A/N: And yeah, I know I'm supposed to be working on my other stories, but this inspiration came to me and I HAD to write it! This oneshot is heavily based off the song Those Nights by Skillet; which by the way, I do not own. This will be pretty AU, as if the Avengers were highschoolers etc. It mostly features Clint and Natasha with mentions of the others. It will be slightly OOC, but that is because they are teenagers. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or the song.
Those Nights
Seventeen year-old Clint Barton sat boredly at the desk in his messy, cramped room. A wrinkled piece of paper was pulled toward him and a pen was in his hand. A doodle of teenager holding a bow and arrow was on the center of the paper. Clint pushed the pen down to connect to the paper, outlining the doodle for the millionth time. Of course he had to be bored on a Saturday night. All of his friends, minus Natasha Romanoff, were off doing things they did best.
Bruce had told everyone not to bother him tonight, since he was trying to finish a science project that he wanted to do well on. Something about gamma radiation that they had learned in science, but Clint didn't bother to pay attention in that class. Bruce was pretty much the science genius out of the group, although Tony could probably be considered one also.
Steve and Thor were at Football practice. They never passed up the opportunity to practice, so when the Seniors organized late night practices every other Saturday, the two were on board. Oddly, as much as they loved sports, neither of them wanted to pursue a career in that area. Steve wanted to join the army and Thor wasn't all that certain of what he wanted to do.
Tony was off at some fancy party. Normally, if his best friend Natasha was with him, they would sneak out of the house to one of the parties Stark was at. They usually got in. Although there was the one occasion they tried to smuggle Thor in and he totally messed up the plan. Clint smiled slightly at the thought of a clueless Thor telling the security guard that they were smuggling him in. Clint would have been all for going to the party if he was allowed to hang out with Natasha.
For some reason, his parents didn't like the small Russian girl, and they banned him from spending any time with her outside of school. At first, he didn't give a damn. He would go in his room, lock the door, and sneak out the window. But when his parents threatened to take away his bow and arrows, it was a different story. Since his parents already didn't like the fact he took archery, he didn't want to give them any more reasons for his bow to be taken away. He was a good boy. He didn't sneak over to Natasha's house even when his parents were fighting so badly he couldn't sleep.
However, tonight was one of those nights.
Clint could hear his father shouting at his mother and his mother screaming back. They fought practically everyday. He didn't know why or how they were still married and he and his brother Barney weren't kicked out. The fights were always about them. With a tired sigh, he glanced to the digital clock on the edge of his desk. 11:47. Did he dare peek out his door to see what was going on? Deciding not to take the chance to be dragged into the fight, he stood up. He stumbled over the mess of dirty clothes and plopped down on his bed.
Clint rested his hand on his abdomen and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the clear shouting of his parents. He even heard Barney's voice in the mix, trying to stop them from nearly killing each other. He closed his eyes, trying to block everything out and possibly fall asleep.
An hour later, the fight was still going on strong and Clint didn't think he could take it anymore. Sitting straight up, he reached out to the bedside table and snatched his phone. He scrolled through the contacts, picking out Natasha's name and sending a text to her.
I'm coming over.
He walked over to his closet, grabbing a dark purple shirt and black jeans. By the time he was done changing into them, Natasha had texted him back.
Clint, what the hell? It's almost one in the morning...
A wry grin found its way onto his lips.
Yeah, like you were really sleeping. I just need to get out of the house.
The text back was almost immediate.
Oh. I'll see you in a half hour then.
Clint shoved his phone in his pocket, turning toward his archery set. Where was he going to hide that? Leaning to the side, he nearly jumped when the floorboards squeaked. His eyebrows shot up and he looked from his bow to the floor a few times. Grabbing his archery things, he leaned down to the floor. With sheer force, he was able to pull up a few loose boards. He hastily, but gently stowed everything away there and replaced the boards. That would work for now.
He locked the door before grabbing his set of car keys and opening the window. He climbed through, shutting it behind him and sneaking over to the car in the driveway. Clint got in the car, putting the key in the ignition and starting it up. He backed out of the driveway hastily, stepping on the gas when he was on the road. Natasha's house was about twenty minutes away by car. He had walked there before, though, and it was about two hours.
Natasha was the only one that really got him. She understood when his parents fought because so did hers. They both understood each other. There was no Clint with out Natasha or Natasha without Clint. Everyone always thought they were romantically involved, but truth was, they weren't. Not that Clint didn't want to be. He couldn't deny the feelings he had toward his best friend, but he knew she wasn't ready for a relationship of any sorts. Especially with someone so close to her. A relationship could possibly ruin the close friendship they had. And only when she was ready for something more would he comply.
Clint pulled into her driveway, parking and getting out of the car. He pocketed the keys and walked up to the door. Before he even had the chance to knock, the door swung open to reveal a groggy Natasha Romanoff in a baggy black shirt and red pajama pants.
"Not sleeping, huh?" She said coldly, stepping aside to let him in.
Clint put his hands up in surrender, "In all honesty, I thought you were awake."
She rolled her eyes as he entered her house. It was pretty shabby, but cleaner than usual.
"You know I'm only letting you in because your parents are fighting, right?"
He shrugged, "I don't care. I just needed to get away from it. Before I was dragged into it."
Natasha grabbed his arm and glanced down the hallway before dragging him to the living room, "We have to be quiet. If my parents knew you were here at this hour, they'd kill you."
Clint nodded, breaking away from her grip and going over to plop down on the couch. She sat down on the other end, putting her feet up on his lap and leaning back against the armrest.
"Here," she tossed him the remote and he caught it with ease.
"Any preferences?" He asked, turning on the T.V. and beginning to flip through the channels.
"Is CSI on?"
Clint searched through the channels before finding CSI, "Yup it's on."
The two were completely silent as they caught up on what ways going on.
"Oh my gosh, seriously? Who would be so stupid about that? You're not supposed to leave any evidence behind!" Natasha burst out.
He rolled his eyes, chuckling, "Yeah. Like you're an assassin. Maybe he had reasons for it?"
"Who knows, maybe one day I'll be one," she smirked.
"And I'll be your partner in crime," he joked with a lopsided smile.
A small smile graced her full lips and she turned her attention back to the television. It wasn't long before they heard footsteps and Clint quickly ducked down behind the couch to avoid being seen.
"Who's here, Natasha?" A stern voice asked. Her father.
"No one. I'm watching CSI, go away," she said coolly.
"Не говорите со мной так, несчастный!" Her father shouted.
"Вы не должны быть рывок, я просто пытаюсь смотреть телевизор," she snapped.
Then a full-heated argument broke out and Clint sighed. He had come here to get away from a fight, not be thrown into another one. He saw her father come around to the other side of the couch and knew he'd be in trouble. Everyone froze and Clint looked up to face her father's gaze.
"Hi there... I was just watching some TV..." Clint said awkwardly, shifting to a sitting position. He was swiftly kicked in the back of the head by Natasha.
"Ow? What the heck, Tash?"
"That's not how you explain what you're doing in my house, Barton. Idiot!"
"Out!" Her father snarled, interrupting the two.
Clint stood up slowly, eying the older man as he slipped past him and toward the door. Natasha followed him, pushing past him and opening the door.
"What are you doing?"
"Coming with you. I don't really expect you to go back to your house, and do you really expect me to go back in there?" She snapped, "give me your keys."
"Heck no, I'm driving!"
"Give me the keys before my dad comes out here and strangles you," she said calmly, holding out her hand.
"Fine. Whatever."
He tossed her the keys and at top speed she was in the driver's side. He got in the passenger side. They were just getting out of the driveway when her dad came out of the house, screaming something in Russian. He didn't understand too much Russian, but he had picked up a few things from being Natasha's best friend.
"What did he say?" He asked.
"You don't want to know."
Clint didn't press her any further and the rest of the ride was silent. He wasn't really sure where they were going, but he recognized some of the scenery. A few moments later, he immediately recognized the old dirt path they turned onto.
"We're going to the lake?"
She simply nodded, a small smile creeping on her face. The lake was full of memories. Natasha had pushed Stark into the water on one day he was particularly annoying, the day a blushing Steve had met a pretty Peggy Carter, and the list went on. She pulled the car onto the beach and parked. Clint reached over and turned the radio on loud.
"Dance?" He asked.
Natasha gave him a very weird look. It was somewhere between bewilderment and disgust. "I don't dance."
"Come on, Tasha," he coaxed, getting out of the car and going around to her side. He opened her door and held his hand out to her. It was several moments before she took his hand.
He tugged her out of the car, stepping back and putting one hand on her waist and holding her hand gently with his other. She rested her free hand on his shoulder and they swayed to the beat of the music. She was very tense the entire time, however. No matter what he did, he couldn't get her to relax. So after some more twirling and swaying, he let go of her and turned to face the lake that was shining in the moonlight.
"I don't know why I'm still alive," he muttered.
There was a long pause before she spoke, "because you have good friends. Unless you're counting Stark..."
He chuckled; the chuckles turning into laughs, and the laughs turning into gasps. He could hear her laughing beside him also. He took deep breaths to slow his heart rate and forced the laughter away.
"I guess you're right. I don't know what's wrong with our parents."
Natasha shrugged, obviously not wanting to talk about that right now. Clint sat down and patted the spot next to him, his gray eyes meeting her green ones. She sat next to him, curling her legs so they criss-crossed. Her arm brushed against his and he could feel the coolness of her skin.
"I'm really glad we're friends, Nat."
"I'm glad we're friends, too."
The reply was quiet, but sincere. He was half-tempted to lean forward and press a tender kiss to her lips, but he didn't. He would regret this later. With a contented sigh, he laid back and sprawled across the ground, gazing up at the night sky. Clint's eyelids drooped. Before he fell asleep, he felt a small body curl up against his side and a hand rest on his chest.
It was nights like these that were keeping them alive.
AN: Whelp. That came out a lot differently than I envisioned. It had a lot more fluff than I intended. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and I'm planning a short Clintasha drabble that probably only be a few hundred words. But after that I am going back to my multi-chapter stories. Below are translations for the two Russian sentences I put in there. I used Google Translate, so I'm sorry if that's totally wrong o.O
Morgan
Translations-
Не говорите со мной так, несчастный! - Do not speak to me like that, you wretch.
Вы не должны быть рывок, я просто пытаюсь смотреть телевизор. - You don't have to be a jerk, I'm just trying to watch television.