It's been a while since I updated this but don't worry, I intend to carry this story on until the end, which should be many chapters away yet. I had three different ideas for how I was going to write this chapter out which is one of the main reasons for the long wait between updates, but I eventually settled on this and I'm happy with the way it turned out. Thank you to everyone who read the last chapter, followed it and favourited it, and thank you to 'white collar black wolf', 'Sparky199', 'lone ruler', 'Guest' and 'Snowydog9824' for reviewing the last chapter, I'm glad all of you liked it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Supernatural or the Avengers.

Chapter 2- Keeping an eye on your brothers, Clint aged 7

Clint sat on the back of the impala where John had left him, Dean tightly pressed to his side for the comfort that he searched for in the older boy he now called brother. The thin set of pyjamas that he'd put on only hours ago were the only measure of warmth he had against the biting cold night air, John had given him his coat to share with Dean but Clint had given it to the younger boy who was wearing even thinner clothes than him.

The newest member of the Winchester family, two month old Sam was held tightly against Clint's chest hidden in the several folded layers of a blanket, his arms supporting the baby's head and body just like he'd been shown by Mary a few weeks after Sam had been born, and as Clint watched John talk to a member of the fire brigade he felt the small child move about in his arms, slowly waking up from his sleep.

It had been over an hour since Clint had woke to the smell of smoke in the Winchester house, his sleep filled mind not connecting the acrid smell and the shouting coming from Sam's nursery to danger until he heard John's own cry. John shouting for his wife still echoed around in his head, just like his order before he was pushed in the direction of Sam and Dean. "Keep an eye on your brothers, Clint." The last thing John had said to him before he'd seen the man run back into the burning nursery, any sensible thoughts seemingly forgotten by the adult.

Clint felt an arm wrap around his body in a small form of a hug and he looked down to see Dean pushing further into him, the four year olds eyes on John as well, the green orbs mixed with worry, fear and a sense of responsibility that Clint didn't expect to see in a four year old. John ran a hand through his hair, looking distraught yet somehow keeping it together in front of the fireman who seemed to be listening to him closely, looking between John and the house as the oldest Winchester explained different aspects about the fire to him. Clint wasn't sure what John was talking about, although he guessed it was to do with what happened inside the house when the fire had first started. Clint wasn't certain of it himself when he thought back to it, having ran towards the room just as John came out of it carrying Sam protectively in his arms, passing the child onto Dean, his mind preoccupied with the safety of the baby who couldn't protect himself. When Dean ran down the stairs John noticed Clint, the seven year old looking into the room that was already being destroyed by the fire, the flames lapping up at anything that would burn, curtains, wood, carpet, only causing the destruction to increase further.

Now that the fire had been put out Clint could see the damage the flames had caused. Sam's once clean and tidy room he knew would now be a mess of smouldering furniture and smoke, and the window that looked out onto the front guardian revealed the blackened and burnt remains of what was left inside, the glass having shattered when the heat eventually became too much on the inside and had been forced out and onto the ground below. Even the white paint on the outside of the house surrounding the window had been affected, it having turned a dark brown that seemed to fade the further away from the nursery window you looked.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, John stopped talking to the fireman and he turned to look at his three sons, two of which had mild forms of confusion and fear on their faces whilst the other was hidden from his view, wrapped up in his oldest son's arms. He walked over to them, ignoring the stares from the gathering crowd that felt as if they were following him along. Instead, all of his concentration went to hiding his feelings behind a carefully constructed mask. All of the sadness and guilt, the growing loss that was slowly digging its way further into the pit of his stomach, disappeared from his face and was replaced by his best attempts of reassurance and comfort as he tried to silently tell his son's that everything would be alright. He wasn't sure if he truly felt that himself but he'd make sure his son's believed it to be true.

Once by their side, John took Sam from Clint's arms and opened the back door to the impala, gently placing the two month old into the passenger seat where the baby seat was already strapped in. "Dean, get in the car," he said, his voice blunt and showing no emotions as he held back the tears burning behind his eyes. Dean did as he was told, sliding off of the car and climbing into the back seat. John then addressed Clint, trying to give the boy a reassuring smile, hoping it looked more believing than he felt it did. "Clint, go into the trunk, there's a couple of blankets in there. Take them out and share them between you and Dean." Clint nodded, seeing through the blank expression and went to the trunk of the car, opening it as he was instructed and taking out the two blankets, both of which were very thick, something that made him feel marginally better, but not by much. He then closed the trunk and climbed into the back of the impala; handing one of the blankets to Dean who took it gratefully and quickly wrapped it around his body, sinking into its warmth gratefully.

John started the car, looking over his shoulder once to make sure Clint and Dean were strapped safely into their seats and then driving away from the destroyed house, glancing at the wing mirror every couple of seconds to look at the building as the distance between it and the car increased.

Clint looked out of the window, watching as houses and lamp posts passed them by, everything blurring into one before he finally broke the silence, realising they were no longer in a part of the neighbourhood that he recognised."Where are we going?" he asked, now starting to warm up as the blanket kept in his body heat.

John's eyes flicked up towards the front mirror to get a quick glimpse of Clint before going back to look at the road, hesitating slightly before he spoke. "Mary has a friend who owns a motel down the road; she said we can stay there for a couple of weeks until our house is safe for us to enter again." His voice cracked several times throughout the sentence but he still refused to let ay tears fall and Clint nodded, unsure of what else he could say.

After that the journey was made in complete silence. Sam only woke once, crying at first but calming when his dad gently brushed a finger down the infants cheek in a comforting gesture, both to make Sam feel better and to reassure himself. Was he doing the right thing? Yes, he was. He'd seen someone else in that fire before the flames engulfed the room, he'd seen the silhouette of a man staring at him, unmoving even when the flames burned viciously around them. He had seen the man. He'd been confused at first and by the time he realised that what he was seeing was real the man had disappeared. But he hadn't done so without unsettling John further, doing something that would haunt John for the rest of his life; the yellow eyes that had flickered into place before going back to normal would appear in his dreams for a long time to come. A shudder made its way down John's spine and he shifted position in the driver's seat with discomfort. The small action went unnoticed by Dean who was slowly drifting off to sleep due to the early hours of the morning, but Clint saw it and his brow furrowed in confusion, unsure of what had caused the action from John.

Thirty minutes after leaving their house the impala slowed to a stop outside of a large, one floor building and John climbed out, his only parting words to the three boys being, "stay here," as he closed his door and locked the car, no longer feeling his children were safe if it was unlocked for a few seconds without him there watching over them.

The boy's did as they were told, not leaving the car until John returned and then Clint opened Dean's door, waking him up with a gentle shake so as not to startle the four year old, before leading him towards the motel room that John had already disappeared into with Sam in his arms.

The motel room was even smaller than what Clint expected. There was nothing to it but two beds, a small table with two chairs placed around it, and a couch placed in front of a TV. A door opposite the couch led to the bathroom but Clint could already tell from his position on the other side of the room that it only held a shower, sink and toilet. Overall the place didn't feel like a temporary home at all, not even with the added effect of the bright yellow and blue flowers in a vase on the table, the only real source of colour throughout the entire building. Dean almost immediately headed towards one of the beds, climbing into the covers with the blanket still wrapped awkwardly over one of his shoulders and under the other.

"Daddy, what are we doing here?" Dean asked, looking up at his father expectantly, the normal cheer and enthusiasm that could be heard in his voice gone and replaced with a small waver of dread and laced with sadness and raw emotions over the loss of his mother. It was clear the boy was upset over it but it was also noticeable that the night's events hadn't actually sunk into his head yet. By tomorrow Dean would understand everything.

John looked up and away from Sam, turning to look at Dean, a small smile on his face. "Remember Joanne, Mum's friend from work," he said to which Dean nodded as an answer. "She's letting us stay here for a while, just until our house is safe for us to go into again."

"Will we go back by the end of the week?" Dean asked and Clint looked to John to see the answer as well, not liking the musty and cold motel room at all.

John's smile grew. "Sure kiddo," he said, but Clint saw the uncertainty behind the man's eyes before he returned his attention to Sam. Maybe they'd be here for a fortnight then, Clint thought. He could live with that. They didn't know it then, but that night was the last time the two children would see their home in a long time. "You should go to sleep Dean," John said, looking away from the boy. "It's late, you too, Clint."

"But dad."

"But John." The two boys said in unison. Nobody noticed it though.

This time John did look, almost pleadingly, at them. "Now." Both boy's realised there was no room for arguments and whilst Dean moved about in his bed, trying to get comfortable on the old mattress, Clint climbed into the other bed, looking briefly at John before turning onto his side away from the other Winchesters.

John made a small bed on the couch, putting Sam in his car seat on the small coffee table in front of him, in his constant view and safe. He didn't go to bed that night, instead he lay awake, watching Sam's small chest rise and fall evenly as the child slept, taking a small measure of comfort in the fact that he hadn't lost his six month old baby tonight as well. Unbeknownst to John, Clint lay awake in his own bed, his eyes open and staring blankly into the darkness, his thoughts swirling about in his head as a jumbled mixture of memories, feelings and emotions from both his life with the Winchester's and his life before them. Everything had been going so well. He'd finally felt a part of a proper family where he was accepted as one of them, not as the kid that was dumped on their doorstep, but now, within the space of only an hour, his entire dream of living happily with the Winchester's was moving further away from his grasp. In his short life, Clint had not only lost his mother and father in a car accident, he'd been abandoned by his own brother, losing him as well, and now he'd lost one of the only other people he was starting to care about in his life. He'd lost Mary Winchester, one of the adults he could have seen himself calling mum in the future, and deep down he knew that his life would no longer be the same as it had been in the past eight months. Before he fell asleep that night, a small and silent tear slid down his cheek, leaving a wet smudge on the motel beds cushion.

-o-0-o-

The next morning Clint woke to the sound of John moving about the motel room, and after stretching and yawning, he sat up in the bed, his back aching slightly from the uncomfortably hard mattress.

Before he'd even climbed out of the bed John had turned to him, his eyes red and bloodshot, shadowed by purple and gray bags underneath them. "Good, Clint, you're up. Come here a second," he said motioning for the seven year old to come towards him. Clint did as he was told, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fist as he did so and stopped beside the table where a row of different objects were laid out in a line.

"What's this?" he asked through a yawn.

"I need to go out and collect some things," John told him. "There's some money in case you need to buy anything whilst I'm gone, some of Sammy's spare clothes and some chocolate bars," John explained, pointing to each object on the table as he said it. "I need you to keep an eye on your brother's whilst I'm gone. Don't leave this room, keep the door locked and don't open it for anyone but me or Joanne, okay."

Clint's face creased in confusion, his sleep muddled brain not comprehending what John was talking about. "What?" he asked distractedly, still looking at the money, clothing and snacks on the table.

"Clint, did you hear what I said?" John asked, and Clint nodded in confusion. "Good, here's mine and Joanne's numbers, if something happens call me and then her, if you need anything then call Joanne. Remember; don't open the door for anyone but me or her." He held out small piece of paper with his and Joanne's numbers on, waiting for Clint to take it, however, when he realised that the seven year old wasn't going to do so he knelt down in front of him and wrapped Clint's hand around the paper.

Clint pulled his eyes away from the table and looked at the paper in his hand. "But why?" he asked, still not understanding what was happening.

"I need to get some stuff from the house," John said and then he rested both of his hands on Clint's shoulders. "Remember, don't leave the room and keep an eye on your brother's, alright?" Again Clint nodded, this time with more certainty. Seeing that the child understood him, John nodded, pulling Clint into a small hug before standing up and heading towards the door.

"But Dad…" Clint said, not noticing his use of the title, it just slipping out comfortably for him. John did notice it though, and when he turned to look at Clint there was a small smile on his face, the first genuine sign of emotion he'd shown in front of Clint since the fire. He looked almost happy at Clint's use of the word, but behind the happiness there was a hint of sadness and regret as he looked between his three children.

"I'll only be a couple of hours, son. I promise," he said, forcing as much reassurance as he could into the final two words.

Clint's brow furrowed, "but"-

"Clint," John interrupted him. "Just keep an eye on your brother's for me." And with that John left the room, closing and locking the door behind him, leaving all of his trust with Clint quite comfortably.

The seven year old was left standing on the other side of the door, staring at it in shock for several minutes before being snapped out of his thoughts by the cries of Sam from the car seat. Quickly and without hesitation, Clint ran over to the child and picked him up, muttering words of comfort into his ear to calm him down and avoid waking Dean up, John's words ingrained into his head. Look after your brother's, Clint.

When his dad returned to the motel room four hours later, burdened with a two duffel bags full of clothing and other necessities from their old house, he returned to Clint sitting on the couch with Sam in his arms, Dean beside him, the two older boys leaning against each other as they watched a cartoon on the cheap motel TV. Dean jumped up from the couch, running at his dad and hugging him whilst Clint turned around to face the man and smiled. He was sure it shouldn't have taken John four hours to collect some clothes and food but he ignored that thought when John picked Dean up and walked over to Clint, pulling him gently into a loving hug, showing the boy that he was still a part of their family.

"Thank you, Clint," John said, neither of them realising that this was something that would be happening more and more often as the days went by, and that soon, neither of them would see the world in the same light as before.

Hopefully you all like this chapter and don't forget to favourite, follow and review. In the next chapter I'm planning on skipping a head in time to when Clint is around seventeen to nineteen and in the future chapters there will be flashbacks into his life growing up as a hunter. I also wanted to know what you guys thought to Clint being a part of the whole 'bitch-jerk' joke that Sam and Dean have and having his own mock insult that the brothers can call him. Please let me know your thoughts on this as I think it will show him being as close to the brothers as they are to each other in the show, and if you do like this idea maybe you could give me ideas with what Sam and Dean could call him as I've not thought that far yet. Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, goodbye until the next update.