After Barney is finally arrested after being hunted by the CIA for six years, things take a drastic turn for Clint. Barney's son, Jesse is entrusted into his care, but the boy seems to have a childhood far too like his own. The similarities begin to pull up an awful lot of memories that Clint had fought to forget, but can Clint pull it together to give Jesse the happy childhood he has missed out on, or will it all be too much?
Warning- mentions of child abuse and some language.
The room was simple. A plain, white bed with a metal frame stood in the left hand corner and beside it a chest of draws which Clint presumed were empty. The room had no windows to the outside; the carpet was a soft shade of light blue and the walls were white. It seemed as if someone had at least made an effort to make the room seem a little more homely, but really it reminded Clint of a hospital room. The door was situated on the right hand side opposite the bed, next to a long window which enabled the person on the outside to be unseen whilst they looked in.
Jesse Barton sat on the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off the side and not reaching the floor. He wore a hospital gown that was far too big and hung across his skinny shoulders like a fabric bin bag. He twisted his fingers and chewed his knuckles as he glanced around anxiously.
Phil glanced at Jesse, and then Clint, amused that the later was unconsciously copying his nephew's nervous ticks. "You know, you really don't have to do this." He said calmly.
Clint didn't even take his eyes of the boy, just raised his eyebrows. "What and let social services take over? You know how that seems to work out for the Barton family." He let out an uneasy breath. "How much do I tell him? I don't want to lie."
"If you mean to carry out what you intend to do, there's no use hiding anything you wouldn't hide from Sam. Just break it in easy- he's only a kid."
Clint nodded and smoothed out imaginary creases in his jeans. He picked up the plastic bag Natasha had told him to bring, and entered the room.
Jesse's head darted towards the door and he immediately turned ten times more fearful. Quickly, he lowered his head to the floor and seemed to try to make himself as small as possible.
Clint didn't think he'd been so nervous in his entire life.
"Hey" He said uncertainly, sitting carefully on the bed. Almost subconsciously, the boy inched further away.
Jesse's hair was fairly long and shaggy, almost as if he was going for the Boromir look. (Clint was an archer- therefore obviously a Lord of the Rings fan). His eyes were hidden by his bangs, but the shadow of a bruise on his right cheekbone defiantly wasn't. Clint's stomach twisted unpleasantly.
"So I guess this must be pretty scary." He continued.
"No sir, I'm not scared." Jesse's voice was quiet and surprisingly low, like the voice of someone who spent his time trying his very best not to be heard.
"I'm an agent of SHIELD. My name's Clint Barton- but you can call me Clint."
Jesse's head jerked up sharply. Clint got a better view of his face- including his blue eyes, the cut on his lip and the scrape along his chin. He felt the goose bumps rise along his arms.
For the briefest of moments Jesse looked confused, but then sculptured his face into a perfect picture of blankness which could have fooled the toughest interrogator, and would have fooled Clint too if he hadn't spent the first 16 years of his life perfecting the very same expression.
Clint took a deep breath. "And I'm Barney's brother. I'm your uncle."
This time there was no mask at all- Jesse looked openly afraid. His breathe quickened and he started itching away again. Clint started to feel uneasy too, as if the sizable room was getting smaller. Very suddenly, he needed to get out.
"Hey, you must be hungry." He said.
"No sir." Jesse mumbled. He was so quiet Clint expected he wouldn't have heard him at all, if not for his aids.
"Well I'm gonna go get something to eat. Do you like cake? I can bring you some back if you want."
"I don't mind, sir."
"Well I'll get you something." Clint lifted the plastic bag onto the bed, and said, "I brought you some clothes- can you get changed by the time I get back?"
Jesse eyed the bag with open apprehension, but seemed to decide that whatever was inside couldn't be any worse than what Clint would do to him if he disobeyed, and nodded.
Clint tried to pretend he hadn't noticed this, and smiled. "Cool- I'll be back in a minuet."
Once outside the room, he slid down the opposite wall until he was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them and hid his face. Phil was by his side immediately, squeezing the back of his neck comfortingly. "You did well, kid – that was good." Phil reassured him.
Clint let out a breath that could have been mistaken for a sob, and ran his hand down his face. "Fuck Phil. Fuck. It's not fair- he's just a kid! I'm gonna kill Barney, I swear. He's just as bad as dad."
Phil realised that Clint was actually very shaken up- he only ever spoke of his father if he was either delirious or on an awful lot of painkillers.
"I know." Phil said, "I know. But we can help him now, right? Now he's gonna be ok."
Jesse had changed out of the hospital gown and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt by the time Clint, who was bearing cake, returned. The boy was sitting on the side of the bed again, swinging his legs in what could have been mistaken for a picture of ease if it wasn't for him gnawing at his nails.
"I brought cake- and orange juice, do you like orange juice?"
Jesse stopped wrecking his cuticles to say, "I don't mind sir," and then proceeded again. Clint sat on the bed and handed him the cake. He set the glass of orange juice on the chest of draws.
Jesse started to eat, and Clint crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, hoping that if he seemed at ease Jesse would relax. It didn't seem to work.
Jesse was far to skinny. The t-shirt hung over him as baggy as the hospital gown did, and his skin seemed stretched over certain parts of him, like his wrists and elbows. His were also to skinny and his knuckles seemed to stick out in almost an unnatural way. He was eating like he hadn't eaten in days.
Clint tore his eyes away and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So, you must be wondering what is going on."
"Yes sir." Clint was beginning to realise that Jesse seemed to agree with everything Clint said. He could have accused Jesse of being a girl, and he doubted he would have argued.
"Well, have you heard of the CIA?"
There was a pause. "Yes sir."
"I'm not going to tell you off if you don't." Clint said softly.
Another pause. "I haven't heard of the CIA, sorry sir."
"The CIA is an American secret service. Barney, your dad, joined in 2005, worked there for a year and seemed to get on very well. But then he left suddenly in the fall of 2007. The CIA thought nothing of it until a while later, when a selection of their secret files were starting to be found in the hands of various other… organizations. They investigated and what they found lead them to Barney, who it turns out had been collecting the files during the two years at he worked there, and then sold them to the other side once he left."
Jesse frowned. Clint was surprised he didn't seem to look at all alarmed by all this new information. "How come it took so long for dad to be arrested?" The boy asked.
"Barney was good at keeping under the radar. He didn't use a cell phone, nor seemed to have a bank account. In the end the CIA found him from CTTV cameras and witness accounts."
Jesse chewed his thumb. "I suppose we did move around a lot. "
"How often did you move?"
Jesse turned thoughtful for a moment. "The longest stayin' in one place I can remember was three months. Other times it was just a couple of weeks. Sometimes something would happen and we'd have to leave real quick."
"Where would you stay?" Clint asked.
Suddenly words were tumbling out of Jesse's mouth, almost like they'd been waiting to be said for far too long. Clint remembered that when he had been very young, he'd simply never stop talking. But once he got to the age of about nine, he'd realised that people didn't actually care about what he had to say. Phil had managed to get him talking properly again, though he suspected that every once in a while, such as on long, tedious stake outs where Clint would complain for hours about the weather, how hard to ground was, how hungry and cold he was and so on, Phil maybe regretted it slightly.
"When I was little we used to have a camper van- that was cool. I had my own room, and sometimes, if dad was in a good mood or we had enough money and gas, he'd turn the heating on. But I think he had to sell it, and then we just had a little car for a couple of years. But we lost that after we had to leave quickly one time. Dad got in a bar fight and beat the other guy up pretty bad, so the police were after us. After that we just stayed in flats or motels, but it was cold and dark 'cause we didn't have money for the electricity."
"Did you like it?" Clint asked softly.
"No." Jesse said quietly. "I didn't like it at all." He had stopped chewing his nails now, and was twisting his hands instead.
Clint stared at him for a moment, and then said, "Do you want a hug?"
Jesse frowned at him. "A what?"
"A hug." Clint repeated, louder this time.
"What's wanna them?" Jesse said, looking bewildered.
Clint stared at him again. "Well it's kinda when… it's like… look, it'd be easier to show you."
Jesse immediately looked fearful, and started edging away again. "No, no I don't, I'm sorry, please don't-"
Clint reached over and scooped Jesse into his lap so that his right side was parallel to Clint's chest, and his head rested between his shoulder and his neck. Jesse stiffened, and balled his bony hands into fists, but didn't move or protest. Clint wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his hand comfortably up and down his back, making shushing noises like he would after Natasha had nightmares.
Once Jesse realised that Clint really wasn't going to hurt him, he relaxed.
"I'm sorry all these things happen to you." Clint said softly.
Jesse looked up at him, confused.
"You're only a kid, you shouldn't have to deal with all this. But listen, things are going to be ok now. I'm going to look after you."
Jesse didn't reply, but rubbed his eyes with his fist and dropped his head to Clint's shoulder, sighing. They didn't speak anymore, but Clint kept rubbing his back, and within the next half an hour, Jesse fell asleep.