(This is a repost of a story I have up on AO3 and forgot to add on here.)

This is for QueenOfTheQuill, who I officially hate with the burning passion of a hundred wet kittens. She put this stupid plot bunny in my head and it went and hulked out.

This was supposed to be a ONE SHOT. And then PLOT happened.

Seriously, this is your fault. I had SO MUCH relaxing to do and that's out the window! Thanks for that. T_T

As with the majority of the...unsettling things that happened in Phil's life, it started with a promise.

"I promise you that I'm not going to make you go anywhere, or with anyone, that doesn't make you feel safe."

The little boy turned his head slowly to look up at him. He blinked up at Phil with large green eyes that looked far too tired, too solemn, for any seven year old to reasonably have before turning to stare forward again. His little hand loosened a little in Phil's grip but didn't quite let go. "Adults always say that. You don't have to lie to me."

Phil sighed softly and shot a glance over his shoulder at the crime scene. Barney Barton and his associates, Jacques "The Swordsman" Duquesne and Buck "Trick Shot" Chisholm were currently being arrested at their home base for a series of bank robberies across seven states that had somehow resulted in two blow up restaurants (seriously, why was this his life), twelve dead civilians, and five dead field agents.

The boy, Clinton Francis Barton, had been sighted on several surveillance cameras as a scout as well as a distraction. He'd been sighted at every crime scene and it was only from following him that they'd even been able to catch his elusive caretakers. If you could even call them that.

As unflappable as Phil seemed, he was never going to get used to the sort of things he saw as a member of the FBI's White Collar division.

Phil tightened his hold on Clint's hand and knelt down slowly so that he could face the boy. Up close like this, it was harder to not notice how thin and small he was for his age. He clasped Clint's hand in both of his own and brought them up to his chest. "I am not just 'an adult.' I am Special Agent in Charge Phil Coulson and my mother raised me to keep my promises and provide well for those under my care. I will provide you with a safe place if you can help me find it."

Clint's eyes widened and flickered down to Phil's chest. His stood rock still for two solid minutes, save for the slight twitching of the fingers in Phil's hold. He glanced up again, finally meeting Phil's eyes. Gone was the little performer, cocky and dead serious by turns. In his place was someone quiet and shy and uncertain.

"Could..." he fell silent again, turning to stare when the door of the cruiser Barney had been shuffled into snapped closed. He turned back but stared down at his shoes. "Could you...could you be my safe place?" he asked finally.

Phil blinked, years of practice being the only thing that had kept his body from jerking with it. Because, NO. It was a bad idea on so many different levels, starting with his working hours and ending with lack of experience with children even when he'd been a child. He was going to have to work round the clock with Fury just to find a decent foster family to look after the boy for the time being-

"Yes."

Goddammit, Phil.

But Phil was nothing if not skilled at working his way out of impossible situations. He was about to start carefully talking his way out of his mouth's fuckup when Clint smiled. His whole face lit up with it in a way that Phil had always just thought was a metaphor. The boy stood up straighter and his fingers, his tiny tiny fingers, squeezed Phil's tightly. "Thank you." Clint murmured shyly, his lips rolling as he bit the inside of the lower one.

So Phil had a kid now.