Thanks for taking the time to read this story, please note this story is AU (Alternate Universe). Clint, Tony , and Loki are cute little elementary school kids. Bruce, Steve, Natasha, and Thor are middle school students.

Summary: Clint has been in multiple foster homes, each seemed to be unfitting for him, until he meets Phil Coulson.

Rated: T due to the possible future chapters if this story comes out well.

*Those who are reading Fight, Live, Retaliate, I'm working on those chapters too as I am uploading this. Chapter 14 of Fight, Live, Retaliate is already done, but will not be uploaded until Tuesday or Wednesday.

NOTE**: Apparently IHC had gotten the wrong idea and thought it was okay to upload my story. IHC was one of my test readers and DID NOT write this story. I sent IHC a message after learning what happened and hopefully we'll get this straightened out soon. This story originally wasn't supposed to be released until June 2nd, but due to unruly circumstances, I will release the first chapter now. To sort of "prove" that I'm the writer to this story, I have added a chapter two preview.

at Acrylic's review. Mistake has been corrected, thanks for catching it.

Wants and Needs

Chapter 1

Mr. Coulson

Coulson eyed all the children in the adoption center's playroom with warm, gentle eyes. Even though he did an excellent job keeping his facial expression soft and light, he couldn't help but notice that the children still seemed to look at him momentarily before fleeing into their games.

"Mr. Coulson?" A lady asked as she approached Phil with a clipboard.

"Please, call me Phil." He suggested, shaking her extended hand.

"I'm Amanda." She grinned flirtatiously. "Come this way. The children are playful, but hesitant, so you'll have to move slowly."

Phil nodded and stood behind Amanda as she squatted down and allowed the children to come to her instead of the other way around. He assumed it was about a trust bond, and eventually, other children began clinging to Clint's pants leg too. They sat on his dress shoe and asked him for a "leg ride."

"Who might you be?" Phil asked as he sat with his legs crisscrossed.

"I'm Max! I'm six!" The boy shouted cheerfully before extending his hand to reached for another. A girl squeezed her way through the crowd and let out a shy smile. "This is Emily, my sister. She's four."

"And a half!" The girl added.

"Nice to meet you." Phil greeted, lending them each a finger to shake.

After a few hours of socializing, the kids dispersed back into their games, laughing and playing with the use of props and their imagination.

"That's all the children Phil, any you'd like to adopt?"

Phil thought for a while and removed his tie to help him breathe after getting to know such high energies. He looked around and saw a boy who was huddled in the corner, away from all the interactions. He watched as the boy set up a tower of cube letter blocks, stacking from the bottom to the top, letters C-L-I-N-T-X-B-A-R-T-O-N.

He watched as the boy walked about three feet back and held a cheap plastic bow with a suction arrow in his hands. The boy took a deep breath and drew back the arrow with almost perfect form. The blonde boy took aim and released his finger off the inexpensive string material. The arrow crossed through the air, skewing messily off course before hitting nothing.

"Nice shot Barfton!" one of the children mocked.

Phil could see Clint flinch at the boy's rude remark before angrily taking up the bow again and firing another arrow. This time, the arrow made its mark. The suction knocked the letter "X" block in the center with enough velocity that the B-A-R-T-O-N blocks landed smoothly right on top of the C-L-I-N-T blocks.

Still loaded with anger, the boy took a Nerf gun off the floor and checked it for ammo. He quickly snapped the cylinder shut and struggled to cock the plastic gun back. After hearing the click, he fired. He repeated this, shooting the blocks out of his little tower in alphabetical order until it was reduced to a single T.

"I haven't met that boy." Phil commented. He could feel a smile form across his face, and instantly, he knew this was the child he wanted to adopt and connect with.

Amanda frowned. "We actually don't bother with this one. He's troublesome and tends to not do well with others. He's about to be put in another foster system that deals with kids much like him."

"Don't bother?" Phil snapped. "You didn't even give him a chance, we me!"

"He doesn't approach—"

"That doesn't mean he's trouble! Maybe he's shy or insecure!" Phil continued to rant.

Clint put the Nerf gun back on the floor, exactly how he had found it after cleaning up after himself. He watched as the man who's been here for a good two hours argue with Amanda. The bitch of a caretaker.

Even though Clint was eight, he could already analyze the defensive expression that the man in the suit was holding. It was a similar expression his mother would use when she protected him. An expression he hadn't seen since he was four.

On the other hand, he could tell that Amanda was unimpressed, by the way her lip pulled to the corner of her mouth.

He slowly moved closer and could hear Amanda's venomous words, which he soon began to believe. No one wanted him, he was brought into homes then pushed back out after managing to screw up. He didn't want to go through the emotional stress again. He just didn't want it.

He held firmly to the ground and held back the tears that welled up at the of his eyes. Clint moved quickly, purposely bumping his shoulder against Phil's thigh roughly.

Clint didn't realize how tall the man was and was forced to look up as the man looked down.

The child gazed with only hate in his eyes. "Don't bother with me mister. I'm, troublesome." He voiced low and hushed.

Phil was taken-back by what the young child was saying. It scared Phil because he knew, the boy was taking these words to heart.

"Clint!" Amanda spoke sharply before grabbing the tiny wrist and pulling him away. "Apologize!"

Clint looked down, unwilling to produce anymore words.

"It's really alright." Phil responded while sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sure he means no harm."

"No. He's really trouble Phil." Amanda clarified.

Being an agent, Phil could see an ongoing tension between Amanda and Clint. Despite how calm and uncaring Clint's expression was showing, he could see almost every muscle in the tiny body was tensed as if it were bracing itself for an oncoming attack.

"I'll be right back." She added before dragging Clint out of the playroom.

Suddenly feeling uninterested in the other children, Coulson secretly stalked out of the playroom behind Amanda. He ducked behind walls as he heard the footsteps lead him through the foster center. He was grateful he came on a non-busy hour, because he felt awkward playing James Bond in a foster center.

He heard the footsteps stop and decided to take a peak from his wall, but didn't advance.

"You know. You may have just ruined all chances for that perfectly good man to adopt a child, you know that?" He heard Amanda spoke mercilessly. "We should just have you shipped out to the next foster center, because frankly Clint, I don't think I can take any more of you!"

"Go ahead." He heard a small voice respond dimly.

"You think this is a joke? We rescued you from an abusive home and this is how you repay us?"

Phil saw Clint jump onto the indoor bench in an attempt to get closer into Amanda's face. "What's the difference?" He screamed. Phil was somewhat confused by the statement until he saw Amada's hand raised. She swiped her open palm through the air and slapped Clint against the cheek, hard enough that he fell down, but luckily, not off the bench.

Clint held his cheek for comfort and bit back, but his shallow breathing was obvious; he was going to fight the tears even if he had to draw blood to his lip.

"Hey!" Without thinking, Phil shouted through the echoing hallway and Amanda turned around. "I want to adopt Clint."

"Phil, there are—"

"Please, Amanda. Call me Mr. Coulson." He spoke coldly before walking to Clint who had buried his face in his arms. He ran his hand along Clint's shaking spine, and felt the boy try to pull back. He sighed as he sat down, waving Amanda off to fetch the adoption papers. "Hey there." He spoke gently.

The blonde peaked out from his arms and straightened himself up, acting as if nothing had ever happened. With his mouth pressed into a pout, he huffed stubbornly. "You wouldn't want me. I'm trouble." He repeated.

"That can't be true. I don't even know you." Coulson smiled genuinely. "I think we can make great friends."

Clint raised an eyebrow, snarling as he said, "what makes you think that?"

The agent wanted to smile as he saw the small boy try his best at appearing as a threat. "First off we have a few things in common."

"Like what?"

"Well, we both have short hair."

"That doesn't count."

Coulson thought for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea to pull out his firearm, but after seeing Clint unfazed by his words, he shoved his reluctance away.

Clint watched curiously as Mr. Coulson shifted away from him a bit. He thought the man was readjusting his pants or belt, until he saw a gun come into view.

Coulson unloaded the weapon and put the ammo casing safely in his pocket. After checking the barrel and safety clip, he held the gun out flatly in his palm. "We're both great shots." He winked. "Wanna hold it?"

The eight year old eagerly took the weapon out of the agent's palm and felt the heavy weight in his tiny hands. He began to look at every centimeter of the firearm, taking in every detail from his sight and from his touch. He smiled when he saw his distorted reflection in the gun, puffing his cheeks so they looked more stretched out.

It confused Coulson how a young child could be so comfortable with a weapon. Children may have used harmless plastic knives when playing with a kitchen toy set, but if they were in a live kitchen, there was absolutely no way would a child dive for the most pointy knife in the cabinet.

He heard footsteps approaching them and urged Clint to quickly toss it back.

Clint did easily, but was unable to wipe the dorky smile on his face. He was still excited after being able to hold a real gun. How many boys could do that?

Amanda and another lady came with a clipboard. The woman handed Coulson the clipboard with a pen attached to it and took a seat next to him on the long bench.

"Hello Mr. Coulson, I'm Melissa Brooks, I hear you want to adopt Clint?" She asked professionally, adjusting her glasses as she double checked the adoption papers on the clipboard.

"Yes," he responded earnestly, "I believe we'd get along just fine."

"Amanda, please prepare Clint for leave, Mr. Coulson, please walk with me."

Coulson gave Clint a pat on the back and the blond frowned as he hopped off the bench to follow the caretaker. Phil stood up and followed behind Melissa as she walked through the adoption center.

"Usually," she began, "after doing a background check on the parent, we would do supervised visits before putting the child in full custody."

Coulson nodded. "I understand."

"But this time, we aren't doing that for Clint Barton." She added, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "I respect all children here, but Clint can't have a place here anymore. He has difficulty socializing and you know how it is with children who doesn't know better, they torment and tease him. I would like to ask if you could take full custody of Clint immediately, seeing that government officials themselves had recommended you as exceptionally responsible and with reports of you having prior experience with child care."

Coulson was speechless for a bit. He wasn't exactly prepared to take Clint home so soon, but he accepted whole heartedly. Melissa thanked Coulson excessively for accepting a responsibility on short notice, but he shrugged off the appreciation as if it were no more than a simple favor.

They walked back to the bench with papers signed and finalized, and soon after, Clint began to approach them with a backpack on his back. His facial expression no longer showed it, but the way he moved with energy and passion told Coulson that Clint was happier than he let on.

"Ready to go?" Coulson asked raising an eyebrow at the small backpack, unsure if there were any more to Clint's belongings.

Clint gave a firm nod and Phil shrugged and the two exited the facility.

As they walked to the black car, Coulson helped Clint into the backseat and strapped him in with a seatbelt. He moved to the driver seat, plugged in the car keys, and buckled in. "So is that all of your belongings?" He asked as he adjusted the review mirror.

"Yup." Clint replied. "Most of the clothes here are shared."

"Ah. Then, we should go clothes shopping." the agent suggested as switched highways to the nearest mall.

"Mr. Coulson." Clint piped up a little.

"Yes?"

He shifted nervously in the back of his seat before facing the window. "Nothing."

Coulson smiled lightly when he saw the window reflect the image of another excited smile concealed against the boy's lips. He felt good that everything was going out fine, a little bit, too fine. He wondered why people would think of Clint as being troublesome. Clint seemed like a scared, sensitive fellow who put on an aggressive front to mask his vulnerability, yet, it doesn't seem that Clint was capable of hurting anybody.

They pulled into the mall and Phil scooped Clint out of his black SUV. He felt as Clint had a near death grip on his pointer finger as they walked into the mall, but upon looking at his expression, Clint looked strong and bashful.

They walked to the nearest clothing store and Phil began to rummage through stacks of clothing. "Anything you like so far kid?" He asked.

Clint shrugged. "It doesn't really matter," he replied sitting from a seat, "I'm fine with anything."

The agent pulled his head out of the mess of clothing. "I don't want to pick something you don't like." He responded honestly. "So please look around and find something you'd want to wear."

Barton's shoulders fell in defeat and he got off from his seat to choose a shirt. He pulled out a purple shirt with nothing but red crosshairs in the center and showed it to Coulson.

"Looks nice." Phil commented with a grin, happy that Clint was able to choose for himself. In the end, they bought a few blue jeans, some khaki shorts, and multiple shirts that were mainly red, black, or purple. After getting other essentials, they walked around the mall some more, and Phil could see that Clint was eyeing the Lego store.

He nudged Clint inside the toy store and took a seat on a Lego bench sculpture as he loosely watched the boy interact with the toys.

There was a table with an array of Lego parts for play and Clint took the pieces in his hands, fascinated by how they clicked together. With astounding memory, he began to replicate the gun that Coulson had. He remembered seeing all the pieces and how the gun parts moved when Coulson was disengaging it. He recreated the sliding barrel, to a moving safety latch, and even had a Lego ammo case that could slid in and out.

"Nice gun you made there!" a staff employee commented as he approached Clint.

Clint mumbled a quick apology and began to take the gun apart, until the employee put his hands over the boy's fingers.

"Hey, don't be sorry," the employee explained, "I want to put this in the display box for show."

Clint was unsure what to say, so he simply nodded before running to Coulson. He propped himself up on the Lego bench and buried his head into Coulson's torso.

"Hey, what's wrong buddy?" Phil asked as he patted Clint's head.

The employee came up to Phil with a friendly shrug. "Sorry if I scared your kid man. I just wanted to put his Lego creation in the display box, then he fled."

"It's fine, he's just a bit shy to adults. So, what did he make?"

"A detailed gun with moving parts, it looks incredible." The man replied. "Here, I want to give you this flyer."

Phil took it in his hands and read the flyer.

LEGO CREATION CONTEST

SHOW OFF YOUR LEGO CREATIONS WITH A CHANCE TO WIN $200 WORTH OF LEGOS ALONG WITH $50 WORTH OF CASH!

WHEN: 6PM – 9PM

WHERE: AT PARTICIPATING LEGO STORES

DIVISION A

AGES 5-8

DIVISION B

AGES 9-13

DIVISION C

AGES 14-18

DIVISION D

AGES 18+

*THERE IS A $5 REGISTRATION FEE.

"Thanks." Phil spoke eagerly as he sought this opportunity for Clint to socialize. "I think he'll love this."

"No problem," the employee said, "the contest is next Saturday, oh, and here." He handed Phil a box of 300 basic Lego pieces. "Just a little something for the kid for making an amazing model for our display purposes."

Phil watched as the employee walked off and gave Clint a little reassuring shake. "Hey, he's gone now. There's nothing to be afraid of." He cooed with a chuckle.

Clint popped his head out of the crook of Phil's arm and gave him another stubborn pout. "I wasn't scared!"

"Sure you weren't." Phil joked as he pushed a box of Legos to Clint. "The employee wanted to give this to you, for making that gun out of Legos."

They walked out of the store while Clint examined the back of the box, reading the pieces that it contained. As they walked out of the mall and back into the black SUV, Coulson thumped his fingers repeatedly against the steering wheel.

"Something the matter Mr. Coulson?" Clint asked as he clutched the box in his hands.

"You can call me Phil." He began, "And, Clint, I'm going to have to enroll you into a new school that's closer to my home, so you can't attend the one you used to attend. Is that alright?"

"Why won't it be?" Clint asked with a questionable look. "It's not like I had friends over there anyway."

Coulson frowned when he heard those words and the two drove home in silence.

After unloading their bags from the car into the Phil's house, Clint stepped in with caution. He knew this was no longer his territory nor was it public territory. He was stepping into Coulson's territory, and it could have been a whole new game field.

The clothes shopping and the whole Lego stunt could have just been a trap; he wouldn't be stupid enough to fall for it. Not this time.

He began to obediently shuffle through the house, putting things away exactly where Coulson had asked and keeping a fair distance to not invade in any personal space. He continued to stand, and didn't dare to sit on any upholstery until he was given permission to.

Coulson stared at Clint. He knew exactly what was going through his mind. "You don't have to wait for me to offer you to sit down. Do so whenever you feel." Coulson had been an agent for the past five years and had already dealt with persons from all sorts of backgrounds, from the casual psychopath to the heavily abused.

Though, even with Coulson's interpersonal understanding, Clint was still cautious. "It's fine." He stated stiffly.

The older male sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a seat across from the younger boy and looked at him sympathetically. "I don't want you to feel afraid of me." Coulson admitted. "But I can tell that you do." He looked away, feeling awkward to have such an intense conversation with a child. "I'm not asking you to trust me, not right away, but please understand, I would never hurt you intentionally."

Clint tilted his head. "Intunshunally?"

Coulson laughed. "I would never do anything that I know will hurt you." He gave Clint a pat on the head. "Why don't you head off to bed? You have a big day tomorrow. It's the first room to the right."

Clint snuggled into the bed sheets. They were warm, soft, and something he never felt in a long time. Sure, the adoption center had bed sheets, but his roommates were always stealing his.

He tossed around in the bed, suddenly feeling a bit too safe. His heart started to race and panic began to rise up his throat. He choked dryly and sat up to try to settle his body. Taking deep breaths like he was taught, he tried calming down. His breathing became more rapid and his finger began to tremble. He pushed himself into the corner of his room and bed, hugging his knees tightly. He sobbed into his shorts, letting out a whimper here and there.

I'm going to find you Clint, no need to wait up for me…

Clint took in a sharp breath of air and covered his ears.

And you will listen to me you little cunt.

He began to shake his head and pushed his neck down deeper into his knees. His back rubbed against the walls, but he continued to try to back up further. He heard a menacing laughter ring through his ears and he let out a wail before Phil quickly opened the door.

"Clint!" He shouted in worry, getting onto the bed and cupping Clint's face in his calloused hands. "Clint, look at me kiddo. It's alright buddy, come on, you're fine!" He brushed his thumbs over Clint's cheeks, wiping the tears away and the fragile child slowly opened his water brushed eyes before leaping into the comfort that was Phil Coulson.

"There, there…" he continued to coo in a hushed voice. They remained still for a good ten minutes before Clint pulled away.

" 'm sorry." He mumbled before tucking himself away again.

"It's okay buddy, don't be sorry." the agent assured. "No one can hurt you now. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Clint looked away, not ready to speak.

"Would you like me to stay with you?" He asked, which Clint nodded to. Coulson went to his desk to grab his work files and returned in less than a minute. With a pen in hand, he sat with his back against the bed's headboard, and Clint snuggled up to Coulson's warmth.

Phil pulled the blanket up to Clint's shoulder, the boy wasn't asleep yet. He checked his watch; it was 1:00 AM. "Try to sleep?" He asked as he nibbled on the edge of his pen. "Your first day of school is in seven hours."

Clint climbed into Phil's lap, bringing the blanket with him, and Phil readjusted himself so that the two were comfortable. Clint's eyes eventually grew heavy. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, feeling the gentle kiss on his forehead before he drifted off.

"Rise and shine!" Coulson greeted cheerily as he saw Clint begin to stir.

Clint got out of bed, feeling refreshed. It was one of the best sleeps he had in a long time. He made his bed and trudged over to the bathroom to do his business, hearing Coulson call to him saying that his toothbrush was the purple one.

He brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror.

"You look like a freak." He spoke aloud, glaring at himself. He clapped his cheeks to bring himself some more focus before leaving the bathroom. It was a defense mechanism he used. If he could accept what he was, then it shouldn't bother him as much.

As he returned to his room, he saw a set of clothing Mr. Coulson had left out for him. It was a black shirt with a simple red pattern that went vertically down his torso and across his chest. He put on a pair of blue jeans and ran around the house to find his new foster-person.

There was breakfast on one side of the table and Mr. Coulson at the other side. He took his seat and stared at his breakfast unsure whether to touch it or leave it.

"Go ahead." Phil encouraged. "You're going to need some energy for the day."

Clint took a sample bite from the scrambled eggs, showing no emotions as he did.

"You don't like it?" Phil frowned.

"I like it." He replied softly.

They got into the car after breakfast and Coulson couldn't help but notice discomfort scribbled all over Clint's face. "School will be great." He assured. "You'll make friends and you'll have a blast." Clint's silence gave him a heartache and he continuously peaked up to the rear view mirror to get a glance at the child. He could already tell that the boy had withdrew himself into his own protective barrier, masking himself with the I-don't-give-a-shit mask.

As they reached the school, they checked in with the principal, and an office aid took Clint away to his first class. The school had offered Clint if he wanted to watch Clint for a day, but disappointedly had to turn down the offer due to his line of work, but he made sure that his cellphone would always be open for a ring if anything happened.

Clint was guided into a classroom where the teacher greeted him with a motherly smile, one like Coulson's. It made him feel a bit better, but all of the other children staring at him made him feel more uncomfortable than did the smile made him feel better.

The teacher motioned him to come closer, and he did.

"Class, this is our new student, Clint Barton, he's in the third grade." She smiled. "Clint, this is a mixed class of third and forth graders. Would you like to say anything to the class?"

"No." Clint hissed.

She knew Clint wasn't in the mood to talk, so she sent him to sit down in the open seat at a table with two other boys.

As he sat down, the boy next to him with black hair combed neatly to the side extended his hand to shake as a mutual greeting. He sat straight with is chest held high, and a natural charisma that somehow radiated from his body. "I'm Tony." He replied. "Fourth grader."

When Clint didn't respond or take his hand, Tony didn't take it offensively. Instead, he pointed his thumb to the boy next to him in a green shirt who also had black hair, but it was sophistically slicked back. "And this is Loki." Tony continued. "Also fourth grader."

Clint leaned his cheek against his hand as if he was bored and completely uninterested. "So, are you two like brothers?" He asked dully.

"No." Loki frowned. "We are not, brothers. My brother's hair is blond, a bit brighter in color than yours."

"Huh. So your hair is black, but your brother hair is blonde? I thought all siblings have the same hair color." Clint smirked, attempting for a verbal attack.

Loki shrugged off Clint's words, but spoke uneasily. "I'm adopted."

"Really?" Clint asked. Before Loki could reply, Clint simply turned his head away, trying to tell the boys he wasn't interested in making friends.

When the bell rang to dismiss the children for lunch, Clint watched and waited as all the students rushed outside to play. He looked at his table, noting how Loki and Tony were still sitting at their desks.

"Aren't you two going to go outside?" The blond boy asked with a huff.

"Aren't you?" Tony retorted with a pay-back smile.

"Fine."

Clint got out of his seat and paced quickly out of the classroom. He found random spot on the playground that was fairly high. It was a clear area, and he was able to watch all the other students play. He noticed how all the students suddenly turned to look at him, and everything just stopped.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" A fifth grader yelled as he got close into Clint's face. "This is Fifth Grade Territory."

Clint evenly matched the older child's gaze, unaffected by how big or how much of a threat the other child could be. He had dealt with children like this, and it never became a big deal to him.

The fifth grade grabbed Clint by his shirt collar. "What are you doing here?" The boy snarled again.

Clint tried to pry the hand away from his shirt collar, but failed. He put his hands down and leaned backwards with his full weight so that the boy either had to release his hold, or come down with him.

The older boy released his grip and Clint fell on his bottom. He stood up, matching his height to only up to the other boy's chest and just smirked. He laughed a little before keeping silent and watching the children play.

"Clint!" Tony shouted as he tried to get up on the playground. A wall of fifth and forth graders blocking his path. "Let me get through! He's my friend!"

Clint's ears caught onto the word and turned his head curiously. Suddenly, he felt his foot being grabbed, and looked down to see Loki who had climbed up the long, twisty slide. With a devilish smirk, Loki pulled Clint down the slide, bringing them both to safety.

Tony was quick to end his distraction and went off to see Clint.

"You should be more careful, those kids could really pack a punch." Tony warned as he began to nonchalantly brush off the dirt from Clint's shirt.

"I don't care." Clint glared, before walking off.

Tony and Loki shrugged and continued to follow Clint anyway. They took a seat on each side of the swings, with Clint in the middle.

Clint pouted and pushed himself off, then sharply turned around. "Why do you guys keep following me?"

Loki shrugged.

"You're, sort of interesting, and mysterious." Tony mentioned.

"Mysterious?" Clint cocked his head.

"Shrouded in a mist." Loki tried to clarify.

"I don't understand you guys."

"I transferred here a year ago, and Loki came here a few months ago." Tony began. "Us new guys got to stick together."

"We can be friends." Loki offered again, extending his hand.

Clint looked down. "I can't." He whispered.

Tony and Loki could see that Clint was almost about to cry, so they took him to a safe, isolated place where they could talk in private. They sat down behind one of the classroom portables and sat close to Clint, trying to provide him with comfort.

"Are you okay Clint?" Loki asked.

Clint shook his head furiously. "I don't want to have friends."

"Why not?" Tony exclaimed. "Friends are the best thing in the world! If we become friends, I can introduce you to the coolest middle schooler named Steve and Bruce! They're the best, they take us on adventures!"

"And I can introduce you to my brother Thor and his friend Natasha." Loki added quickly with much excitement. "They're really nice too."

Clint began to feel overwhelmed and taken-back. He brought his knees to his chest and wanted more than anything but to cry. Tony brought an arm around Clint and pulled him in, onto his shoulder. "Tell us what's wrong Clint. Maybe we can help. Even if you don't think we're friends, I still think we are."

The blond sighed. "Before I was adopted, I lived with mommy and da—him, and I had an older brother."

Loki sat, listening intently, suddenly feeling engaged into the story Clint had to tell.

"Mommy loves me, my brother and he didn't and they'd hurt me." Clint sobbed. He broke down and couldn't get any more words to slip his mouth. He just began choking on his tears and buried his head deep into his knees.

"Who do you live with now?" Tony asked.

"Mr. Coulson." Clint responded.

"Mr. Coulson? Phil?" Tony asked with a raised eyebrow. Loki's expression was also one of surprise.

Clint nodded and Tony ran off before Clint could ask him anything. Loki backed up against the portable and looked up to the sky before taking a peak to Clint. He gave Clint a hug to try to comfort him in the only way he knew how. "My mom and dad used to hurt me too." Loki spoke gently.

Clint looked up teary eyed.

"It's true." Loki continued as he twisted his fingers together. "They used to hurt me a lot. Then Thor and his family came along and saved me." He turned his head to meet Clint's blue eyes, seeing if he was still listening. "Did Mr. Coulson save you too?"

The eight year old didn't even have to think about it, but he waited before nodding his head up and down.

Loki licked his lips in thought. "Whenever something is bothering me, Thor told me to talk about it. It's supposed to make you feel better."

"Does it, work?" Clint asked between a hiccup.

"It doesn't make the problem go away, but it makes you feel better knowing someone truly cares." Loki smiled. "Sometimes, it helps to open up a little to someone you trust."

Footsteps approached behind the portables and Coulson immediately squatted down to his Clint. He immediately stroked the cropped blond hair and wrapped his palm around the soft cheek.

"Are you alright?" Coulson asked. "Do you want to go home?"

Clint nodded, and stretched out his arms to be held.

Phil lifted Clint into his arms and Clint instinctively wrapped his arms around Phil's neck in search of the comfort that only Phil could give.

"Thank you boys." Phil expressed to Tony and Loki. "I'll come pick you boys up after school."

Tony and Loki nodded simultaneously to their babysitter.

"Be good to him." Loki threatened lightly before the bell rang. The two fourth graders ran off to their classrooms while Coulson went in the opposite direction to take Clint home.

To be continued…

Chapter 2 (Preview)

Coulson kicked off his shoes as he entered his home, still in his suit and tie. He walked into the living room connected kitchen and set Clint on the couch. He got down to one knee and looked at him at eye level with concern. "Would you like to tell me what happened?" Coulson asked as he took off his blazer.

Clint sniffled, wiping his runny nose with his forearm. His lip was still trembling and he simply stared at Mr. Coulson with large, sad blue eyes.

Phil had to bite his lip from making dorky faces at such a serious time. Clint was just too cute. Then suddenly, the doorbell rang. "I'll be right back." Phil responded, "why don't you help yourself to the fridge?"

He stumbled off the couch as he watched Coulson go for the door. He walked into the kitchen area and placed his hand around the door handle. He questioned if he should open it, and ended up standing idly in his position.

"Who's this?" Another black haired boy shouted excitedly. He had messy, curly hair, and was wearing a green polo shirt and pants with a shade crossed between a deep purple or a deep blue.

Clint stepped backwards hesitantly and another boy came into view. Blonde hair with his hair combed neatly to the side. "Step back Bruce. You're scaring him." The taller boy stated, as he approached slowly to Clint as if he were a frighten wild animal. "Hey there, I'm Steve Rogers."

Clint mustered up the strength he could get and changed from his scared look into one of confidence and perkiness. He puffed his chest out, trying to match the height of the other two boys who were a good foot taller than he was. "Are you related to Mr. Rogers?" Clint asked flatly, trying to maintain some composure.