Agent Phil Coulson knew from the moment he laid eyes on him that that he was going to be trouble. He really should have seen this coming; and now he was mixed up in keeping secrets and telling lies to the Director.
The kid had been late to the briefing earlier that day. Mind you, that was not unusual. Barton seemed to enjoy antagonizing those in authority, secure in the knowledge that he was one of the best operatives SHIELD had ever seen, and everyone in that room knew it. But this time was different. All through the meeting, he was constantly checking the time, shifting in the seat, and clearly wanting to be elsewhere.
After being scolded by agent Kellerman for his inattentiveness, Barton sighed heavily and stood up. Looking Kellerman directly in the eye, he calmly and succinctly detailed the parameters of the missions, all the flaws he saw, and a better plan of execution. Then with a cocky quirk of the lips he promptly walked out the door, leaving a room full of slack jawed agents.
If Coulson had learned anything working for the government it was that shit rolled down hill. As the boy's handler, and Kellerman's subordinate, he got an ear full and a handful of shit assignments and he intended to make Barton pay for it.
Turning up outside Barton's room he wasted no time turning the knob and attempted to invade the room. He was met with an absurd amount of force from the other side as Barton appeared at the door pushing it closed.
"Hey Coulson," he said in a strained voice and a tight smile. "What's up?"
Coulson resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Barton's pathetic attempt at sounding casual, something he was really terrible at when caught red handed. Barton let out a nervous laugh. Without saying anything, Coulson pushed into the room. Of all the things he had expected, maybe find a pretty new recruit there hiding under the covers, this most certainly was not it. There on the bed, nestled in makeshift nest made of sheets was a small hawk.
Speechless, he turned back toward Barton, struggling for something to say. Barton gave another nervous laugh, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "He uh…he's got a broken wing." He said, eyes pleading with Coulson to understand.
Clint Barton was a strange mixture of man and boy. One moment he seemed far older than his mere 22 years; every experience from the past making itself known in his posture and his expression. And the next he was like a rambunctious happy-go-lucky kid who hadn't a care in the world.
But sometimes, like now, the hurt child who had been abused and grew up far too fast showed through. That boy always amazed Coulson. He saw a hurt person or an injustice and wanted to help make it better because no one had tried to help him. The kid's temper could run pretty hot, but his capacity for compassion was astonishing. Fury hand picked him for his ability to do what he thought was right, consequences be damned. Good for the sake of good, kind of like Captain America.
Naturally Coulson was sucked into helping care for the injured animal; sneaking in food, bribing people to look the other way, and lying to his boss to cover for Clint when he would inexplicably disappear to check on his injured friend.
When finally it was time to send the little guy off, he was actually a little sad to see him go. Clint laughed gleefully when the bird took flight, spreading his fully healed wing and effortlessly climbing into the sky. Clint continued to gaze wistfully at the sky after the bird had vanished from sight, a small satisfied smile pulled at his lips. They stood there in the park for a little while longer in a comfortable silence.