Author Note: Once again a massive thank you to all that left a review for the last chapter - xxnuttynicxx, Lollypops101, magicshadow1, DucksFan1510, Anise Nadiah, sammygirl1963, AinsleyWright, Sandy-wmd and queenlmno.
You guys seriously brighten up my day!
Now we get to see how Clint's doing.
Enjoy!
Five Days Later
Clint lay sprawled across the comfy sofa, propped up by pillows and his favourite blanket wrapped tightly around him. He couldn't believe it was only two days till his birthday and he would be spending it lounging about the house, injured. His dad promised they would do something special when he was able to, so at least he had something to look forward to. Laid up was not how he wanted to spend any birthday, let alone his sixteenth. The teen was glad Phil managed to get time off from work to care for him for the next couple of weeks, and then the agent would be back at SHIELD and when his leave was up, the older man had made plans for Clint's grandparents to stay for a week or so. It wasn't a surprise that Nick had agreed so easily for Coulson to take time off, his soft spot for the teen still plain for all to see.
Reaching across the short expanse to the coffee table, he grabbed his bag of chips and demolished the rest of the bag before throwing the scrunched up wrapper into the trash can a few feet from the couch. He grinned when it disappeared, it really didn't matter what he aimed at; he never missed.
Barton also came to the conclusion that he hated having a cast on his leg, not only because it meant he couldn't do anything, but because it itched like crazy. He was pleased about the purple. It had taken less time than he thought to sweet talk the nurse into changing the boring generic white cast into a purple one. He'd found over the past few months that if he used his puppy dog eyes, (as Molly called it) he tended to get whatever he wanted, especially with the ladies; something to do with having blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile that could melt butter. Clint wasn't entirely sure what that meant but he wasn't about to argue. Phil continuously shot him an exasperated look when he did this, though the older man never stopped him, but there was always a fondness in his brown gaze. The shade of purple was similar to the converse Phil had bought for him when they first met, just before the agent took him home for the first time. Clint remembered feeling so nervous but Coulson had eventually managed to win his trust, proving to the teen that he wasn't going to hurt him or abandon him as most people from his past had done.
The teenager had also noticed his dad was in full on mother hen mode. Barton was torn between hating the constant hovering and fussing, and loving the extra attention and care that was being lavished upon him. The older man could be a little over the top when he was worried. The agent had surprised Clint by agreeing to let him leave medical after only five days, even if Phil had only agreed this on the grounds that Barton wouldn't do anything strenuous and would listen to what he said. The youngster smiled remembering the stern look he'd received from his dad. He would do whatever Phil told him to if it meant leaving the infirmary.
Sighing deeply Clint gripped the corners of his blanket and pulled it around him, cocooning himself within its warmth. The fleece still smelled of his dad from the last time he used it. The smell of coffee, cologne and something distinctly Phil that always managed to comfort the teen, making him feel safe.
"Clint, you hungry?" Phil called from the kitchen. The agent grew concerned when he didn't receive an answer right away and sprinted into the living room. Sleepy blue eyes met warm brown and Coulson couldn't help but smile. The sight of his boy lying snuggled on the couch with his blanket wrapped around him, his hair messed up and a mischievous glint in his eye made Phil want to hug the kid and never let go. His nerves were still a little shaky at the moment, which was usually the case after almost losing the kid, something that happened far too many times as far as he was concerned.
Barton grinned weakly. "Yeah?"
"What do you fancy?"
Clint shrugged, smirking playfully at the frustrated face Phil was pulling. "Anything you want to make me."
Coulson glared at the teen, though there was no real heat in it, he was just happy the kid was being his usual sarcastic self. It was a sure sign that everything would be alright. "What about a stack of pancakes and syrup?"
"Hmmm yeah, that sounds good. Could I have bacon with mine?" he asked, his eyes pleading.
Phil nodded, heading back into the kitchen but paused when Barton called out again, "And some sausage?"
Coulson sighed affectionately; if Clint was thinking about his stomach then he knew the kid was going to be okay.
Phil returned within ten minutes with two plates, one in each hand and a carton of juice under his arm. He placed both plates on the table and crouched next to the couch after noticing the teen's eyes were closed and he was snoring quietly. The agent watched his son sleep for a few minutes before he felt his impenetrable mask begin to crack. He was suddenly overcome with emotion, his chest tightened painfully and he willed the lump forming in his throat to go away. Reaching out with his right hand, Phil carded his fingers gently through the teen's blonde hair. He needed the contact to keep himself from falling apart at the seams. The terror that had begun to blossom in his chest when he saw his son lying motionless on the road was threatening to explode to the surface. Consumed with grief Phil choked back a sob. He lowered his head on to the teen's shoulder, taking a moment to breathe in Clint's scent, watching the steady rise and fall of his boy's chest. He had to make his heart believe what his eyes already knew; Clint was alive, he was going to be alright.
The teen lay with his eyes closed, giving Phil the time he needed to pull himself together. Clint had a feeling the older man would be embarrassed if he caught him crying. The thought of his dad in tears had the youngster struggling with his own erratic emotions. When he felt a gentle hand squeeze his own he opened his eyes to find Phil looking down at him in concern.
"You okay kid?"
Barton frowned, wondering why his dad was asking if he was alright, then realised his cheeks were wet with his own silent tears. He nodded. "You okay?"
Phil sighed deeply, drawing in a shaky breath wondering how to answer the simple question. He was still shaken, his mind deciding to conjure up the image of the car hitting Clint every night while he slept. It was getting harder and harder to pretend everything was fine. The agent had already spoken to Nick about getting some more time off work. A couple of weeks weren't going to be enough, of that Phil was positive.
The agent decided to be honest, after all he was always trying to get the kid to open up to him. "I keep having nightmares," he admitted. Clint squeezed his hand, urging him to go on. "I hear the sound of the tires squealing, the sickening thud of metal connecting with flesh and bone, and then David screaming." Running a hand through his short hair, the older man tried to ignore the tremor in his voice. "I think that sound will haunt me for the rest of my life." Phil had been an agent for many years, he'd seen some horrific and truly disturbing acts of violence, yet nothing could have prepared him for witnessing the aftermath of that car accident. No amount of training could ever be enough to handle seeing his son lying unconscious on the ground with blood pouring from a head wound. Phil had barely been able to keep it together. The father in him wanted nothing more than to pound the young man responsible into the ground. It was a testament to his training that Coulson didn't. Although he came closer than he ever thought possible.
"I'm okay dad," Clint reminded him quietly.
"I know kid. Just promise me you won't put yourself in that kind of situation again? Please?"
Barton knew what his dad was asking and couldn't bring himself to make that promise, not if someone was left at risk of being injured. He shook his head sadly. "I can't promise not to help someone in danger dad, but I do promise to try not to get myself hurt in the process." He pleaded with Phil to understand. "Is that enough?"
"I guess it'll have to be." Coulson felt his emotions overwhelming him, fear, pride and love all washing over him like a wave. How could he ask something of Clint that he wouldn't be able to promise himself? Phil moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table, taking in the still pale features of his teenage son, the wince he tried to hide when he moved in a way that his injured ribs didn't agree with. It was safe to say the kid was still in a lot of pain but he was pretty good at hiding it, though not good enough to stop the agent from seeing the signs.
"C'mon kid, let's get some food in you. Then you can take some pain relief." Phil handed the plate of pancakes over with a smile. "Besides you're looking a little skinny."
Clint glowered playfully, lifting up his t-shirt to see if what Phil said was true. He purposefully ignored the bruising to his ribs and stared back up at the older man. "Liar, still a fine specimen. Look at these awesome abs dad."
Phil laughed, his first proper laugh since the accident. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should leave eating the pancakes then, might ruin your physique?"
"Nah, I've been eating the delicious goodness for how long now? They're the reason I have this awesome bod. No point in changing things now is there?" The teen gestured to his athletic frame with a smirk.
"I suppose not," Coulson tried unsuccessfully to hide his smirk behind a forkful of pancakes.
Once the plates were practically licked clean, Phil headed back into the kitchen to wash up. He kept an eye on Clint while he dried the dishes and stored them away in their proper place. The teen laid sprawled on the sofa, his purple cast propped on a mass of cushions, watching cartoons with another bag of chips next to him, and a can of soda on the table within easy reach. The older man couldn't believe the kid was about to turn sixteen. It seemed like only yesterday that he'd found the skinny boy hiding in his garden, scrounging for food. Now here they were four years later.
The agent wouldn't trade a second of their time together for the world. Clint was the best thing to ever happen to the older man, although at the time it hadn't seemed that way. Phil always thought he was doing more harm than good for the damaged boy with severe trust issues, the kid who believed that happiness was just something that would be snatched away if he let himself feel.
Here they were four years later and now every night before bed Clint would tell him he loved him. He was always smiling, laughing and had perfected the art of sarcasm. Coulson chose to blame Nick for that one. His son was one of the most selfless, caring, and funny teenagers he'd ever met. Phil had no doubt the kid would become a fine agent, and an even better man, especially if he had something to say about it.
Glancing over to the object of Phil's thoughts, he heard a soft snore and smiled fondly. The tendrils of terror which had wrapped around his very soul, consuming him had started to slowly fade away. He was still feeling overly protective but that was to be expected. His boy was going to be alright, it was just going to take some time to get him back to full fitness. Coulson had already witnessed the flash of panic in Clint's eyes when he was told how long he'd be recuperating and the amount of physio he'd have to endure. It didn't take long for the teen to be reminded that he wouldn't be facing this on his own; his dad, god father, Sam, Molly and his new family were there to help, every step of the way.
A stifled gasp had the agent moving towards the sofa immediately. Phil noticed the pinched expression and knew right away that Clint's headaches were still causing him pain. Brushing his fingers through the short blonde hair, he attempted to ease the teen's distress with the soft touch. He was right. Within seconds Barton had settled again, the frown smoothing out and his features relaxed. The father felt his heart swell with happiness when the teen leaned into his touch, the feeling just as strong as it had been the first time.
"Sleep Clint, I'll be right here if you need me." With that Phil settled himself on the chair opposite, picking up the discarded remote and began flicking through the channels. His finger paused when he saw his favourite show was about to start: Supernanny. Grabbing the unopened bag of chips, the agent settled himself in for some afternoon entertainment.