Routinely Rejecting Happiness

by Schizzar

Peter has been approached by every member to join the Avengers. He finally decides to join them but naturally, all hell breaks loose afterwards. Because Spiderman can never catch a break. Matt/Peter and Clint/Peter are the main pairings.

1. Chapter 1

So I wrote this all in one hard go, ignoring pretty much all my other stories because I needed it out of my head. It's mash up of multiple Spiderman universes and the Avengers universe and one of the Ultimate universes. Just roll with it.

Pairings include: Matt Murdock/Peter Parker and Peter Parker/Clint Barton with bits of Clint Barton/Natasha because why not. There's one more shorter chapter after this.

Also, this will be posted on Archive of Our Own. I'm beginning to shift all my stories over there. I have the same username there if you're interested.

I don't own the characters, they all go to Marvel.

By this point, Peter had been approached by every Avenger. Their techniques were all different: offers of money, a mansion, and in Tony's case, all the phone numbers of hot girls he wanted. Captain America had found him earlier that night on his way back to see Auntie May, throwing him into a wall and pinning him to the brick. Then he threatened his life unless he joined.

Which led to where he was now. Matt's living room, nursing a sprained wrist and wondering if it would ever be safe to visit Auntie May now that the Avengers were out for his head. Matt dropped an ice pack in his lap and then sat down beside him, loosening his tie. "So you get your ass kicked by Captain Patriotism. What next?"

"Said that if I don't join them, I'll be treated as a villain and hunted down. I can't leave Auntie May alone in the world though. I have to listen to him. Become a government lapdog." Peter sank into the couch with a sigh, the ice soothing the pain in his wrist.

"Make them agree to a contract," Matt suggested.

"They'd rather kill me. Not exactly in the position to be making demands," Peter said.

Matt chuckled. "I swear, sometimes you're more blind than I am. They want you on their side. You are exactly in the position to be making demands. Want me to write one up for you?"

"Wait, I need to think about this more," Peter said.

"No you don't. Pizza should be here in about ten minutes. Pay for it yourself, you bum. I'll be typing up your contract," Matt said, getting to his feet and heading for his room.

"But you're blind!"

"Doesn't mean I can't type asshole!"

It was an old joke between them, poking fun at Matt's blindness. Perhaps to some it was bad, offensive, but for them it was so old, neither cared. Peter sunk down into the couch. It seemed even his best friend had turned against him, so he didn't have much of a choice. Bet if I asked Auntie May she'd agree with Matt too. He sighed, running a hand down his face. But the government pay would be nice. No more shitty apartments that I get kicked out of when I can't pay. Not that it matters much, given how I practically live here. There were more clothes packed away in Matt's closet than his own back home.

Then there was the whole secret identity thing. All the other Avengers were open to the public and each other but he couldn't do that. No press conferences. Maybe those cheesy photo-shoots that he saw in the magazines, as long as he got to keep his mask on. When the doorbell rang, he checked his pockets for his wallet only to discover it wasn't there.

"Matt! I don't have my wallet!"

"That's why I left a twenty on the counter. Knew you'd forget again."

"Asshole," Peter grumbled, snatching the money and going to pay for the food.

"Heard that."

"Yeah, I know."

Halfway through the large, meat lover's pizza, Matt emerged with a healthy stack of documents in hand, offering Peter a smile.

"I don't wanna go through all that," Peter said.

"Here's a summary," Matt said, tossing a sheet of paper onto his lap before sitting beside him.

Peter set his food down and began to read, impressed that Matt had managed to put in a provision to guard against every possible chance of his identity being revealed.

"Matt, you know me so well, it's kind've creepy," Peter said. When he looked over, Matt was sealing the envelope with the contract inside, labeled for Nick Fury.

"It comes with being your best friend." Matt leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "And lover. I'll go mail this tonight. Lie low, okay? We can go out when I get back."

Peter nodded as Matt grabbed his walking stick and headed out the door, envelope under his arm. Reclining back, he let his body relax fully for the first time since he arrived. Thanks to Matt, something was finally being done by the whole problem that had been plaguing him since the Black Widow had offered him sex if he joined. Her face when he told her he didn't swing that way had been priceless.

His spidey senses flared up abruptly, and he lurched forward, rolling to the ground and whirling around to see an arrow punched through the couch where he had been moments before. Flustered, he got to his feet, grim as he realized the arrow had been shot through the window he had left open as an escape route. Even as he registered this, a hand grasped the windowsill and Hawkeye swung inside, bow in hand.

Peter's heart dropped to his stomach. Hawkeye was an Avenger. Who now knew he was Spiderman.

"How'd you get here?"
The brown haired man shrugged, blue eyes sparking with amusement. "After Cap totally kicked your ass, I followed after you, and I've been watching you since you arrived. They said your spidey senses would let you know if you were in physical danger, so I decided to test it."

"What? What if I hadn't been Spiderman? That would've killed me!"

Hawkeye shrugged. "I made sure it wouldn't hit anything vital."

"You're insane!"

"And squirrely little Peter Parker is Spiderman. Oh...we aren't stating obvious facts?"

"How do you know my name?"

Hawkeye didn't answer, because the next moment, Daredevil's nun-chuck whipped past his ear, beaming the archer in the shoulder. Another flew by to crack against Hawkeye's wrist, the sickening crunch making Peter flinch. Hawkeye dropped his bow with a hiss, glaring at Daredevil.

"That was a quick change," Peter said as he looked back at him.

The Daredevil costume was immaculate, everything in place with both nun-chucks swinging lazily by his side. "Well, your heart rate spiked. Glad I came back."

"That was my good hand," Hawkeye said between clenched teeth as he cradled his wrist closer.

"Exactly. Now you know we're serious," Daredevil said, striding past Peter and jumping over the couch to stand right in front of Hawkeye. "A contract will be arriving on Nick Fury's desk tomorrow. If you tell anyone about Spiderman's true identity, that contract will be burned and I will kill you. If you keep your mouth shut, well, then maybe we can talk."

"Get your suit on, Peter. Don't want to risk someone recognizing you when I get picked up," Hawkeye said, his glare intense as he put more distance between them. His good hand tapped at a radio transmitter near his ear, and he muttered out a few words.

Peter darted to the bedroom, Daredevil trailing behind him. When the door shut, Matt pulled off the mask, covered eyes watching Peter carefully as he changed. It was an odd feeling to get used to, Matt's gaze tracking his every move even though he couldn't see anything.

"Did you have to break his wrist? Really, Matt?"

"I'm not risking your identity. If that requires him getting a broken wrist...I'm okay with that," Matt said with a shrug. "Besides, it should only be bruised, I didn't use enough strength."

"Yeah, but I'm not okay with that." Peter tugged his mask on. "Go apologize. And mean it, please."

Matt's expression was easy to read, it always was. A frown that said I still think I'm right but fine I'll play it your way because I want sex. When they entered the room, Hawkeye was sitting at the windowsill, frowning as he stared down into the alleyway below.

"I'm sorry. I over-reacted, but we've been hiding our identities for so long, I get a bit protective when Peter's safety is in question," Matt said, mask firmly in place once more.

"It's fine. We knew you were Daredevil, but didn't think your lover was Spiderman. Sorry, but you're a bit...unassuming, Peter," Hawkeye said.

"You've been watching me?"

"Don't shoot the messenger. Again," Hawkeye said, leaning back against the sill. "If it's any consolation, we weren't going to ask you to become a part of the Avengers."

"Can't tell if that's an insult or not," Matt said. "Either way, guess I'm not surprised. I'm not exactly dependable."

Hawkeye didn't address the last comment, just plowing on. "You're both very careful seeing as how no one's picked up on Spiderman's true identity. I swear I won't tell anyone. If you're keeping it a secret, it's probably for a good reason. I'll respect it." The sound of a motor echoed up the brick walls of the two apartment buildings and Hawkeye glanced once more down into the alley. "That's my ride. I'll see you around, Spiderman."

With a wink, he rolled out the window. Neither hero looked to see what happened, waiting a solid thirty seconds before Matt moved towards the window. "Can I shut this?"

Matt knew him too well. Knew he couldn't stand having windows barred. It amazed him every time Matt displayed one of his observations with a small question.

"Just shut the blinds. That's fine," he said.

With the blinds shut, Peter removed his mask, sighing. His body was tired from the sporadic bursts of adrenaline, and really all he wanted to do was sleep.

-.-

"So, how did it go?" Natasha turned his wrist, ignoring Clint's hiss of pain. "Well, it isn't broken. He must've been restraining himself." She reached into her bedside drawer and pulled out a wrap, binding the injury quickly and deftly.

"You know Daredevil?"

Natasha crooked a slim, red eyebrow. "We've had a few...interactions."

"Ah." Clint twisted away to lay down on the bed, and Natasha crawled over on top of him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before flopping down beside him.

"Need a friend?" she asked, fingers brushing up and down his neck. Clint leaned into the touch, and Natasha wrapped herself around him, burrowing her face in his neck. His arm tugged her closer.

Their cuddling was platonic, their kisses, their touches. But Clint needed something, and Phil was gone now. The person he trusted to hold close, to be held by, was gone. Sure, what he and Phil had was anything but platonic, but it was too soon, the wound too raw to jump into something that intense again. And Natasha? She understood that perfectly.

So they would cuddle, kiss, touch. It was lazy, always casual. No strings attached. They knew each other too well to fall in love.

-.-

"This contract is not something I want to sign." Nick Fury had a harsh stare, the lack of his left eye making it all the more intense.

Peter sat across from him, his knee tapping against the huge, oak desk between them as his leg bounced up and down from nerves. At least his voice was steady when he spoke. "So don't sign it. I'll walk away if you don't, but I can't force your hand."

Fury scoffed. "Damn right you can't. I cannot stop the Council from trying to find out your identity. I regretfully do not have the power to stop them from doing so, and they can override any of my commands. The publicity we would get for taking you on without researching your background would be bad, and not something we can afford."

"The publicity you'd get for openly hunting down Spiderman would be worse."

Fury's expression didn't change, but Peter knew he had won. Publicity issues were really the only arguments Fury could hold against him, and he had countered it quite well. Sure, the Council could do what they wanted, but Peter wasn't about to get worried about that. He could hide from them just fine.

"Sign it, or don't," Peter said. "But this is it. I will not be making this offer again. Whatever you decide now, defines the way we interact from here on out."

"You aren't afraid?" Fury asked. He leaned forward, his expression skeptical. "I will send the whole of the Avengers against you, and you're willing to just accept that?"

"Send your Avengers, Fury. I'll take down as many as I can, and you can bet I won't go down quietly. I'm willing to have a compromise, but if you throw that back in my face and send your dogs after me, I'll kill them."

Fury chuckled. "You don't kill people, Spiderman. Everyone knows that."

"You've never seen me cornered, Nick Fury. You better hope you never do," Peter said.

He had killed. It was amazing SHIELD hasn't noticed. He didn't like that he had, but he'd do it again if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to die. And if Fury sent the Avengers after him, he would most definitely die. It was just a matter of how many he took down with him.

"You're an interesting man." Fury sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'll sign your contract, but let's be clear. I will not authorize any searching for your identity, but the Council will undoubtedly be following you for the rest of your life. Are you okay with that?"

"Fine. I'll take what I can get," Peter said.

Fury snorted, pulling out his pen and signing. "Welcome to the Avengers."

"Good to be here."

-.-

"Oh hey-"

Peter zapped Johnny's mouth full of web to stop him from saying his name. "Not a word about my name. I'm 90% sure SHIELD bugged me on my way out and I want you to check before we talk."

Johnny nodded and gestured at his mouth so Peter would remove the webbing. Peter did so and the fiery hero shook his head. "Can't believe you actually joined them."

"Can we get the bugs off first?"

The blond nodded and tugged Peter inside. Johnny lived on his own now, which Peter was happy about because Sue whined when he and Johnny got plastered and watched old Star Trek episodes once a month. The Baxter Building was still headquarters, but Johnny now had his own personal space, with all the Baxter Building's fancy equipment, including a lovely chemical that shorted out listening and video recording devices.

Johnny led him to the basement, opening a door to the right and shoving him inside. A dim light clicked on and a foul smelling steam rushed out from two nozzles in the ceiling, covering Peter completely. A minute later, the door opened and Johnny pulled him out, expression grim.

"47 bugs. How did you not notice them being put on you?"

"Because I was too busy being scared out of my mind," Peter said, whipping off his mask.

Johnny opened his arms and let Peter tumble into them, holding the man's shuddering form close. "I forget how much SHIELD scares you. Guess it feels like you sold your soul to the devil."

"Did that awhile ago. Fury is so much worse."

"Why didn't you go home to Matt?" Johnny asked, walking them back into the living area and easing them both down onto the couch as the lights flicked on automatically.

"Matt's busy tonight and he doesn't really...get my fear."

Peter didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to get worked up and full of worry like he always did when he thought about it, so he nestled further into Johnny's grip and closed his eyes. Johnny had known him longer than Matt, knew all of his fears and desires and where they had come from. Yeah, Johnny was straight as an arrow, but he knew that sometimes Peter just needed someone to hold him, and he was willing to be that guy. In Peter's mind, that's what made him such a good friend.

"Well they don't know who you are," Johnny said. "They won't be able to hold anything over your head if they don't know who you are."

"They'll find out. Only a matter of time."

"They haven't done it yet, stop freaking out. Mary Jane wouldn't like the way you're dealing with this."

"Fucking low blow." Peter pulled out of his grasp and began to pace around the room. "I got lucky there, but still lost everything."

"The guy was ex-SHIELD! You can't base all of SHIELD on one guy."

"He was still in SHIELD when he got the mission to follow me and get leverage on me so I could be manipulated! And he almost succeeded. The only reason he didn't is because he killed her!"

Johnny flopped back on the couch, expression exasperated. "Talk to Fury. Ask him about it. SHIELD isn't inherently bad, you've just got to start building up trust. They're on your side now, they're not going to try and piss you off. I promise."

"Not that easy." Peter pressed his forehead against the wall as he leaned against it, eyes closing. "I lost Mary Jane thanks to SHIELD. It's hard to just...forget that happened."

"I know it's hard," Johnny said. "But things are changing now, at least for you. It's better to just...try and get over it. It'll take awhile but don't reject the trust they extend."

Peter shook his head. "Matt should be home now. I'll go."

"Don't run away just because you don't like what I'm saying," Johnny said.

Peter walked past him, tugging his mask back on and heading up the stairs. As soon as he could, he shot his web up into the air, clinging to a building and swinging off to the apartment he sometimes shared with Matt. He thought of it as home, even if he lived in another area entirely. Maybe it was the whole 'home is where the heart is' thing, and it was obvious his heart was with Matt.

Or was it? No one really understood his reluctance. Johnny came close, but even then, it wasn't perfect. No one understood completely. Just as he was about to swing in through Matt's bedroom window, he paused, swinging back up onto the roof. Being alone sounded like a better idea.

-.-

"Trial run?"

Clint checked his gun once more before tucking it away. "Yup. Seeing as how your boyfriend decided to screw up my wrist, I need back up." He waved his arm at Peter.

Peter winced, hiding his face, even though Clint couldn't see it, behind the briefing papers Clint's handler had given them. It was child's play really, an utter waste of his talents to go with Clint on this mission. It was a simple capture mission, and Peter wasn't going to think about what they intended to do once they brought him in. Either way, Clint could probably handle himself just fine, even with a bum wrist.

"They just wanna see how you work in the field," Clint said. He gestured towards the desk Peter was standing beside. "There's a wrap in the top drawer, pass it to me."

Peter found it and almost handed it to him, but then grabbed Clint's forearm and began to wrap it himself. Clint's blue eyes widened in surprise at first, but then he let Peter do as he wanted. It was kind of a way for him to say he was sorry about what had happened, and when Clint met his eyes and smiled, he knew his message had been received.

"So I just follow behind you?" he asked as Clint opened the door out of his room and into the hallway of SHIELD headquarters.

"Yeah," Clint said, reaching into his pocket. "Here's a comm device, so you can hear anything I have to tell you. You can put it on when you feel like you can take your mask off." He handed the small hearing device to Peter as they stepped out into the sunlight. "You have your directions. I'll see you there."

Peter shoved the papers into a messenger bag and then handed it to Clint who took it with him to his car. In no time at all, Peter was swinging from rooftop to rooftop a safe distance behind the man as he drove out of the city. As they turned into the suburb, Peter had to fall further and further behind, taking to the trees to avoid detection.

Clint parked in a dead end street and got out, Peter's messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He looked nothing like a field agent, dressed in worn jeans and a black jacket, his wrist bound up tight by an off white wrap. But Peter had seen the man strap a bulletproof vest on underneath his jacket, and had seen the man in action enough to know he wasn't someone to mess with.

Especially if he had his bow with him.

But it was kind of his fault that Clint no longer had his weapon of choice with him. Clint had told him earlier that normally, he could just fire a few arrows through the man's windows, get him pinned down and go in and handle the situation from there. He hadn't gone face to face with a target in a long time.

"I need you to circle around to the back, tell me what you see," Clint's voice said in his ear as he continued down the street.

Peter obeyed without a word, slipping soundlessly through the trees and into the man's backyard, crouching carefully among the foliage. Their target was relaxed in his living room chair, a beer in one hand and a remote in the other, no doubt pointing at some T.V. out of Peter's line of sight.

"He's just chilling in his living room," Peter said.

"You read the file right?" Clint's voice crackled in his ear. "He's going to be ready for us, look closer."

Peter sighed and turned upside down, letting out a bit of a web to get a better angle to see into the room. Line upon line of monitors were mounted along the wall, each showing another room in the house and even the yard. He zipped back up into the tree.

"Uh, there's no way we're getting the jump on this guy. He probably already saw me," Peter said.

"Oh?"

"He's got cameras everywhere, and he's watching them now," Peter said. "So how do you wanna do this?"

"Seriously, have you looked at the file? Coulson gave us a..."

"Coulson?" Peter asked. "Isn't your handler's name Max?" Clint didn't respond, the only sound being ragged breathing on the other line. "Clint?"

"Just...give me a minute."

Peter walked closer to the trunk of the tree, leaning against it as he listened to Clint come undone on the other line, breathing rough. "Clint. What's wrong?"

"Fuck, just shut up."

Peter obeyed, and slowly but surely, the man's breathing regulated itself and he could hear Clint begin to start walking once more. He wanted to say something, wanted to make sure Clint was okay and that they could still do the mission, but the man had already told him to shut up once and he didn't want to make it worse.

"Okay, we're going to both go in at the same time. That's our best bet," Clint said. "I don't want to give him a chance to react."

"I can break the window and get him restrained before he sees you," Peter said. "Nice and quick."

"Go for it."

Peter shot a web at the roof and then swung down, breaking the window with his feet and shooting another web into the man's face. He gave a muffled scream, but there was a hunk of web in his mouth that made it a bit difficult to hear. He gave another quick shot of web to bind the man to his chair just as Clint walked into the room, gun pointed ahead of him, eyes dancing across the room.

His eyes weren't careful in their examination, and Peter could tell he wasn't on his game like he normally was. "Wanna grab him?"

"He's grabbed," Peter said, gesturing at the restrained man.

"Oh...I'll go get the car," Clint said, backing out of the room.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, you do that."

-.-

"We aren't going to mention what happened at the briefing," Clint said as he drove.

"Hey, if you don't want me to, I won't say a word," Peter said. "But don't they listen to the comm devices?"

"Not really, only if they think something went wrong."

"Look, are you okay man?"

Clint didn't take his eyes off the road, but his fingers tightened on the wheel. "You know when Loki came?"

"Yeah, I was bummed I wasn't able to join the party," Peter said.

"Well my old handler died there. He...was fighting Loki."

"Oh. damn." Peter leaned back in the seat, trying to process Clint's words. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize agents got so close to their handlers."

"Some people do," Clint said. "We were."

"Look, do you wanna grab a drink after this? I think you need to unwind a bit," Peter said.

"Uh...nah it's fine," Clint said. "I've got ways to de-stress."

"But Matt and I have the best methods," Peter said.

"What, crazy amounts of sex?" Clint said with a snort.

"Well, sometimes that's part of it," Peter said. "But I'm offering a drink, not my bed."

"Yeah, sure."

-.-

Peter frowned, brushing the back of his knuckles across Clint's cheek. The man was passed out completely on the couch, empty beer bottle dangling from the fingertips of his good hand. Matt sat in the chair to the left of them, flipping through channels aimlessly.

"He's had it rough," Matt said.

"Yeah. Doesn't talk much about it," Peter said. "Surprised he said anything to me at all."

"Well, he knows who you are, maybe he knows he can trust you now that you have to trust him," Matt said.

"I want to help him," Peter said, glancing over at Matt. Matt's face was turned to him, eyebrows quirked up.

"You always want to help people," Matt said.

"Can't argue with that," Peter said.

"So you think he and his handler had something going on or what?"

"You don't get that choked up over just a friend."

Matt frowned, and Peter could read his expression perfectly. It was the expression that said, You would know. Peter had lost quite a few significant others, he was practically an expert on what it felt like to lose people.

"I have a big case tomorrow," Matt said, getting to his feet. "You wanna stay out here with him?"

"I'll come to bed with you," Peter said, pulling his hand away. "Just let me grab him a blanket or something."

Clint didn't stir as Peter pulled a blanket over him and then turned the lights off. When he got into the bedroom though, Matt tugged him forward, sealing his lips over the younger's. Peter accepted the heated kiss, shutting the door behind them as Matt's hands ran over his sides, bunching up the shirt.

"The...fuck...Matttt..." His words ended in a moan as Matt nipped at his neck and yanked his shirt over his head.

"I don't care if there's another man next door, I want you now," Matt said, his voice a growling husk.

Peter didn't protest, he never could when Matt's demanding hands grabbed his hips and urged him up and around his waist. Their arousals ground together as Matt carried him towards the bed, teeth nipping at wherever they could get purchase. Matt was all about teeth and dominance, working over Peter the way he wanted, bringing Peter to the edge over and over again only to let him down. Flushed and panting, Peter stared up at Matt.

It always happened this way. He would be naked, spread out for Matt's hands and mouth as the other stood above him, fully clothed. It sent some kind've thrill through him to have Matt dominant him the way he did, but it was not like he ever had a real choice. That's just the way their sex life had been from the very beginning.

Matt dragged a hand up his leg, fingers trailing over his balls in a teasing manner that had Peter bucking his hips up for more, but Matt didn't give it to him. Instead, he grabbed Peter's other leg and began to lip and bite at it, working his way up. Fist in Matt's hair, Peter urged his mouth towards his cock, but Matt just blew on the tip and continued on to his other leg, working his way down to his ankle.

"Matt, please..."

Matt stood and undid his tie, letting it fall on the ground before taking his sunglasses off as well. Moonlight streamed in through the window, playing with Matt's stern features as he stripped. The sight always left Peter breathless. As Matt crawled over him, an all too familiar feeling built up in his chest, urging him to arch up and kiss the older hero.

Matt's touch softened then as he trailed his fingers up Peter's side, the kiss slow and languid. He broke the kiss as Peter began to shake in his grasp, expression puzzled.

"You're crying," he said, fingers brushing the tears away.

Peter just shook his head and tugged Matt down for another kiss. "Just love me."

Matt nodded into the kiss and did just that.

-.-

Peter's heart clenched as Matt slid his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his walking stick. He got off the bar stool and followed him towards the door, his hand wrapping around Matt's wrist. Matt turned to face him, frowning once more as Peter wrapped him up in a hug.

"What's gotten into you?"

Peter shook his head, burying his face in Matt's chest. "Be careful today, alright? Something just feels...off."

The pace of Matt's heart sped up a bit, and he could only hear it because of the way his ear was pressed to the other's chest. He knew without a doubt that Matt could hear the way his was racing, anxiety thrumming in his blood. Matt placed a warm hand at Peter's lower back.

"If you say so," Matt said. Anyone else, the words would have been patronizing, but this was Matt, and Matt always took him seriously. Matt would be careful. "Goodbye, Peter."

"Bye," Peter said, stepping back and staring up into Matt's eyes, wishing not for the first time that Matt could see him. "I love you." It has been awhile since he had said that, too long maybe.

"I love you too." Matt kissed him, soft, loving.

As he left, Peter felt tears building up in his throat once more, but instead he beat them down and went to go make Clint coffee for when he woke up.

-.-

When Clint woke up, it was with a raging hangover that Peter was ready to help dispel with water, pills, and coffee. After a shower and food, he was feeling much better, but something was off about Peter, the way he jerked whenever Clint walked into the room.

"You know I can leave," Clint said as Peter dropped the remote when he emerged from the kitchen. "I figure I've overstayed my welcome."

"No, no, it's fine." Peter frowned at the T.V., which was still off even after the amount of times Peter had almost turned it on. "You can stay as long as you want."

Clint sat down next to him, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

Peter's hands were shaking, hazel eyes unfocused. "Just..."

A knock on the door interrupted them and Peter jumped to his feet, racing to the door. Clint watched as he opened it, revealing a police officer. The hand at Peter's side was clenched in a fist, trembling.

"Are you...Peter Parker?" the man asked, frowning down at his notepad.

"Yes."

"I regret to inform you that your...significant other, Matt Murdock was killed in his office today by a um...toothpick," the officer said, frowning down at his notes. "You can come down to the station with me now if you'd like to get more details and start his funeral arrangements."

"...Me?"

"You're the next of kin according to this," the man said. "Well, there was another man, Franklin Nelson, but he was also killed in a similar incident."

Clint got to his feet as the door cracked beneath Peter's harsh grip, shouldering Peter out of the way. "We'll be down at the station when we can. Thank you." He shoved Peter back and slammed the door shut, wanting to say something, anything, but Peter had already driven his good fist into the wall.

"I knew this was going to happen."

"What?"

"This always happens. I was hoping...for longer."

"What's going on?"

"Just...leave Clint."

"But Matt-"

"I said leave dammit!"

"You can't be alone right now."

"Shut up."

Peter kicked the table and stormed into the bedroom. Not even a minute later, he re-emerged as Spiderman and was swinging out of the window, leaving Clint standing alone in his apartment. After a moment, Clint pulled his cellphone out, calling Natasha.

"Spiderman's been compromised. Should I chase him down?" he asked. His voice was strained, even to his ears, and Natasha no doubt picked up on it.

"Compromised how?"

"His...some of his family just died, and from the sounds of it, by Bullseye."

"Help him."

"Natasha..."

"If you can chase him down, do it," Natasha said. "I won't tell anyone about this call if you can stop him from doing something stupid."

"Thank you."

-.-

When Peter ended up at Auntie May's front door, he couldn't bring himself to care that he had probably just blown his identity sky high. Mask wet from his tears, he yanked it off as Auntie May opened the front door, gasping and tugging him inside.

"Peter! What are you doing?" she asked, hurrying to sit him down at a table and poor him a class of water. "Out and about in your suit, crying, what-"

"Matt's dead."

She stilled, face paling almost as white as her hair, hand shaking. Slowly, she set the pitcher of water down. "Peter..."

"Auntie?"

The voice was one of a child, unsure and scared, bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy. Auntie May, just as she always did, knew what to do. She hugged him tight, and didn't let him go.

-.-

Peter tugged the blankets over his head as Auntie May left the room. For the last two hours, he had been switching from lifeless to a sobbing mess, and was mildly horrified by his reactions. He wasn't supposed to be the broken one, the weak one. He was supposed to take care of everyone else.

The doorbell rang and he heard the footsteps of someone walking inside, followed by the soft murmuring of voices. The creak of the steps, then his door opened and in walked Johnny Storm, expression grim. Peter shifted and turned to face the wall, but Johnny just shut the door, slipped under the covers and tugged him close.

"I know you don't want me to see you like this, but I'm your friend Peter, and I've been with you through everything," Johnny said, his voice loud in the oppressing silence.

"This is worse."

"I know."

"He..."

"I know."

"We were going to get married."

Johnny stiffened beside him, hands tightening around Peter. "I'm sorry."

"We didn't want to tell anyone until I figured out what I was doing with the Avengers. We've been planning for a few months."

"Peter..."

"I guess I'm just being stupid. We're super heroes. We don't live long. I know that. I should've known that. Everyone I've ever loved dies. I should stop." The words were hard to get out at first, but once they started, they wouldn't stop. "Mary Jane, Gwen, everyone. It's always my fault. Before long...Auntie May too. Fuck I never even took out the god damn comm-"

Peter scrabbled at his ear, the near invisible device having slipped his mind completely.

"It's okay," Clint's voice crackled into his ear. "I got Tony to hack into the system and erase everything. Your secret is safe."

"Clint?"

Johnny rubbed his arm.

"Get some rest. I watched you on your way back. No one saw you but me, I promise."

The comm shut off then and Peter finished digging it out of his ear, crushing it in one hand and throwing it across the room. If he still had it, that meant it had been running last night when he and...Peter shut his brain off and turned into Johnny's embrace.

Clint had covered him. It was okay. Not now. But it would be. He always bounced back. Always.

Except maybe not this time.

-.-

Clint collapsed into Natasha's grip when he arrived at his room. She had been waiting for him since he had arrived back at the tower and gone to talk to Tony. He looked stressed and worn, and like he could go for a week-long nap.

"Did you help him?" Nat asked, unwrapping his wrist and then undoing his shirt and tossing it on the ground.

"Protected his privacy, don't think I could do much more for him at this point," Clint said.

Nat was already dressed for sleep, and by dressed he meant completely nude because if clothes weren't necessary, she didn't use them. When he was dressed down to his boxers, she practically shoved him into bed. "Do you need me?"

"Yeah." Clint flopped one arm over his eyes, not wanting to look needier than he already was.

Even if Natasha wouldn't judge him. "Are you sure? I think you need some alone time."

Clint held his other arm out and crooked a finger at her, smirking when she sighed and pulled herself onto the bed beside him, wrapping herself around him like always.

"Remind you of Coulson I take it?" she said.

She always cut to the chase, even if hearing his name made him flinch. "Yeah. It was his lover and from what I heard before Tony cut it off, they were getting married soon."

"Sucks to be him. You realize he's going to have to work when Fury asks, depression or not, right?" she said, trailing a hand down his neck. "If he takes a leave now after a super villain goes on a hit an run mission...all Fury will have to do is check out the victim's friends and family."

"Yeah. I'll be there for him if he needs it, but he didn't seem to keen on me talking to him," Clint said. "But Fury is going to be calling us in soon because I have another capture mission."

"Already? He's not giving you any time to recover," Nat said. "Fury's an ass."

"But we work for him."

"Remind me why we do that?"

Clint rolled over, grinning as he slid his arm over her mouth to shut her up. He was going to move away again, really, but then sleep tugged at his mind and pulled him under. When Natasha flailed beneath him, he didn't stir, and eventually she let herself fall asleep under his comforting weight.

-.-

The arm around his waist was warm and possessive, comforting. The chest at his back practically radiated heat and like always, it made him feel safe. Until the hand shifted and he realized it wasn't Matt's, and when he opened his eyes and realized he was in his old bed.

"Peter," Johnny murmured, rubbing his hand up and down the man's stomach. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'm going to go help Auntie May make breakfast."

"Yeah." Peter pulled the covers over his head and curled up tighter as Johnny left the room. He was unable to drift into sleep though, for the next moment, the SHIELD issued phone (who's tracker he had removed) in his pocket went off. He pulled it out and swallowed his rising tears. "Hello?"
"We're going to need you to come in today for another search and capture mission. We expect you to be at SHIELD headquarters at 1000 hours." The call cut off and Peter rolled onto his side, eyes straining to see the numbers past the strain of sleep and tears.

It was 9:30.

In moments, he was on his feet, pushing his negative thoughts to the background as he flew out into the hallway. "I'm skipping on breakfast, got a mission, bye!"

"Peter?" Johnny called back up, but Peter was already tugging his mask on and swinging out the window.

When he arrived at headquarters, it was to a flurry of noise and organized panic with agents running up and down the crowded halls. All in all, it looked like too much trouble to be worth it, and he was tempted to run out the door and go hide. But he was here, and the chaos would make it so he didn't have to think, and that was what he needed most.

"Hey you, kid in the weird suit, follow me," an agent called out, beckoning him deeper into the building.

"Uh, I'm here to work on a mission-"

"All missions are suspended until we deal with this threat," the man said, grabbing his wrist and shoving him into a conference room.

Peter froze as the door shut behind him, heart lurching into his throat. A long, black table was at the center of the room, chairs on either side with one at the far end. The ones on the right contained Thor, Captain America, and Tony Stark, with the left side filled with Natasha, Clint, and a hunched over man in glasses, fingers tapping out an odd rhythm on the oak table.

"Uh. Hi," he said, giving a small wave. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Sit down," Fury ordered, his one eyed gaze penetrating.

Peter obeyed. "Sorry."

"As I was saying, we need to move as swiftly as possible. We do not have any information on this mutant, but I expect Captain Rogers to be able to assess the situation properly and do what is necessary."

"Okay so if speed is important here, why am I still sitting at this table?" Tony stood up and clapped his hands together once. "Chop, chop kiddies."

"I will kill you one day," Steve said, pulling his helmet/mask/thing down on his face.

"Yeah sure, see you there." Tony stopped as he passed Peter, his gaze going from disinterested to intrigued all at once. "Good to see you, kid."

"Thanks."

The Avengers all began to file out of the room and as Captain America walked by, he shoved a file into his hands.

"Can you read while you swing, Spiderman?" he asked, looking down at him with a firm blue stare.

"Yeah, where am I headed?"

"Central Park. That file has your original mission before we got distracted. You'll head there once we've neutralized the situation," he said.

"Whoa, that's a little harsh, isn't it?" Clint said, scrambling towards them.

"Agent Barton, do not try and weasel out of your own mission," Fury ordered as he got to his feet. "All of you, out of my sight."

Peter got to his feet, flipping open his file as he walked out of the room, Clint on his heels. He followed Captain America down the hall and out the front door, but before he could shoot a web into the air, Clint grabbed his wrist.

Clint looked a little stunned when he actually stopped and turned to look at him, but quickly got himself together. "I can do the mission on my own, if you need me to. Like, I get if you need to get some rest."

"Work is the best thing for me," Peter said. "But thanks."

Understanding seeped into Clint's gaze and he gave a quick nod before releasing him and following after the others.

-.-

The mutant tearing its way through Central Park was pretty generic as far as mutants went. Not to say it was a knock over. It was tearing up trees and hurling them at anything that moved, which resulted in Peter being on catching-anything-that-was-going-to-kill-something duty.

By the end of the battle, he felt pretty useless, but he didn't let himself think about that and instead headed for the next destination. He got there before Clint and had the man trussed up in a tight web by the time the agent had walked in through the front door. Clint shoved his gun back in its holster as he approached him.

"You've been quite productive," Clint said.

"Yeah well..." Peter couldn't think of anything to say, no quips, no snarky remarks, nothing.

"The mission was small enough that Rogers took care of the debriefing," Clint said. "Why don't you stay with me for now? I don't think you should be alone right now."

"What the hell would you know?" Peter kicked their mark, knowing it wasn't right but unable to contain the mess of emotions festering inside his chest. "You don't know me at all."

"You'd be surprised what I know," Clint said, looking down and then up through his eyelashes, a flash of vulnerability Peter hadn't been expecting. "Just let me do this for you."

"I should go home."

"Go home after," Clint said. "You were there for me, let me do the same. Think of it as a debt I'm trying to pay off."

Peter shook his head. "I've got things to do." He tugged the mask back enough to reach his hand up inside it, tug out the comm device and crush it in his hand. "I'll see you around."

Clint moved faster than he thought, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the other room so they wouldn't have to keep talking around their mark. "Let me go with you. I don't want you to be alone right now."

"Agent Barton, you don't know me well enough to care," Peter said. "You have to be getting something out of this, and I'm not interested in your help if it isn't genuine."

"What makes you think I'm getting anything out of this?" Clint backed way from him.

"I know people like you," Peter said, unable to keep the harsh scoff out of his voice. "You help other people when you're upset to make yourselves feel better. Not interested."

Clint frowned. "That's not true, but I'll stop."

"Yeah, thanks."

Maybe on some level, Peter meant it, but his emotions were moving too fast for him to bother analyzing.

-.-

The next few days passed in a haze of funeral preparations while still working as an Avenger. The funeral itself was small, him, his Aunt, and Natasha Ramanova. He was actually surprised to see one of the Avengers there, and couldn't help but spend the entire funeral in a state of jumpy nerves.

As they headed out of the building, the urn with Matt's ashes cradled in his hands, Natasha moved to stand in front of him, her head cocked to the side. Red curls fell in front of one eye, but the remaining visible one was piercing in its stare. In that moment, he knew that she knew who he was, and his stomach turned to lead.

"So you're the famous Peter Parker," she said. "Matt talked a lot about you."

"Didn't say a word about you," Peter said.

Natasha flicked her hair out of her face. "But I think we've met."

"Can't say we have," Peter said.

"Oh. My mistake." Her gaze said she didn't believe him one bit, but she let it go and walked away, leaving him and his Aunt to stand at the entrance of the funeral home.

"Are you going to come home for dinner?" Auntie May asked, wrapping an arm around Peter's waist as they headed for her car. "Johnny is still there."

"He should go home," Peter said.

"Oh, he just cares about you," she said, patting his arm.

He kissed her cheek and pulled away. "I've got to go talk to Matt's old lawyer about his will. He finally was able to get it from the bank he had it locked away in."

Auntie May's eyebrows rose. "Well that should certainly be interesting. Stop by after that, alright?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Auntie May got into her car, giving him a careful stare that said she expected him to be there or she'd come hunting him down herself. He kissed her cheek once more and shut the door, waving to her as she pulled out of the parking lot. Sighing, he turned towards the street. The coffee place Matt's lawyer was meeting him at was a small shop about two blocks away so he could walk.

As he walked, he placed the urn carefully in his messenger bag so it wouldn't be showing. He and Matt had never discussed their wills together, even though they both had them made early and had gone together to modify them as time went on. As Peter lost those he cared about, his will had changed, and now that Matt was gone, he was going to have to change it again. But to his knowledge, Matt had only changed his once, after they had realized how serious their relationship was.

When he walked in, Ethan Johnson was sitting at a table with papers spread out over every inch of it, his coffee in his hands. Ethan was a lot like Matt, red hair, broad shouldered, but he had soft features, not the chiseled jaw that Peter was used to seeing. Peter sat down, tucking his messenger back between his feet.

"So is this all of it?" he asked.

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "This is quite a large will."

"Mine's bigger," Peter said. "So what does all of it mean? I don't think you intended for me to read through all of this."

"This is just a copy, and I highlighted the important parts," Ethan said, shuffling a few papers. "Here's how much money he had in his savings account." He pointed to a highlighted number in the 9-digit realm that practically made Peter's heart stop. "All of this goes to you, and has already been transferred."

"Um, some of its going to pay off debts right?" Peter asked, mouth dry.

Ethan snorted. "Matt Murdock didn't have debts. The payment on his house is taken care of, and rent for the next month is paid for on his apartment as well. These all go to you as well."

"I think I need a drink," Peter said. "I didn't even know he had a house."

Ethan crooked an eyebrow up. "It's just outside of the city, a small ranch. You are more than welcome to sell it if you wish to add to the fortune he's left you."

"No, that's fine..." Peter took a deep breath. "So what does this mean for me?"

"You pay more in taxes," Ethan said with a shrug. "That's it really."

"Are there any limitations on how I spend it?" he asked.

"No, everything Matthew Murdock owned is now yours," Ethan said. "I guess he really liked you."

"We were going to get married." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and his gaze jerked down to escape the man's judgment.

For a moment, Ethan was silent, but then one of his hands was resting lightly over Peter's. "I'm sorry for your loss. Matt was a good friend of mine, but I never really...knew much about his private life."

"He's kind of a secretive man," Peter said. "Or was."

"Look, legally, everything is taken care of," Ethan said. "Matt told me, last time he changed his will, that if he were ever to die, he wanted me to take care of everything so that those he left behind wouldn't have to, and I've done just that. All you have to worry about is recovering."

"So is it okay if I never spend this?" Peter asked.

"Like I said, it belongs only to you now," Ethan said. "Why you wouldn't spend it, I don't know. But I can help you pick a place to invest it if you want."

"...Maybe later. I still need to catch my breath," Peter said.

"Yeah, of course. You have my number."

Peter nodded and collected the copy of Matt's will. He would read all of it later, when he had time. "I guess that's it then."

"There's still the investigation," Ethan said. "As the next of kin, you are entitled to information they discover, if you want it. I can help you there as well if you want."

"No that's fine," Peter said. I have other methods.

"Oh there is one other thing," Ethan said, getting to his feet as well and searching around his brief case. He pulled out a letter. "It's unopened, and addressed to you. I can't legally open it, as it goes to you in the will."

Peter took it, gingerly, then place it in his own bag. "Thank you, for everything."

Ethan nodded and smiled. "It'll get better, Peter."

"That's what I tell myself."

-.-

"So...Peter Parker is Spiderman," Natasha said.

"Um." Clint stared at her, wide eyed.

They were at Stark Tower, the only place where SHIELD not listening in was guaranteed, sharing some badly microwaved food in Clint's bedroom. That didn't mean he was okay with discussing Peter when Tony was no doubt listening to every word.

"I'm surprised it took me so long to figure it out," she said. "But I was at Daredevil's funeral today, because I was on his list of people to contact in the event of his death. We go way back, and I knew he was dating a cute little journalist, and good friends with Spiderman. Why didn't I see it sooner?"

"Nat, you can't...tell anyone about this," Clint said, setting his tray of food on the bedside table. "He's got to protect the remaining family he has."

"I'm just saying I'm surprised," she said around a mouthful of food. "He really hides all those muscles well when he's being well, normal." She fixed him a stern look. "And you know me, Clint. My lips are sealed."

Clint leaned back against his headboard, brow furrowed from worry. "Did he look okay?"

Natasha raised a slim red eyebrow. "Do I detect a bit of care in your heart, Hawkeye?"

Clint was too tired to glare at her. "I should be asking you that."

Natasha wiped her mouth on her napkin and folded her legs beneath her. "You just want to help someone so you don't have to bother helping yourself, don't you? That's just like you." Despite her words, she smiled.

"You know, he said the same thing today," Clint said. "When I offered to help him. I swear that's not it, Nat. I just understand what he's going through and want to help."

"You can't help him when you can't even help yourself," Natasha said. He opened his mouth to protest, but Natasha held up a finger to cut him off. "But, maybe you can help each other. Just be careful with whatever it is you're doing."

Clint looked down. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to help people, but I want to. All I know is how to kill."

Natasha patted his knee with a sigh. "We weren't hired for our ability to work with people. We all lived messed up lives. We get pieced together and broken and pieced together again so many times I'm surprised it isn't in the job description. Peter's just like us though. Spiderman's past lovers have been known, Mary Jane and Gwen Stacey. Everyone knows that they were murdered by Spiderman's enemies, so it isn't a surprise that they went out of their way to keep this relationship a secret."

"What are you trying to say, Nat?"

"I'm saying that you shouldn't go looking for a relationship with a man who has had everyone he's ever cared about murdered. Daredevil is not a man to be reckoned with, and given the details of his death, I'd bet my finest bottle of whiskey that it was Bullseye." Natasha leaned back. "So. Don't go after a relationship with him."

"What, you think I'm going to die?" Clint glanced away, scoffing.

"No, I'm saying, he's not going to be interested and I don't want you to get hurt," Natasha said. "Doesn't help that fate has something against the kid and is killing off everyone he knows."

"I don't want to get with him, Nat," Clint said. "I just want to help him."

"So you say, but I know you," Natasha said, crawling closer so that he couldn't avoid her gaze. "You allow yourself to get close and you're going to want all of him, just like you wanted all of me, the way you wanted all of Coulson."

"You make it sound like I treated you two like conquests," Clint said, shoving her back. "That's not how it is."

"Oh I know that. You were with me until I no longer needed you. You were with Coulson until the day he died, and if you and Peter were ever a thing, you'd probably be with him until death tore you apart," Natasha said. She slid up onto his lap and wrapped herself around him. "You're like a puppy, Clint. Loyal until the end."

His fingers shifted her hair to the side and trailed over her neck. "I'm not interested in sex with him, Nat, really. I just want to help him. Not looking for a relationship, not now."

"Still too early," she said, biting his ear and one hand sliding up his chest. "But not too early for this."

His hands, large and warm slid over her ass and hiked her up to straddle his waist as her lips met his. Her body was soft and curved, nothing like the hard planes he had been used to with Coulson, but he wasn't looking for a replacement. Never a replacement. Phil would always have a place in his heart, a place bigger than people thought it would be. But Natasha had her own spot and she knew that.

She growled into the kiss.

Yeah, she knew.

-.-

"I can't believe you want to donate half the fortune Matt left you," Johnny said, sipping at his beer as the credits of the last Star Trek episode began to run.

"I don't need that much money," Peter said.

"So besides the money, house, and apartment, what else did he leave you?"

The letter Ethan had given him practically burned in his pocket. "Nothing. I'm just in awe that he left me that much. I didn't think..."

"Alright, enough heavy thoughts," Johnny said, reaching into the cooler he had put beside the couch. He shoved another beer into Peter's hand. "Star Trek isn't right unless you're totally plastered, so get to it."

Peter shook his head, but accepted the beer anyways.

-.-

Four days later, Peter still hadn't read Matt's letter. It sat on the dresser that still contained a mixture of both of their clothes. He had been going through it, slowly, but surely, taking out Matt's clothes and stowing them in paper bags to take down to Goodwill. There was still more to do of course, but he knew he couldn't let Matt's presence linger, not even in the apartment they had once shared. If Matt lingered, he'd never let him go.

He had shoved Mary Jane and Gwen out as quickly as possible when they had died. It hurt, but he didn't have time to mourn. There was always another battle to fight, there still was even with Matt gone. Matt was murdered, and so was his best friend, Foggy. Peter was now an Avenger, so it was only right that he avenged them.

And really? A toothpick? It was like Bullseye was screaming for Peter to go attack him.

But that was just it. For some reason, Bullseye was after him. Peter had seen the trick be pulled too many times to be fooled again, but that didn't mean he couldn't turn the tables on Bullseye when he finally found him. Sure, he was curious as to why Bullseye was after him, but that didn't matter. He'd get his revenge, and thanks to Matt's contract, he didn't have to worry about SHIELD yelling at him for acting out of orders.

Since he had started working for SHIELD, he hadn't stopped going out at night to patrol. He had even run into Natasha a few times, though she never let on that she was out fighting crime when they were on official SHIELD business. In fact, he hadn't talked to her much at all, even after the funeral.

Really, he should've already opened the letter and read it, but it was almost as if doing that would be admitting that Matt was really, truly gone. So it sat unread on his dresser.

-.-

Two weeks passed, and Clint was down in the firing range, testing his ability with his bow. His wrist still gave a twinge of pain every once and awhile, but for the most part, it held steady and strong. He was making his marks just fine, though he knew if his wrist were stronger he'd be doing better. If he got checked by the doctor again, he had no doubt that he'd be able to work in the field alone once more.

Not that he minded working with Peter. Over time, Peter had relaxed into a joking partner he could banter with while on the job. He had discovered that the man was an odd sort of blend between Steve and Tony: snarky and sarcastic, but full of justice and the unfailing conviction that good always triumphed over evil. Tony was too jaded for that kind of thinking, and so was Clint.

Peter was just an odd paradox, believing that in the end, things would turn out alright, even if he griped and whined through the present. It was admirable really, to expect the best even when all the cards he had been dealt were the worst. Clint had his own bad cards to deal with, and they had left him jaded, scarred, the memory of the pain always lurking and preventing Clint from ever thrusting himself into anything wholeheartedly.

"Looks like you got the bow back," Peter said.

Clint didn't jump, not even when he noticed Peter was hanging upside down by a thread of webbing beside him. "Yup. Should be passing my exam to work on my own in the next few days. Why're you here?"

"Weekly sparring with the Captain. We have some similar powers, so it's an interesting match for us both," Peter said, breaking the web to stand beside him. "You know, I've been thinking of giving my identity to SHIELD, finally."

"Oh?"

Peter hadn't seemed disgruntled, wearing his full suit whenever he was in SHIELD headquarters as he was now, and he had seemed so convinced that no one could ever know his identity. It was an odd change.

"Well, the only person I have left is Auntie May, and I've been thinking that if I could convince Stark to let me move her into his tower, she'd have all the protection she'd need from my enemies," Peter said.

Clint let another arrow loose, smiling to himself when it split his previous arrow in half, sinking deep into the target. "I see."

"But I have one more person to take out before I do that," he said. "I know who killed Daredevil." Another arrow sunk into Clint's target. "Bullseye."

"Thanks."

"No, I meant Bullseye killed Daredevil."

Clint coughed and looked away from Peter's unreadable expression. Damn mask. "Oh, sorry. Well, is SHIELD after him or something?"

"No. But I'm allowed to do what I want, it's in my contract," Peter said. "I just...wanted to tell someone."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "This sounds strangely like you plan on doing something stupid and self-sacrificing. Should I be stopping you right about now?"

"No. Well...not entirely yes. Bullseye is a tough opponent, and I don't kill people." Peter gave a low chuckle. "As Fury keeps reminding me. It's going to be a dangerous fight and I guess I just wanted someone to know I'm going after him."

"You have closer friends." Clint lowered his bow, turning to face Peter completely. "You could've told them instead of me."

"Yeah, you're right. But they're also a bit hot-headed and would be locking me in their basement until they were convinced I was done being insane," Peter said. "And you're my next closest friend after that guy."

"That's really sad." The words were out before Clint could stop them, and he sighed as he looked down to avoid Peter's gaze once more, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I mean...yeah I'm not digging this hole any deeper." Clint looked up then, propping his bow against the wall so he could fold his arms across his chest. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Can you?" Peter wasn't asking for him to go, it wasn't that. He just didn't think Clint was even allowed to act without his handler saying 'go'.

"I can do what I want with my personal life, if I'm not breaking any laws," Clint said. "If you need me to, I'm there."

Peter stared at him. "Why don't you swing by my place tonight. I think we need to have a talk."

Clint smiled. "I think we do."

-.-

"What?"
"I can't have you...be there openly," Peter said.

Clint set his beer on the table. "Can't say I understand why not." It was certainly a turn of events given Peter's earlier enthusiasm to have him along. When he had arrived at the apartment, he had been surprised to see bags filled with old clothes piled by the door, but hadn't bothered to comment on it. He looked back at Peter.

The journalist squirmed on the couch under his gaze. Natasha had been right. Peter Parker was quite good at hiding all his muscle under baggy t-shirts and jackets. He was very unassuming without his mask, insecure and questioning himself. Spiderman, it seemed, really was a whole new identity that Peter took on when he was fighting crime.

"Bullseye is obviously out to get me," Peter said. "And if he knows you're there, he'll come after you. I don't want that to happen, but a little back up might be nice in case I...get into trouble."

"Are you expecting to get into trouble?" Clint asked.

"Bullseye was Matt's enemy, not mine. Matt was a lot stronger than me, and more than once Bullseye has beaten him. I don't really stand a chance to be honest," Peter said. "But if there's a small chance, I want to take it."

Peter was determined. Anyone with eyes could see that.

"So you catch him, he gets locked away," Clint said, folding his arms over his chest. "Then what? He breaks out again. They always do."

"You think I don't know that?" Peter turned away from him, clenching his fist to resist the urge to punch the wall. "But I have to do something."

"Just wait for him to get the attention of SHIELD," Clint said. "They'll probably take him out, hell, you might even get lucky and be one of the people picked to go on the mission."

"Yeah? And how many people does he have to kill before it gets that bad? I can't stand around and wait for him to kill innocent civilians."

"He's already on SHIELD's list," Clint said. "If you would just be patient-"

"Being patient gets people killed."

Clint swished his beer bottle, as though he kept twirling it, it would magically refill itself. "Do you even know where he's located right now?"

Peter shook his head. "No. I figure he'll make himself known eventually. You did get checked by Stark right?" The journalist ran a hand down his face, eyes tired and frustrated, signs that he was angry he had talked so much without making sure Clint wasn't bugged first. Attention to detail could reveal a lot about a person.

"Of course I did. I'm not new to SHIELD's more...unsavory aspects. Ever since Stark joined our team I've been having him wipe me of bugs when I leave work," Clint said. "Besides, I'm technically acting without permission, and what SHIELD doesn't know, won't hurt them."

Peter just sighed and leaned back on the couch. "You don't have to do this Clint. I just wanted someone to know, not someone to help me. I'm not looking to get you fired or killed or whatever SHIELD does to employees that piss them off."

Clint shrugged with a grin. "I think you'd prefer if I didn't tell you what SHIELD does."

"Fair enough," Peter said.

Clint leaned forward on his knees. "Like I said, I'm off duty, right now. SHIELD doesn't always control me, so let me do what I can to help you now. I'd prefer if you got out of this one alive." Peter didn't respond. "Unless, of course, you don't want to get out of this alive?"

"Wasn't high on the priority list to be honest," Peter said.

"What, just because one guy died, you can't go on living?" Clint shook his head, eyes swimming with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"No, it's not just that," Peter said, his voice almost a snarl as he got to his feet. "Try everyone I've ever loved being ripped from my hands no matter what I do to save them. Contrary to what seems to be popular belief, I actually don't like being alone. I enjoy people, they just get killed off too fast to bother."

"So what's the plan then? Kill this Bullseye-"

"I don't kill people!"

"Then waste away, wait for someone to come by and put you out of your misery, become a super villain, be overcome by guilt and drink yourself to death? Well, which one is it?" With each word, Clint was stepping closer and closer, invading Peter's space until Peter was pressed up against a wall, his defiant expression slipping away and revealing the person Clint had been struggling to see beneath it all.

The small, insecure journalist who only ever wanted to live his life but his powers, his responsibility, just wouldn't let him. Clint took a step back as Peter let out a deep, choked breath, eyes widening.

"I think you need a moment to calm down," Clint said, keeping his voice quiet. "What do you need me to do?"

"God you're right. You're right, what am I doing?" The words left Peter in a breathless whine, and from the glazed look, he didn't know he was talking.

"It's fine, Peter, come on, listen to me," Clint said. He moved forward again and grabbed Peter's shoulders to keep the man standing up right instead of crumpling and folding in on himself. "Let's go sit down and talk about this rationally now alright?"

Peter jerked forward then, wrapping himself around the archer and clinging to him tightly as he began to shake.

"I think, this might be the moment where you've realized how wrong everything is," Clint said quietly. It was scary how light Peter was in his arms, barely any weight at all really. "And I think you need to have a nice, long nap and forget all this nonsense about revenge."

"But I have to do something." The words were hissed out against his neck, and Clint frowned, wrapping his arms tighter around the younger hero.

"Yeah, you do, but charging into battle and hoping that you get killed isn't a good idea. When you can think clearer, really think, I'm totally on board with helping you in any way I can," Clint said. He began to walk them backwards towards the bedroom, pressing soothing circles into the other's back. "Peter, how old are you?"

"What?"

Clint eased him down onto the bed so that he was sitting, back against the headboard. "How old are you?"

Peter shot him a look, bowing his head a moment later. "22 next week."

"Holy shit." Clint eased himself down into a nearby chair. "I thought you were older, man."

"That's what a lot of people say," Peter said.

Clint watched as Peter drew his legs up close to his chest, resting his forehead between the two. "I got into it young too but...you've been fighting since you were in high school. You never got a chance to...be a kid." I didn't either but that might be for different reasons.

"It's better now," Peter mumbled. "Before I just got bullied but then I became Spiderman and it...helped a lot."

"You shouldn't have to deal with this much death." Clint rubbed his hands together. He wasn't that good at comforting people, but Peter didn't have anyone else. Natasha and Coulson...he'd known how to comfort them, but he had known them years, been able to figure out what worked and what didn't work. He had known Peter for a few weeks.

"I'm not a kid," Peter said.

"I know. But it isn't right. I guess I've been treating you as an agent and you're not," Clint said. "I don't mean this in a bad way but...you aren't as tough as we are. You break differently."

"Hm?" Peter looked up, his eyes swollen as he rested his cheek on his knees. He gazed at Clint, curiosity in his eyes.

"Well...this woman I know, she breaks slowly. I can watch it happen right before my eyes, small chunks crumbling off of her until she's left open and exposed. My...my..." Clint broke off. What was Coulson? His lover, his best friend, his boyfriend? "My handler, he broke quick and sharp. He'd come home from work and just lose it. You? I just assumed you had already broken and were over it and were just being stupid. But you never broke to begin with."

"I wasn't letting myself feel," Peter said, turning away from him again. "Now I can't help it." He looked back at Clint and sat up straighter. "How do you break?"

Clint gave a dull laugh. "I don't, not often. I've lost three teammates this year. Can't say I've let myself feel much."

"So I guess you can't go around lecturing me, can you?" Despite the words, there's nothing defensive in Peter's tone.

"Nah, I can. I know what it feels like to snap after bottling everything up for so long. I don't think you wanna feel that," Clint said. "The result isn't pretty at all."

"If you know that, why don't you let yourself break, get it over with?"

Clint met Peter's eyes. "It's not that easy. I'm missing the person who used to take me apart and put me back together again."

Realization seeped into the other's eyes then and Peter looked away. Clint wasn't sure why he was telling Peter so much, maybe he was just trying to help the other out even if it meant bearing a bit of his soul out. Coulson always said that's how trust was built. You handed someone a piece of yourself and hoped that they didn't use it against you. If they didn't...well then, you could trust them.

"I guess we're both pretty messed up then."

"Yeah. We are."

"I could...take you apart." Peter swung his legs over the bed, head ducked as he looked over at Clint.

Clint crooked an eyebrow. "You're a little too timid to do that."

Peter chuckled. "I guess you're right. I've only ever spent my life being ordered around. It wasn't until Spiderman that I started living for myself."

"You've never lived for yourself," Clint said. "You live for the people now, and don't even try and tell me I'm wrong because I know you'll be lying. I bet you've had people telling you to leave behind the life you lead because they don't want to see you hurt, right? Because that happens to any one of us who has someone who cares."

Peter swallowed thickly. "Well, besides you, my Aunt, and Johnny, there's no one left alive that knows who I am."

Clint gave a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Damn. You're good."

"They're dead."

"But even if they weren't, only five people knew. Damn, no wonder you're so stressed out," Clint said. "Is there anything you need me for?"

Peter stared at the floor. "Stay with me?"

"Not used to sleeping alone yet, are you?" Clint asked. There was no judgment in his voice. "Neither am I. I sleep in the same bed as Natasha pretty much every night because I wake up feeling lost without another person there."

"I wake up in cold sweat because Matt isn't there anymore."

"I hold Coulson's old gun in my hand some mornings and contemplate blowing my brains out. Nat always leaves the room when I do this because she wants me to make the right choice on my own," Clint said in a rush, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I almost hung myself last week but I got over it and I don't think that's going to happen because too many people need me."

"Nobody needs me."

"I need you."

"You don't-"

Clint's words were cut off because suddenly Peter was in his lap kissing him breathless and for once he didn't know where to put his hands and Peter's hands were fisting in his hair to the point where it was painful. He couldn't resist Peter's tongue, hot and wet, licking its way inside and tasting him inside and out without giving him a chance to respond. Groans spilled from his mouth and into Peter's as the younger ground down into him, desperate and needy, so needy.

"I don't want to talk right now." Peter's words are a mumbled gasp over Clint's ear, making him shudder like he was a kid going through puberty, turned on by the slightest thing.

But Peter wasn't the slightest thing. He was hot, heavy, and hard against him, his body encompassing him completely and wholly and not giving him any way out, not that he really even wanted one.

"Okay. Okay. We don't have to talk," Clint said.

"Damn straight," Peter said.

Peter kissed him again, hands trailing down Clint's chest and tugging his shirt over his head, teeth nipping along his jaw as he did so. Gently, Clint threaded a hand into Peter's soft hair, fingers tickling over the nape of his neck, tightening when Peter suddenly nipped his neck. Clint's chest was warm beneath Peter's hands, calloused fingers running up and down the hardened muscles and flicking over his nipples.

Clint arched his back into the painful contrast and Peter smirked against his neck, flicking them harder and then pressing the palms of his hands down onto the nubs until Clint was stuttering out his name in a heated gasp, eyes slipping shut. Peter shifted on his lap, catching Clint's lower lip in his own and sucking hard as his blunt fingernails clawed down his sides, ending at his hips where his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the skin.

How Peter knew how to play his body so well was a bit unnerving, but at the same time, the pleasure it sent spiking through him was too delicious to deny. Any semblance of resistance Clint had disappeared under Peter's hands.

"Should I be stunned how good you are at this?" Clint asked into Peter's mouth as they kissed.

"I've had practice," Peter said, then ground down hard into the older's lap to silence him once more.

He slid back a bit, balancing perfectly as he straddled Clint's knees, fingers undoing his pants in a few quick movements before slipping a hand inside. The touch was tentative despite the earlier confidence in the man's movements, and that bit of vulnerability made Clint all the harder.

Peter pulled him out of his boxers, stroking in firm strokes, thumb toying with the head at every move. With a growl, Clint grabs the back of Peter's neck and hauls him closer for a kiss, hot and open mouthed as his other hand moves down to unbutton Peter's jeans, his movements a little more sloppy than Peter's had been but eventually, his hand was wrapped around Peter's length as well.

"God your hands," Peter hissed, hips jerking up into his grasp.

That's a kink to explore later, Clint could tell already, but he didn't bother with that now because Peter started to do something with his own hands that made his own hips stutter and his breath break past his lips in a hot rush. It was an odd feeling, like tons of tiny bristles sliding over the sensitive skin of his cock.

"T-The fuck...P-Peter?" His tone is questioning, the pleasure never having felt so intense.

Peter smirked into his neck, lips trailing down, down to the part where neck meets collarbone, down to the part that will be covered by his uniform, but only barely. If Clint shifted just the right way, then the top of the mark would be showing. Peter bit down as his hand reached the tip of his cock, the odd bristling feeling returning all over the top, smearing pre-come as Peter toyed with the slit. Growling, Peter bit harder, the shock making Clint arch beneath his hands.

Peter's hand tightened once, twice, and Clint's vision blurs white. His heart was beating so fast it was almost as though he were dying, convulsing in Peter's grip. Peter wrapped around him, like an anchor, and he clung helplessly as he began to cry, fingers tightening and wrinkling the younger's shirt.

"There you go," Peter murmured against his temple. His fingertips collected the tears off of Clint's cheeks then slid down to rub over his lips.

Clint buried his face in Peter's neck, aware of the other's arousal pressing into his belly but unable to do anything, unable to move to help him because there was a feeling, strong and overwhelming crashing over him and he didn't know what it was.

As he came back into his body, he found that Peter had already tucked them both back away and was curled up on his lap, fingers trailing over his bare chest. Sighing, he shifted in the chair and tugged Peter closer, his own hands moving to slide up and down his side, then underneath the shirt to touch the soft skin beneath. Peter's breath was soft and fluttering against his neck, nose nuzzling at his neck.

"Do you need anything?" Clint asked, voice quiet as his hand slid down to grasp at Peter's hip.

The barest of nods into his neck, and if Clint hadn't been paying attention, he was sure he would have missed it. Keeping his movements slow and careful, Clint undid the zipper once more, the button, tugging the jeans down so they hung on the tops of Peter's thighs. The boxers were shoved down next and then Clint cupped the younger's half hardened arousal, keeping his touches light.

Peter shifted in his grasp, teeth nipping at Clint's neck, soft enough that it didn't distract the older. Clint folded his hand around Peter's balls, rolling them gently before trailing a single finger up his length, enjoying the way the move made Peter's hips jerk beneath him.

He could tell Peter was holding back from the way he gasped, all soft noises and whimpers, but he couldn't bring himself to torture and drag out a stronger reaction. The way Peter was curled up against him made him seem fragile, breakable, so close to the edge that one hard touch would shatter him, and not in a good way if Clint wasn't careful.

Kissing Peter's temple, he continued his slow strokes, keeping the touch simple. It was a lazy, perfect, and he brought Peter's climax to him in such a gentle way, that it was almost as powerful if he had spent hours torturing him. Peter came apart in his hands, back arching, mouth opening wide as he gasped and cried out shuddering in Clint's grip.

Clint guided Peter into a kiss with his free hand, tongue stroking his mouth from the inside out until Peter finally stilled beneath him. The archer could still feel Peter's pulse racing, thrumming against the thumb he had pressed to the younger's neck, but the way the young hero was becoming boneless in his lap, he guessed it wouldn't be long before the man fell asleep.

Silently, Clint carried him to the bed and stripped Peter of his dirtied shirt, dropping it on the ground. He tucked his softened length away and stripped his pants off and pulled the covers back. Once Peter was beneath them, head pillowed on one curled arm, Clint began to walk away.

A slim hand tightened around his wrist, tugging him back. Swallowing thickly, Clint let himself be dragged down onto the bed, not sure what to think when Peter wrapped himself around him, curling tight. Swallowing, he rubbed his hand in between Peter's shoulder blades. He wanted to say something, anything, wanted to ask Peter what's going on, what they're doing, but as he opened his mouth, he remembered Peter saying he didn't want to talk.

So he swallowed his words and buried his face in Peter's hair, waiting for sleep to take him down.

-.-

When Peter woke, his head was on Clint's chest over his heart, the steady thud of his heart beat soothing him. For once, he didn't feel like dying as soon as he woke, and for a moment, that thought scared him more than anything else. What they had done yesterday had felt nice, amazing really. Watching Clint come undone in his hands had made him feel like he was in control for the first time in awhile. And then the way Clint had held him, caressing his body until he reached his peak, cradling him after.

It seemed like a dream, a surreal fantasy he didn't deserve.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clint shifted and tugged him closer, the heartbeat changing beneath Peter's ear as he began to wake. "Do you need something?" Clint's voice is quiet.

"No, I'm fine. Do you need me to leave?" Peter asked, pushing himself up so he was leaning over Clint. "I know you said that Natasha usually left you to...think."

An odd, twisted smirk distorted Clint's lips and his eyes opened sleepily, "You know, it's been awhile since I felt okay when I woke up. But I feel fine now so...maybe I can go without that ritual this morning."

Something tight clenched in Peter's chest and he recoiled, feeling horrible about his reaction when Clint frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Clint said, picking up that Peter wasn't apologizing for...making him feel happy. "I don't know what you're apologizing for, but you've made me happier than I have been in awhile. Don't feel like that's wrong."

"I can't..." Peter got to his feet, grabbing a pair of sweats from his drawer and tugging them on quickly, followed by a baggy shirt. Without clothes, he felt exposed and that wasn't something he wanted, not now, now when his mind was so twisted and confused.

Clint let him get his space as he left the room, going to their discarded beer bottles to put them away to recycle later. He froze when he saw a paper airplane, nestled between two bottles as if it had been made to fit just there. He pretended his fingers weren't shaking as he picked it up, unfolding it one crinkled move at a time.

Guess the Spider moves on pretty quickly. You make it so easy to hurt you.

He dropped the paper and whirled, tearing back into the bedroom to see Clint sprawled out on the bed, yawning as he arches his back. Surprised, he sat up, cocking his head to the side.

"Something wrong?"
"Bullseye left me a note." The words escaped Peter's lips before he could think to stop then, and he stumbled back to lean against the wall. "I just...wanted to make sure you were okay."

Clint's eyes narrowed and he swung out of the bed. "Bullseye left a note?"

Peter gestured back towards the living room and Clint brushed past him. Peter watched from the doorway as Clint picked up the paper and read it over a few times, dropping it onto the table when he finished. Then he grabbed the beer bottles and carried them over to the kitchen counter, rinsing them out and then turning to face Peter.

"Not the first death threat I've gotten," Clint said. He spread his arms. "I'm still here."

"Matt was killed by him. In his office. He didn't stand a chance." Peter's voice was tight and hard. "I'm sorry Clint, but you're no superhero like he was. He had powers and Bullseye took him out like it was no big deal. Like they hadn't been fighting each other to a stalemate for years. Forgive me for being a little...hesitant to trust your abilities."

"So what do you want me to do? Hide in one of SHIELD's facilities until you go and get yourself killed taking care of him?" Clint asked. "Because that's not happening. The good news is, this note is enough to raise a few eyebrows at SHIELD so you might be able to get a few more agents on the case."

"They'll just get killed! Forgive me for not having faith in an agency that works for the government and has sent assassins for me. Assassins I've easily beaten and trussed up for Fury to deal with," Peter said. "Simple SHIELD agents aren't going to take him down."

"You're freaking out, Peter. By agents, I meant Iron Man, Captain America, the works. It was personal before, but we didn't have any proof. Now we have proof. You take this to Cap, and he'll start the manhunt himself. The Avengers protect their own," Clint said. "Now where are your plastic bags? We need to put that away and take it in."

Peter broke the archer's intense gaze, eyes rooted to the floor as he tried to speak. "Not...not used to having people on my side."

"You've been working with the team for weeks now," Clint said. "Figured you'd be used to that by now."

"This is personal."

Silence reigned for awhile, neither moving. After a moment, Clint walked towards him, bare feet loud even on the carpet, cutting the heavy silence. "I'm going to hug you now."

Peter folded into Clint's grip as if he had been waiting for permission all along, wrapping his arms tight around the archer's waist as he pressed his face into Clint's neck. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Me neither. Just let me help you, please," Clint said. "Let me do that at least."

"Yeah...yeah okay." Peter tugged him closer, if that was even possible. "I'm just tired of people I care about being ripped away."

"Care about me?" Clint asked, the words spoken into Peter's temple.

"I don't know," Peter said, voice honest. "You and Johnny are the only ones I have left besides Aunt...May." He jerked as if shocked, trembling. "Aunt May. Bullseye knows who I am, he has to if he knows this apartment, if he's been watching us. I need to-"

Clint grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin and jerking him back to reality. "Go shower, get ready. I'll call Nat and she can get a squad down to her house. We can relocate her to Avenger's Tower. Tony's providing space for our families if we need it."

Peter jerked out of his grasp. "I'm going now. I'm moving her to the Baxter Building."

"Is that the safest?" Clint asked.

Peter's blue eyes narrowed, fists clenching. "I've known the Fantastic Four way longer than Tony. I trust their systems more than anyone else's. And I know they won't sell me out."

"Neither will Tony, or me, you know that," he said. "Tony can send someone to pick her up if you want, discreet. SHIELD will never know."

"You can't expect me to believe that. Or that she'll be safer there," Peter said, backing into the bedroom and grabbing his costume.

"The entire god damn building is a super computer, an AI of Tony's old butler. His security systems are better than anything the government has ever invented, and after the incident with Loki, he replaced all the windows with bullet-proof glass of his own making. Nothing will reach her," Clint said. "And that's only what I know. You're a science nerd like Tony is. If you want, he could explain it to you in technical terms."

Peter worried his bottom lip. "Okay, you've convinced me. Can I go now?"

Clint waved his hand. "I'll call Tony."

Peter nodded, then before he could stop himself, he had given Clint a quick kiss. They both pulled away, looking a little flustered. Before either could mention it, Peter had tugged his mask on and was gone.

-.-

"The kid's lucky I like him," Tony said as stepped into the elevator. "You have no idea how hard it was keeping SHIELD off my tail when we went to pick her up."

"Thanks, Stark," Clint said, nudging the man in the ribs lightly with his elbow. "He's been through a-"

"I know. I'm quite aware of the losses he's experienced lately. Maybe that's why I'm doing so much, but don't get it in your head that I'm this nice all the time. I'm doing this for him, not you," Tony said, though the smirk on his lips made Clint think that maybe, if he asked real nicely, Tony would do something for him.

"Did Cap say anything about helping him out with his Bullseye trouble?" Clint asked.

The elevator jolted to a stop, doors opening to reveal the living room. Natasha was sprawled over the couch, Bruce standing by the large windows with Peter, still dressed as Spiderman beside him, their voices low as they spoke. Steve got to his feet as they made their way into the room.

"Well, since we're all here now, I think we should come up with a plan," Steve said. He was already in uniform, minus the mask, as if he thought they would be running out to take Bullseye down right away.

"Really, you guys don't have to do this," Peter said, turning to look at them.

"You're one of us now," Steve said as he gave the younger a stern look. "I've talked with Fury, but he has informed me that they don't have a lot of information on Bullseye."

"And for once," Tony said from behind the bar. "He's telling the truth. I hacked into their servers again earlier because I didn't trust what Capsicle was telling me. They've got nothing on the guy."

"Are you trying to say you don't trust me?" Steve asked, his tone growing angry.

Tony rolled his eyes as he walked towards him. "I trust you just fine, Cap. It's the big guy I'm worried about."

"What's wrong with me?" Bruce asked.

Tony shot Bruce a look, but the scientist just gave him an innocent smile. "Big guy, not the Other Guy. You guys are all hopeless. Anyways, there's not much we have on him, but I'm sure we can start a face recognition scan. JARVIS?"

"I am sorry sir, but it would appear that there are no photos of Bullseye without his mask."

Peter jerked, staring up at the ceiling. "The hell?"

"JARVIS, my artificial intelligence super computer," Tony said. "Surely Clint mentioned him?"

"Uh yeah, but I haven't...heard him before."

Tony shrugged and knocked back his drink. "So, as far as plans go, we're pretty stuck it seems."

"Stark, I don't know if you remember this but, Clint and I are spies. We find people for a living," Natasha said. "If Spiderman would inform us of all he knows about the man, we can start searching."

"Oh, you're actually going to help?" Tony asked.

Clint inwardly winced as Nat straightened, arms folding across her chest as she stared Tony down. "Matt Murdock was a very close friend of mine and I've had a run in with Bullseye myself. It isn't an experience I care to repeat, but I'm not letting this go."

"Why have I never met this guy?" Tony asked. "Seems like a waste. Well in that case, there's your plan."

Steve stared at Tony. "Thanks Stark, but let me do my job next time."

"Oh you can take all the credit when Fury debriefs you," Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now, Spiderman, I hear you're a bit of a science nerd yourself. You should join Bruce and I in the lab, we got this great new..."

Clint snickered as Tony dragged the younger out of the living room, Bruce trailing behind them, shaking his head. Steve took off his mask and sat down on the couch, running a hand through his blond hair as Nat sat down on his left.

"So you know this Bullseye too? Is he strong?" Steve asked.

Clint moved closer, sitting down on the floor next to the coffee table as Natasha thought over her response.

"Let me put it this way. I survived because Matt distracted him. Another two seconds and I would've been dead. Matt Murdock is one of the strongest men I know, stronger than you in some ways, and Bullseye took him down with a toothpick."

Steve rubbed at his eyes, then folded his hands together. "How the heck do you protect against a toothpick?"

"Never leave your house again," Clint said. "He's paranoid at home now, since Bullseye left him the note." He looked up at both of them. "Not going to lie, it gave me a bit of a chill too. He could've easily killed us both, but he didn't. He's just fucking with our heads, and I don't take kindly to that."

"Maybe he should stay here then," Nat said.

"That'd require him giving up his identity," Clint said.

She rolled her eyes. "Like we don't all already know. We all know Tony moved his Aunt here, only takes a quick Google search to connect the dots. SHIELD won't know but...we're his team. We aren't going to betray him."

"I can talk to him," Steve said, looking resolved. "He has to know we're on his side, no matter what."

"Be careful," Clint said. "He's pretty convinced that everyone he gets close to ends up dead so...don't lay it on too thick, alright Cap?"

-.-

If Stark hadn't already given him the "Don't touch anything, I mean it, I will fry you alive if you do" speech, Peter's hands would've been all over everything. Weapons, chemicals, everything. He read the papers, hell, he wrote the papers. He knew Stark had invented two new elements, he knew the technology that was at his fingertips, and he was also painfully aware that he could never touch it.

"You know, if you stayed here long enough, and I got to like you, I might let you touch things," Stark said.

Peter turned away from where Banner was tinkering with a gun of some kind to face Stark, tilting his head to the side when he realized the man was eating out of a bag of frozen blueberries.

"Where'd you get those?"

"I store my snacks all over the lab," Stark said with a straight face. "So, maybe you should stay longer. Then you can tinker with the toys."

"Nah, I'm good," Peter said.

Stark did an odd eye-roll mixed with a frown and then reached forward, yanking off Peter's mask before he could do anything. "We all know who you are, stop being an idiot. I thought you were a genius. I am not impressed."

Peter frowned, but couldn't think of a response so he kept his mouth shut.

Banner sighed from behind him. "What Tony's trying to say is we all know who you are, we're protecting your Aunt, and we'll protect you too. Stay in the Tower."

"No."

Banner finished walking around the table to stand beside Stark, arms folded across his chest as he looked at Peter over his glasses. "And why not? Afraid the people you'll get close to will end up dying?"

Peter felt his throat and mouth go dry as the other scientist read his thoughts, read him like an open book. Was it really that obvious? "Everyone I've ever loved has died. I don't have an amazing track record."

"We've all been through that," Bruce said.

"Speak for yourself," Stark said, glancing away.

Bruce scoffed, nudging him with his elbow. Sighing, Stark held out his bag of blueberries and Banner took one, popping it into his mouth. "Maybe not as a direct result of being...well super heroes, but we've all had loved ones die. You're just a little on the unlucky side. "

"You know what, before you start rambling and giving me your life story, hold these Bruce, let me say a few things," Stark said, shoving the bag of berries into Bruce's hand. "You are living in the apartment of your deceased lover. The man who wants to hunt you down knows where you live and has already proven he can easily get inside. Common sense says you should be moving to a place where you'll be safe. How is a building, run by an AI that I built, full of superheroes, not safe enough for you?"

"I'm not going to let him scare me away," Peter said, leaning back against the table. "If I give in now, he knows he can boss me around."

"Bruce, he's an idiot," Stark said, looking at Banner with an incredulous look like he couldn't quite believe it. "Why did you let me bring him into my lab?"

"I'd say it's because deep down you're a big-hearted softie but I know that's a lie."

"You're smart, have the rest of the berries," Stark said. "Now, Parker, listen. Cap already gave you the you-are-one-of-us speeches. What he didn't mention is that this means you're also mine. I protect my stuff."

"You don't own me-"

"Actually you signed over the rights to your soul when I had you sign that housing contract for your Aunt," Stark said.

"You what?"

"Joking. Now-"

"What Tony is trying to say," Banner interjected, shoving his way in between the two men before they could move any closer together. "Is that he cares for your safety so just stay here where he can keep an eye on you. For his own benefit."

"I need to bring you along on my business meetings," Stark said, turning to look at Banner for a moment. "Such a good translator."

"I fail to see how my running away will help me fight against Bullseye," Peter said. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he couldn't help it.

"You're not running away. You're luring him into a false sense of security. He'll think you're too chicken shit to do anything and he'll come after you, if that's his goal anyways. But since you're here, we can take care of you," Tony said.

"I...suppose I could see that. I guess I can stay here then," Peter said.

Tony gave him a smile. "Good man. Bruce, show him around. Glad we had this talk." He turned on his heel and briskly left the room.

Bruce tilted his head to the side, a small smirk on his lips. "You didn't believe a word he just said, did you?"

"Nope, just figured it'd be easier to stop fighting and do what he wants," Peter said.

"Ah, you're learning already," Bruce said.

Peter grinned. "They say I'm a quick learner. "

"Let's put that to the test."

Before Bruce could lead him further into the lab though, the doors swung open to reveal Steve, dressed back in civilian clothes. "Um, Tony said you'd be in here. Could I talk to you for a bit, Peter?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said. "I should probably be swinging by to pick up some things at my...old place now anyways."

"I'll be here when you get back," Banner said with a small wave as Peter began to head towards the exit. Peter waved a hand back at him in acknowledgement.

"Tony tells me you've decided to stay," Steve said as he followed Peter out of the lab. "That's good. I just wanted you to know we're all on your side. We care about you."

"Come off it, Cap. You don't even know me, you're just protecting your investments," Peter said, punching in the number for the ground floor as he tugged his mask back on.

With Steve dressed in normal civilian clothes, he was able to shove his hands in his pockets and look all sorts of sheepish that made Peter feel guilty. "Clint warned me you'd be like this."

"Ah? And what else did Clint warn you about?" Peter asked, genuinely curious.

The elevator doors opened and he crossed the garage quickly, trying not to stare too long at all of Tony's fancy cars. Steve stopped walking, hovering by a simple motorcycle, not the one Peter had seen him driving before.

"Could we perhaps talk more later? I can help you pack what you need at your old apartment," Steve said.

"You're just the all around American, aren't you?" Peter shook his head, smiling under the mask. "You're a real nice guy, Cap. Sure, that'd be fine."

He shoved open the door that led outside and shot a line of web up to head back home.

-.-

Peter stared at the box full of pictures he and Matt had taken when they had managed to squeeze in a three-day vacation down in Florida, heart thudding in his throat. To the left of the box was a trash bag.

He had beaten Steve to his apartment by a long shot, giving him time to get his head in order before he packed the last of his belongings to take to Stark Tower. Bags of clothes sat by the door, clothes he'd have to take down to Goodwill before he moved into Stark Tower, clothes he didn't want to look at again. Sighing, he shoved the lid back onto the box, moving to answer the door as Steve knocked lightly on it.

"Hi," he said with a small wave, stepping inside. "How can I help?"

"Uh, in the closet there's some stuff. Just shove it into the trash bags, they're sitting on the bed," Peter said. "I don't keep anything I don't wear so it can all go over. Besides, Stark probably gave me an entire room's worth of closet space."

Steve chuckled, then frowned as Peter moved to pick up the box. "What's that?"

"Just uh, old photos," Peter said, offering a weak grin.

"Of what?" Steve stepped closer and inwardly, Peter cringed.

"Me and Matt." No point in lying, because Steve was already gently prying the box away from him and setting it down on the ground. "From our vacation a few months ago. And from just...around. I mean, Matt couldn't ever see them but he thought it was important that I...did."

Steve sat down with a sigh beside the box, lifting out each picture he wanted to examine with a careful touch before setting it aside, stacking them neatly. "If they are so important to him, why would you throw them away?"

If Tony had asked the question, it would undoubtedly have been accusing, but Steve seemed genuinely curious to hear his answer.

"I don't want to remember. There's no point when remembering only makes me want things I can't have," Peter said.

Steve didn't dignify that with an answer, instead just working through all of the photos, and from the angle he was standing at, Peter could see all of them as well. He swallowed thickly, shifting from one foot to the other, but refusing to sit beside the other man.

"You know, memories make a person who they are," Steve said as he began to pack the photos away again. "You wouldn't be who you are now if it weren't for your experiences. I wouldn't mind a photo or two of Bucky. I've got one of Peggy but...keep these, even if you don't want to look now. One day you might want to."

"One day, I might be dead," Peter said.

Steve got to his feet, stepping close. "I hope you don't plan on going out of your way for that."

"Never said that."

"I've seen a lot of people with passive aggressive death wishes," Steve said. "People who jump out of line, make a reckless move, play it off as just being impulsive, but they're just trying to get themselves killed."

"That's not on my list of things to do. I have things I need to finish," Peter said. Steve's intense blue stare was hard to combat. It felt like the man knew what he was thinking, was reading his mind and processing every thought.

"And when you run out of things to finish?"

"It's a long list."

Steve stared at him a moment longer, than smiled, small and soft. "Yeah, alright. Let's get you packed up, alright?"

"Sure, Cap," Peter said, returning the smile.

As they set about packing up, he realized that he had been telling the truth, not just saying something to get Steve off his back. He did want to live, he did have things he wanted to do still. Not just kill Bullseye, but other things, the things he and Matt had never gotten around to doing, things he wanted to do, plain and simple.

As they walked out the door to load up a car Stark had sent for them, Peter snatched Matt's letter, shoving it into his pocket. He wasn't ready to read it yet, but he wasn't ready to live in the cold apartment any longer.

-.-

"Hope you don't mind, I let myself in," Clint said.

Peter didn't look up, staring down at the letter on the counter. He was sitting on the barstool, face cradled on his steepled fingers. "Yeah it's fine. JARVIS warned me you were at the door."

"Oh. So...what're you doing?" Clint asked, sliding into the barstool beside him.

"Debating whether or not to read this," Peter said.

Clint reached forward and grabbed for the letter, picking it up when Peter didn't reach out to stop him. He knew the archer wasn't going to open it without his permission, so if the man wanted to look, who was Peter to stop him? "Matt write it?"

"Yeah. It was in his will, so he must've wrote it awhile ago," Peter said.

"Think it might give us a clue to where Bullseye is located?"

"No, probably not. Matt was a lot of things, but he wasn't a psychic. He wouldn't have know Bullseye was going to kill him," Peter said.

"I beg to differ." Clint twisted the letter back and forth as if a secret message would suddenly be revealed. "You said that Bullseye was the only one who ever fought him to a stalemate. I remember when you were going on your rant about everyone you cared about dying around you."

Peter flushed a little at that. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say you were weak."

Clint silenced him with a firm look and continued. "What I'm trying to say is that Matt probably knew if he ever got killed, it was going to be by Bullseye. No one else worried him as much."

"So you're saying he might've included some memo about Bullseye? That's a cheap shot Clint, trying to get me to read a letter so that I can maybe reveal some clues."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you into anything," Clint said. "You know that."

"Do I?"

"Would you have let me into your bed last night if you didn't trust me not to hurt you?"
Peter's lips tightened and he looked away. "That might've been a mistake."

"Do you feel better?" Peter didn't answer, but he knew that his silence alone was enough of an answer for Clint. "How's something a mistake if you enjoyed it? If it made you feel happy?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Peter said, sliding out of his chair only to have Clint wrap a hand around his wrist and tug him back down onto his lap, somehow managing to keep his balance even with Peter's added weight. "Clint."
Clint met his gaze, holding it as he pressed the letter against Peter's chest, not letting go until Peter had the letter in his hand. "Read it. If you need me to leave, I will, but I can be here if you need me. You're torturing yourself with all this back and forth."

Peter broke their eye-lock, then slid forward a bit and wrapping his legs around Clint's waist to encourage the archer to reach down and settle his large hands along Peter's waist. The hands were just as warm and comforting as he remembered, and with a sigh, he folded himself around the older, arms going over his shoulders, chin resting against the crook of his neck.

He opened the letter carefully as one of Clint's hands slid up his back to tangle in his hair. Peter shifted on his lap, a small smile coming to his lips as the archer set about massaging his fingers into the back of Peter's head, the touch nearly putting him to sleep.

"If you keep doing that, I'm going to fall asleep before I read the letter," Peter said, forcing his eyes open.

He was sure it was supposed to be scary, being held so tenderly by another person so soon. Hell, even Bullseye had commented on it in his note. What was he doing? As if sensing his disturbing thoughts, Clint tugged him closer and kissed the tip of his ear, and it relaxed Peter more than he cared to admit. With a sigh, he took the letter out of its envelope and began to read.

Peter,

I added this to my will the night I realized I actually might love you. I thought all day about what I wanted to say, what I would say if I could, after I died. I wish I could say that I'll never die, but we both know how dangerous the lives we lead are. You'd know I was lying.

Yesterday was when I took you on that date. I think you'll know the one I'm talking about before I even start explaining. When you told me about your Uncle Ben, Gwen, and Mary Jane. When you laid out your soul for me and trusted me not to use it against you.

I know how hard that is to do. I realized what a gift you were giving me. I realized that maybe it's okay to start loving people again, to start letting people in again. As of right now, we've been dating for six months. I don't know when you'll be reading this; to be honest, it is my sincerest hope that you'll never have to read this.

I'm bad at saying what I feel. In fact, this is probably the most eloquent thing you've seen me write, heard me say. I'm fine on the stand, in the courtroom, but tell me to talk about my feelings and well, I'm next to hopeless.

Whatever happened to me, I'm sorry. I probably could've done something to stop it. Or maybe I was just caught off guard. I don't know. I know I wouldn't have left willingly, there are too many things I wanted to do. God, I hope I'm not making a mess of this paper. It's hard enough to write when I'm blind, but I'm shaking too because I don't know what I'm even feeling anymore. You drive me insane Peter Parker.

I guess I should leave you with some last few words or something. Don't get too hung up on me, no matter how far down the line this letter comes to you. You are a loving person, a person who needs to be cherished just as much as he cherishes others. You need someone to give you as much as you give them. You need someone who's not going to take everything from you and walk away. I'm not the only person that fits that description.

I love you Peter Parker, and I hope at this point you've started to love me too. Love is weird for me and I know you don't like hearing that word because you think it means that person's going to end up dying. That's not true, though I guess with the life we live, we're a little more prone to losing our loved ones. But don't let that, or this, stop you from loving other people.

You've got so much love in you Peter, it'd be a shame if you never expressed it. Don't forget me, But don't shut yourself off either. I'll always love you.

Matt

Peter let the letter flutter out of his grip, clinging to Clint with an iron hard grip as he began to cry. Clint didn't say anything, just held him close and didn't let go.