HELP ME YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO PROCREATE!”
While everyone was laughing and blocking your Dad, Clint Barton, you grab Peters hand and run back to your room where you give him one last, prolonged, goodbye kiss before you basically push him out of the window.
You jump on your bed and lay in unnaturally trying to act natural pose. Suddenly your door slammed open with your Dad huffing.
“WHERE IS HE?” Your dad started pulling your room apart until he noticed the window ajar.
“So is Parker just outside this window, holding out until I’m gone so he can further corrupt my daughter?!?!”
You try not to laugh.
Natasha comes in and pats your Dad on the back.
“Give them a break, they’re young and reckless.”
“Yea, well young and reckless can also mean young and pregnant, young and heartbroken.”
While your father was looking down naming all the things “young and reckless” could mean, Natasha was motioning for you to escape the room of certain doom.
Once out of your room you ran to the elevator only to be stopped by someone even faster than you, Pietro.
“So little Barton, where do you think you’re going?”
“Uhh, on a nice evening stroll?” He laughed.
“Would you be going on this ‘stroll’ alone?”
“100% yes, yupperoni, no doubt about it... all alone.”
“Well,” he winked, “Since you said you were going alone, I have no choice but to believe you, have fun out there and, most importantly... stay safe.” Pietro winked again and lightly shoved you into the elevator.
You finally got outside with no other interactions with the rest of the Avengers. Outside the giant glass doors was Peter, waving at you like a dork. You walk outside, grab his hand and start walking, surrounded by a comfortable silence.
Realizing your situation is like one written by the infamous William Shakespeare you say “Lets not kill ourselves until the other is proven dead ‘kay?”
Peter just laughs and looks at you with almost heart eyes.
“So where do you wanna go?”
“Where do you wanna go?”
“I dunno, where do you wanna go?”
You giggle and pull Peter to a pizza place you knew would be open at this time of night.
After eating pizza and being a disgusting couple, you were getting tired. Peter suggested that you should go to his place because it’s closer and it’s not like the Avengers don’t know where he lives.
Back at Peter’s place Aunt May was already asleep on the couch so you had to very quietly sneak through the living room while the Real Housewives was on.
Once safely in Peter’s room you take the spider-boy by the hands and look into his eyes.
“This has been then best first date ever... thank you.”
You kiss his cheek and he blushes a nice peachy color.
Around midnight you both end of falling asleep watching the Empire Strikes Back.
In the wee hours of the morning you hear someone kick the door down.
“There better be clothes on under those sheets or you’ve never coming back to New York... I’ll get you banned!”
You roll your eyes, your Dad could be so overdramatic.
“Shh, Clint, they’re cuddling and it’s so pure, I’m taking pictures... don’t you dare touch Parker, yet.”
You hear the sound of a camera going off, you think about getting up to stop Natasha but you’re so tired.
“Alright, time to kill the bastard.”
“You cannot kill the Spider-boy, I invested a lot of money into him!”
How many of the Avengers were there?
“I blame Pietro, c’mon man, you’re fast how come you didn’t catch her in time?”
“Hey don’t blame me! I told you, I ate a lot of pizza and it slowed me down.”
“Sure and I’m the Queen of England.”
You decide enough is enough, “Shut up, I’m tired, you can ground me later.”
You turn over and Peter wakes up.
“Why are the Avengers assembled in my room looking like they’re gonna kill me?”
“Shh Petey, it’s a dream go back to sleep.”
Peter nervously nods and turns over with you while your Dad cracks his knuckles.
((A/N: I REALLY LIKED THIS PART, I’M GLAD SOMEONE REQUESTED A PART TWO))
"Whatcha doin', squirt?" Bucky asked, leaning on the door frame of Sierra's bedroom. The little spitfire had apparently made herself a fort. And put all her books in it. And her stuffed animals. And was prepared to not come out.
A wordless little shrug as she snuggled farther into Clint's hoodie damn near broke his heart. He walked in slowly and sat just outside, sitting cross-legged on the tie-dye rug Clint had put on your floor for her. "He'll be okay, you know," Bucky said quietly, holding his arms out for her to climb into them. But when she doesn't, he doesn't take it personally. Clint had been right. She was a lot like a cat. Sierra liked to be cuddled but only on her terms. Which was fair.
"Promise?" she asks, looking up at him.
He nodded and smiled a little. It had been three days. Three days of trying to keep her occupied like he'd been told to. And it had had the unintended benefit of keeping him occupied too. But, like most things with Sierra, still, waters ran deep. And it didn't matter how many games they played or things Bucky let her do, the worry was still there. Just under the surface.
"Bruce says he's got a recipe he wants to try," Bucky tried, anxious to get her out of the fort and doing something. "Says he needs his expert helper since Tony keeps messin' around."
She looks up at him, and for just a second look so much like Clint, his heart twists unpleasantly. Big baby blue eyes regard him steadily. It makes him feel exposed. "C'mon, Squirt," he coaxes, "Let's go make some brownies, huh?" Sierra loves brownies. Not cake. Not cupcakes. Not cookies. Brownies. So when she shakes her head and clutches her fairy tale book closer to her chest, Bucky's at a loss.
"What'cha readin'," he tries. She hands him the book carefully. It's fragile. Held together with tape and a prayer. Bucky knows this book. Clint told him her mom had found it for her in a second-hand store. It went with her everywhere. A rectangular security blanket. No matter how smart she got or how easy the book got for her to read. It had bedtime stories in it. Bucky whistled softly, carefully thumbing through pages, "This one's seen better days, huh?" he said, "Maybe we can sweet talk your dad into getting you a new one when he gets home."
The soft distressed sound that the little girl makes, makes him wince internally. It wasn't the thing that was important to her. It was what the thing represented. A new one wouldn't be right.
"Well, maybe," he tries, "You can sweet talk him into a new book about bones." Bones were the new obsession. Pre-human ancestors. Darwin. Why? Who knew. Sierra just kinda fell down rabbit holes. A line in a book leads to another fact. Lead to another question. Lead to another book. Rinse and repeat until she knew how castles were built or cats were mummified.
Sierra doesn't answer, but he knows she's listening. She's too still to not be. She wants to be comforted, but Bucky's still too new for cuddles or feelings. Clint or Nat. She'll climb on them with no problems. They get the fears and anxieties. Bucky gets guarded stares. Not afraid, Clint insists. Just cautious. He'd explained once that Eve tended to serial date and "new" people didn't manage to be around long.
"Snow White," Bucky read, smiling a little, "My little sister loved that story." Blue eyes regarded him curiously, and he laughed softly, "Did you know that's the first movie I ever saw in a theater? We took my sister Becky for her 7th Birthday. That would have been-" He trailed off, struggling to remember the date. At least the year.
"1938," Sierra supplied, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve.
"Yeah," Bucky said, giving her a crooked smile, "It was my favorite movie for a long time." He doesn't have to ask how she knew that. She'd probably read it somewhere, and it just stuck in her head. That happened. A lot.
"I have that movie," she said helpfully.
"Wanna watch with me?" he offered, "I haven't seen it in... Well. A long time." He and Clint both agreed some things Sierra was too little to know. She knew he was old. Like a hundred. But not how he got there. And that was enough. At least until she was old enough to understand.
"Can Elsie watch too?" she asks.
The dog. Her stuffed dog, he recalls after half a second. He wants to ask why it matters, but. Eight. Eight years old. More importantly, Scared Eight year old. That thought rings in first. "Can she stay quiet?" he teases.
A nod later, and Sierra disappears into her fort, wiggling out under her bed. Bucky sets the book down carefully and stands up, going to find some extra pillows for the couch. And maybe some popcorn and drinks.
He looks up when Sierra comes out of her room. Her blanket, her dog, and the movie bundled in her arms. "Ready?" he asks, smiling a little. She nods and climbs onto the couch, wrapping herself up in her blanket. A tiny nest to replace the big one she had in her fort.
Bucky puts the movie in and props his feet on the table. He doesn’t expect Sierra to come and cuddle into his side, but when she does, he brushes a kiss against her hair, “Sleepy?” he asked quietly.
She nods, and Bucky smiles a little, “Me too,” he said, “It’s not the same without your dad here, is it?”
“He’s okay, right?” a scared little voice murmurs, hidden in the blanket.
“No news is good news, Squirt,” he says softly. “He’s gonna be fine, okay? He’ll be back and tucking you into bed before you know it, okay?”
Things are quiet for a long time. Snow White whistling while she works as the tv cast a soft glow over the room. Bucky watches the reflection in her glasses. Big blue eyes only distantly watching the dancing characters.
“Bucky?” she murmurs, tucking herself closer.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here. Dad really loves you.” It’s said quietly. Bluntly. With the honesty inherent in little kids. And somehow, it’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to him in a long time. The Sierra stamp of approval was something he hadn’t realized he wanted. Not until he had it.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” he said, stroking her hair. “Never figured I’d have a family... I even got a punk kid in the deal.” He smiles down at her as she crinkles her nose at him, “I still say you cheat at scrabble.”
“You speak four languages,” she protests, “It’s not my fault you forgot ‘Juxtaposition’ was a word.”
“I want a rematch,” he says, stretching lazily.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bucky.”
“Weirdo,” he teases gently, handing her the popcorn bowl.
“I mean... My dad grew up in the circus, and my aunt is a spy.” she points out.
“Fair point,” he says, chuckling, “At least you won’t grow up to be boring.”
