This takes place before AOU but after IM3. (I think)


"From a little spark may burst a flame."

-Dante Alighieri

"This was a terrible idea." Bruce admitted, hugging his arms to his chest. "We should not have done this."

"You don't say," Clint sniggered, inappropriately amused by the situation. "Although, I find it hilarious. Like on a scale of one to ten, in terms of how bad you guys could fuck up, this is an eleven."

"Steve's going to kill me."

"Not if the squirt gets to you first."

Bruce shuddered and risked another quick peek under his desk. A pair of fierce brown eyes shone bright with fear as they flickered back and forth between the two men. The eyes were partly hidden under a mop of tangled brown hair which covered the head of a small child.

"I'm not a squirt." The child bit out. "My name is Anthony Edward Stark and my father will have you killed for kidnapping me." His fist was wrapped around an old, rusty screwdriver and he clutched it like a knife.

"What do I do?" Bruce whispered. He shoved his shaking hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat. "Please help me."

Clint shrugged his shoulders in a what do you expect me to do sort of way. "I can't believe you de-aged Tony Stark."

"It was in the name of science!" Bruce protested. "Clearly, I didn't know this would happen!"

"Clearly." The archer drawled, rubbing his chin. "Well, I'm going to be the responsible adult and suggest we call Steve and tell him there's been an emergency."

"But he's going to be so mad." The doctor's skin had turned a sickly shade of green and Clint, fearing a meeting with the Other Guy, inched towards the door. Still, he couldn't help a quick tease. Obviously he had no sense of self-preservation.

"Now who's the child?"

"Steve's worse than me when he's angry, because he doesn't get angry. He just gets disappointed. Do you know what it's like to disappoint Captain America?"

"Steve's never disappointed in me." Clint grinned. "It's because his expectations are already so low."

"Hilarious." Went Bruce, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a long, deep breath. Clint watched as the thin tendrils of green swirled around on his face before disappearing completely. "No, I need to fix this before Steve finds out."

"He'll find out." Clint warned.

"Just… Just deal with Tony and I'll start doing some scans."

"Deal with him?" Clint went, incredulously. "He thinks we kidnapped him." But Bruce was already busy, waving a Stark-Pad over the oblong device that presumably shrunk their resident billionaire.

Clint let out a huff, cursing the fact that it was him who Bruce called. For what reason, he had no idea. He wasn't the smartest Avenger, or the strongest. And he sure as hell wasn't any good with kids. Bruce should know that. Bruce was there that one time Clint accidentally made Coulson's nephew cry. (Coulson still gave him hell for that).

He slowly made his way over to the desk that Tony was huddled under, racking his brain for something to say. Normally in a combat situation Natasha took care of calming the victims. Despite her frightening lack of it, she was always better at empathy than him.

"Stay. Away." The child hissed as Clint neared his hidey hole. "I swear, if you get any closer I'll hurt you." Tony waved the screwdriver in the archers direction, rocking forward on his knees.

"I'd like to see you try." Clint smirked before cursing himself. He was supposed to be calming the boy down, not threatening him. See? He said he was no good.

Tony's eyes narrowed, sweeping over Clint's uniform and focusing on the bow and quiver resting on his back. "Why are you dressed like Robin Hood?"

"Because I'm a superhero. Name's Hawkeye." Went Clint, a bit surprised by the boy's willingness to talk. But then again, it was Tony, even if he was pint-sized.

The kid screwed up his face and shook his head. "You're lying. You're not a superhero. Superhero's don't kidnap people."

"Not usually." Said Clint. "Unless those people are in danger. Then we might." He could see the gears of Tony's brain whirling, trying to make sense of the odd situation.

"I am in danger?"

"I don't know." Clint shrugged. "But we didn't kidnap you so the point is moot."

"Then why am I here!" Tony shouted, fed up with Clint's vague answers.

"I don't know." The man repeated, rubbing at his stubble. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Tony was silent for a few moments, gnawing on his bottom lip. The question wasn't difficult but the boy was clearly having a hard time coming up with an answer. "I remember...I was in class and then it was dark... And then, blue?"

"Blue?" Went Clint.

The kid nodded, fiddling with the screwdriver. "Do you promise you're not a kidnapper?"

"Pinky swear." Grinned Clint.

"Okay." Whispered Tony.

Success.

He finally managed to coax Tony out from under the desk, although the kid kept his white-knuckle grip on the screwdriver. Feeling confident that the boy wasn't about to attack him anymore, Clint let him keep it as a sort of security blanket. He led the boy through the lab and over to Bruce who was now hunched over his laptop, muttering to himself.

"I dealt with it." Clint beamed, nudging the doctor. "Be proud of me."

"Good job." Went Bruce, barely taking his eyes off the screen in front of him.

"Tony, meet Bruce. He's also a superhero, but he's definitely not as cool as me." That earned him a small smile from the boy and a quick glare from the doctor.

"Is that a computer?" Tony suddenly piped up with a gasp. "It's so cool!" Apparently abandoning all fear with the prospect of a fancy electronic, the boy pushed his way past Clint and edged up next to Bruce. "Where did you get it?!"

"Um." Said Bruce, "I made it?" Which Clint knew was only partially true. Tony himself built most of the stuff in the lab. Hell, he built most of the stuff in the entire tower. But they couldn't exactly tell the kid that, could they?

"Are you a super genius?" Asked Tony, brows furrowed. "Because my father's the smartest person in the world and even he can't make that. It looks like it's from the future."

Bruce froze, hands poised comically over the keyboard. "It's-"

"Who's hungry?" Clint suddenly (and loudly) interjected. "Because I'm starving." It was a cheap tactic but Tony fell for it, turning away from Bruce and the computer-from-the-future. "I'm feeling hot dogs. You?"

"O-kay." The kid said, a bit bemused.

"Fantastic." Clint remarked. "Why don't you go grab that sweatshirt over there and we'll head to the kitchen." He pointed across the lab to where a lump of clothing lay slung over a chair. "Don't want you to get cold after all."

Tony just appeared to realize that he was only wearing a pair of oversized boxers (clearly his clothes didn't shrink with him) and flushed red, hurrying off.

Once the kid was out of earshot, Clint leaned down and furiously whispered to Bruce. "What the hell are we supposed to tell him?!"

"I don't know!"

"Well he's going to figure it out fast, the tower is pretty spanking high-tech."

"I'm aware." Bruce groaned. "Hopefully I can fix this before he freaks out too much."

"I'm pretty sure he's already freaking out."

The doctor groaned again and bumped his forehead against the computer screen. "We need Steve."

"Told ya. Dibs on not telling him."

Bruce just sighed.


So, how old are you?" Asked Clint, stepping into the elevator with Tony.

"Seven." Said the kid. "Although I turn eight in May."

"That's like nine whole months away." Clint sniggered.

"Shut up, old man." Tony retorted. "It doesn't matter. I bet I'm smarter than you anyways."

"Old man?" Clint gasped, clutching his chest. "How dare you! Didn't anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?"

The kid giggled, rocking back on his heels and Clint felt a warmth blooming in his chest. It had been about 15 whole minutes and he had yet to make Tony cry. Looks like his track record with kids was improving.

The elevator gave a pleasant ding when they reached Clint's floor, bouncing to a stop. Tony followed Clint out as he made his way through his apartment and into the kitchenette. "I said hot dogs, right?"

"Right." Nodded Tony, climbing onto a barstool and resting his cheek in his palm. "You know I have a buncha questions."

"I'm sure." Clint said, popping a couple of Beef Franks into the microwave. "You can ask em' but I might not answer."

"Fine." Said Tony, apparently deciding that was acceptable enough. "Number one; where am I?"

"Avenger's tower. It's where me and a bunch of other superheroes live."

"That's cool if you're not lying. My dad knew a superhero." Tony went, twirling a finger in his curly hair.

"Not lying." Said Clint. "Remember? I pinky promised." The microwave beeped and he grabbed the hot dogs, cursing and juggling them like hot potatoes when they burned his finger.

"You should use a fork." Frowned Tony, sitting back as Clint dumped a Frank on the counter in front of him.

"No shit, Sherlock." Grumbled the archer, reaching into the cupboard for some plates. "Next question?"

"What's your name? Your real name, not Hawkeye." The kid elaborated, squirting an unhealthy amount of ketchup on his food.

"Barton. Clint Barton." Said Clint with a bow. "At your service." Tony grinned at the archer's antics and Clint was beginning to think maybe he was somewhat decent with kids after all. Who knew?

Just then the elevator gave another ding and Clint looked up, expecting Bruce to join their little impromptu lunch. Unfortunately for Clint, it was not Bruce. It was Steve and he did not look happy.

"Bruce tells me there's been a situation."


Clearly reviews are always happily received :)

-Wyck