Disclaimer: Sadly all Marvel's and not mine. If I had done the movies, Clint would have been the star from the start.

Placing: Before the movies.

Warning: I have no idea about the comic's, and just know some tit-bits from gossip and wikipedia, so this is mainly based on the first Avenger's movie.

Just an idea I had, nothing more.

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sSsSsSsSs

STRAYS DON'T HAVE HOMES –

SO THEY CRASH WHEREVER THEY WANT

sSs

Clint's window was shattered at half past two in the morning, just three and a half months after the first barbeque. It was the heat and the vibrations of something hitting his wall that woke him.

When Clint sat up in his bed, he had automatically drawn one of his knives, but what he found definitely didn't require a knife.

On the floor of Clint's bedroom, in front of the wall, laid the unconsciousness form of a man in blue, tight sitting clothing. In Clint's eyes, it looked like a romper. Clint blinked, but the scene didn't change. There was still an unconsciousness man in a romper on his floor.

"Bleeding on my floor," Clint corrected himself when he saw the blood soaking his carpet. Obviously, the man wasn't a threat – at least not in that very moment.

Clint sighed and then stood up to go over to the man and crouch down next to him.

"Aw, no! You're not a stray," Clint murmured. "So what the hell are you doing here?"

The unconsciousness man didn't answer and Clint finally hesitatingly touched the man. The man's skin was hotter than normal, but when Clint turned him, he forgot about that abnormality when he saw the raw looking flesh wound in the man's side.

"I wonder how that happened," Clint mused, but finally stood up and went to his kitchen to retrieve his healing supplies. He might not be able to get an answer right now, but he knew that the man would wake up some time in the future.

So he brought some water and a wash cloth as well as his healing supplies into his bedroom to the man. There he opened the romper that the man was wearing and then removed it.

Without the romper, the wound looked worse.

"Oh well," Clint murmured sighing. "Looks like some stitches need to be applied as well."

Clint definitely had stitched himself and some of his furry charges often enough, so doing it to another person shouldn't be too different. He just hoped that the man wouldn't wake until Clint had treated him or there might be a lot more problems.

Sadly, Clint's luck wasn't interested to stay around and the man woke when Clint started to clean and disinfect the wound.

Immediately after waking, the man grabbed Clint and threw him across the room. Clint collided with the wall.

"Ouch," he groaned when he slit down the wall. The man meanwhile had stood up, his hands, to Clint's surprise, now holding flames.

Clint decided that it might be prudent to raise his arms and not even try to draw his knives.

"Aw, man, come on! I wasn't planning on harming you," he said without hearing his voice. It was then that he remembered his hearing aids were still on his bedside table.

The man meanwhile stared at him, clearly unsure what to think about Clint, so Clint decided to explain more even if he might be slurring thanks to his missing hearing aids.

"You fell through my window," he said slowly. "You're hurt and the only thing I wanted to do was to take a look at your wounds and maybe help you with them. I definitely have no interest in fighting a human flame-generator."

At that, Clint could see the man in front of him snorting.

Thankfully, Clint had lit the light in the room before looking at the man's wounds, so when the man spoke, Clint could at least read his lips.

"Human Torch, man. Not flame-generator! Please! What a code-name would that be!" the man said.

"I wasn't stating any code-names," Clint answered while slowly standing up from the floor. "I was simply naming your… ability."

At that, the man looked around the room, before turning back to Clint.

"I crashed into your bedroom?" he asked. Clint just raised an eyebrow at that.

"I definitely don't have the habit of dragging unconscious strangers into my bedroom and throwing in my windows," he countered. "So if you don't want to accuse me of doing exactly that then yes, the only other explanation is that you crashed into my bedroom."

The other man laughed at that.

"Sorry, man," he said. "Definitely didn't mean to do that –"

Clint just waved it of.

"You want me to take a look at your wound or do you want to –" Clint gestured back to the window. The man blinked at that and then lowered his gaze to look at his side before hissing.

"Ouch," Clint actually didn't truly hear or lip-read that one, but he could guess what the man was mumbling. Then the man looked up again. "How the hell did I miss that?"

"Adrenalin," Clint answered instantly. "It's not unusual, don't worry."

The man rolled his eyes at that.

"Thanks, doc, for that explanation," he said. Clint just shrugged.

"Do you want me to take a look at the wound or not?" he asked, ignoring the 'doc' as sarcasm.

The man blinked at that, but in the end, he nodded.

"If you don't mind," he said. "Hurts like a bitch now that I think."

"Maybe you should stop thinking then," Clint said grinning before nearing the man again. Maybe he should have put in his hearing aids first, but if he didn't have to, he wouldn't. He had been wearing them quite a lot lately and his ears were tired.

He gestured for the stranger to lie down on the floor again, and then returned to washing out the wound, one eye always on the mouth of the other man in case he said something.

The man just groaned and complained – something that Clint could live with, especially because he didn't have to hear the complains.

"I need to stitch it," he finally said. "It's too deep to heal just like that."

The man snorted at that and Clint returned his gaze to the man's lips.

"I'm a human torch, if you don't have some yarn that doesn't burn, I think that the stitches won't stay long," he said.

Clint just raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"So you're telling me that you can't stop yourself from heating up?"

"Of course I can!" the man exclaimed. "But if I want to come home tonight I will have to fly – and for that I have to heat up!"

Clint shrugged.

"You can stay on my couch for tonight and I can drive you home tomorrow morning," he offered. It wouldn't be a good night for Clint if the man stayed, but Clint also knew how to sleep with basically one eye open, so he would be fine – as long as the man didn't start a fire with his abilities.

"My sister would be quite concerned if I simply stayed away," the man said. "Especially after the fight we fought tonight. I should have long since reached home, instead I crash-landed in your bedroom."

Clint just raised an eyebrow at that.

"I have a phone," he said dryly. "Phoning your sister should be no problem."

The man blinked at that, then he laughed.

"Never thought of that," he exclaimed before gesturing to his wound. "Alright, doc, do your worst."

"I don't think you want that," Clint said dryly, thinking about the fact that doing his worst normally meant killing another person. But he said nothing further to that. Instead he locally anaesthetized the wound – he had stolen the anaesthetic from a hospital for his own uses – before starting to stitch, all the while ignoring the interested looks his work received from his patient.

When Clint looked up after he finished, he found out that the man had started talking.

"- know what you are doing," Clint caught the man saying. Clint decided to ignore it in favour to bandaging the wound expertly.

"From now on no human torch for at least a week, better two," Clint said, looking up from his work, back into the other man's face. Said man nodded.

"Thanks, man," he said. "You're great. I didn't even feel a thing."

Clint just shrugged. He had long since learned to work with the human body, normally he used his knowledge to kill people, but healing them was another way to use it – that way was just normally only reserved for himself.

"Keep it clean and dry," he advised the man instead. "It should be healed in about two weeks. Nothing strenuous, some rest for the rest of the week and you should be fine. It will scar, but it shouldn't be too obvious in the end." Definitely not as obvious as a lot of Clint's own scars. But, well, Clint had not always been as good as he was now in treating wounds…

The other man nodded and then proceeded to stand up with Clint's help. Clint took his healing supplies and then guided the man to his couch, where he helped him to sit down. The man looked a little bit uncomfortable at that.

"Er… you don't have some clothes for tonight that I could borrow, do you?" he finally asked.

Clint looked him over, before replying.

"No rompers," he said. "But I can give you some sleeping pants and maybe a t-shirt."

The man laughed at that.

"Thanks," he said. "That will do."

So Clint returned to his bedroom and pulled out some of his own clothes and an old duvet that he normally used for his strays – did a Human Torch count as one of those? – before returning to his living room, offering them to the man.

"Don't you dare to set them aflame," he warned. "If you do, I can't promise your continued survival."

The man just laughed at that, not taking Clint seriously. Clint guessed that it was because Clint's acts of kindness before but he also guessed that it was also in part his not quite impressive stature that gave him a harmless air – just because he had been an unusual tall child didn't mean he was an unusual tall adult; instead he had stopped growing quite early and now barely reached what others would call 'average'. Wearing one of his bigger t-shirts, Clint's muscles also didn't look very impressive, instead he looked a lot more harmless than he ever could be. Clint didn't mind that. He had often used it to his advantage. Not that Clint would kill the man if his clothes would be set aflame. The man would have to do something more serious to set off Clint.

"Don't worry," the man promised. "I won't."

And Clint nodded at that and then handed the man his phone so that the man could phone his sister. "Just put it on the table when you're done," he said and then wanted to turn back towards his bedroom to return to sleep when, in the last moment, he saw the man saying something.

"Huh?" he asked, turning back to the man.

The man must have said something like 'wait' because he continued without an odd glance at Clint.

"What's your name? You never told me."

"You never told me yours as well," Clint pointed out, not too interested in the other man's name. He got the answer anyway.

"I'm Johnny. Johnny Storm," the man said. For a moment, Clint hesitated, but then he answered anyway.

"Clint," he guessed that giving his first name wouldn't hurt too much. There was after all no way to connect the assassin 'Hawkeye' with either 'Clint Barton' or 'Clinton Brandt' – especially not the last one – without a lot of research and guessing or filling in the blanks. Adding to that the fact that there had to be a lot of 'Clints' living in a city like New York and Clint guessed that he was as safe as he could be considering that the man knew where he lived.

The man didn't seem to mind the missing last name. He just nodded.

"Good night," Clint finally settled on, and then left, not sure if the man – Johnny, he reminded himself – had said 'good night' as well. Clint entered his bedroom again, locking it from the inside after entering. Clint might have offered the man to stay over night, but he would be damned to sleep with an open door when a stranger was in his living room.

Johnny behaved for the night.

When Clint entered his living room the next morning, the Human Torch was still sleeping soundlessly on his couch. In the end, Clint decided to make some breakfast.

It was the smell of coffee that woke the other man.

He sat up and then looked around confused before remembrance could be seen in his eyes.

"Good morning," Clint greeted the man and then gestured to the table. "If you want some, I have breakfast."

"Yeah, thanks," Johnny answered before standing up and coming over. After breakfast, Clint took another look at the other man's wound before bandaging it again and then gesturing the man to follow him.

"I take you home," Clint said. "You can keep the clothes." He had lent Johnny one of his jeans and the other man was still wearing the shirt from last night. Clint guessed that it was better than walking around in a romper in open daylight. Since Clint didn't plan on seeing the man ever again, he guessed that he would have to say good bye to his clothes, but it was still better than to be seen with a man in a romper.

"Er… thanks," Johnny answered.

When the man guided him to the headquarters of the Fantastic Four, Clint finally understood the romper. Clint, of course, had heard about the Fantastic Four, but since he had never been too interested, he had disregarded the hype. He had far too much to do to follow the news of some accident in space.

"Thanks for driving me, Clint," Johnny said, before leaving Clint's car and Clint hoped that it would be the last time to see the other man. Clint definitely had enough to do without trying to add superheroes to his list.

Unfortunately, Johnny seemed to think something different.

Not even a month later, Clint was woken in the middle of the night by the vibrations of a knock against his window. He blinked and sat up to look out. In front of his window, on the fire escape, stood Johnny. He was supporting a woman who was obviously hurt. Her leg was bleeding.

Clint rubbed his eyes, but the scene didn't change.

In the end he grabbed his hearing aids, shoved them into his ears, turned them on and then stood up and opened his newly repaired window.

"Hey, doc," Johnny greeted him. "Sorry for waking you but my sister is hurt. Would you mind looking her over?"

And with that the Human Torch helped his sister into Clint's bedroom without even waiting for an answer.

Clint blinked, then he groaned.

"You know that New York has hospitals, don't you?" he asked rhetorically.

"'Course," Johnny answered. "But if we turned up in one, they would more then likely just gawk at us instead of helping. You, instead, I know for sure, won't."

And Clint couldn't argue with that.

"Bring her into the living room," he said and then went to get his healing supplies. "How's your wound?"

"All healed up," Johnny answered. "Sorry for not bringing your clothes by until now. I will do so as soon as possible."

"I told you that you can keep them," Clint replied while returning to the living room. He had a shirt with him and gave it to Johnny. "She has to wear that. I can't work as long as she's still wearing that romper and I don't think that she would be happy being naked in front of me."

Johnny just nodded and helped his sister change while Clint fetched a bowl of water from the kitchen.

In the end, he treated her and then sent them on their way. A week and a half later, they were back, this time in the company of the rest of their team.

Clint treated those that were injured and let them stay for the night. He drove them home the next morning.

A month later, Susan, Johnny's sister, and her husband were back again. It was then that Clint started to guess that he would never get rid of them ever again. He was proven correctly, when two and a half months later, Johnny woke him in the middle of the night because the team was hurt.

"When did I ever ask for the job as the doctor of the Fantastic Four?" Clint asked rhetorically while treating them. "I can't remember to be offered that job and accepting."

Johnny grinned at that.

"You accepted the moment you healed me the first night," he answered smirking. "If you had sent me on my way bleeding I would have never come back."

And Clint guessed that the man was right. Sadly, there was no way to turn back time.

And like that Clint became the unofficial doctor of the Fantastic Four – if he wanted it, or not.

oOo

"Sir," Phil Coulson stopped at the entrance to the office.

Nick Fury looked up from his paperwork.

"Why are you here this time around, Cheese?" He asked.

The answer was a slightly confused look.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir," Phil replied frowning.

Nick Fury raised an eyebrow at that.

"How can you be unsure why you're here?" He asked a little bit confused.

"Well, I know why I am here, sir," Phil replied frowning. "I just don't understand the report I'm going to give you."

Nick Fury frowned.

"What report?" He asked.

"Well, you had us watching the Fantastic Four," Phil answered, frowning down at the folder in his hands. "They are doing well – but there's something… odd… going on with them."

Nick Fury frowned.

"Something odd?" He repeated concerned.

"Well, it seems that they have a second meeting place somewhere near Hell's Kitchen, suddenly," Phil replied a little bit confused. "We can't find out why they decided to open a second meeting place there…"

"Well," Nick Fury replied, thinking. "It's quite far from their home, so maybe they decided to have another place somewhere else in the city. It would be logical since their home is too far away for them to always return there immediately."

Phil frowned again, but in the end he nodded.

"That… might be," he said hesitatingly. "I will keep an eye on that nevertheless."

It would take some time until Phil connected the Fantastic Four's new behaviour with one Clint Barton, unwilling doctor of the Fantastic Four.

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That's itfortoday. SinceIcouldn'tgetridofthestory, Idecidedtowriteitdown.

'Tillnexttime.

Ebenbild