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Phil ran a hand through his short hair and groaned internally. What the hell was Fury thinking? He wasn't qualified to look after a kid, especially one with the amount of issues Clint Barton had. He was an agent, an expert at taking down bad guys and bringing justice to those who deserved it.

Not a babysitter.

"Can I help you sir?" The young sales assistant looked at Phil in amusement. The man had stood staring at the same rack of kids clothing for the past ten minutes.

"Um, yeah. Thanks." Phil felt a little embarrassed as a few of the staff were watching him with smiles on their faces. "My….nephew is staying with me and his mother didn't pack him enough clothes. I'm not really sure what sort of things he would like."

The young woman nodded and glanced around, searching for something. "Is he here?"

Phil shook his head, "No, he's staying with a friend."

Katie, he noticed from her name tag, motioned for him to follow her. "How old is he?"

"He's almost twelve, but he is quite small for his age." The agent explained.

He was shown to a large selection of boys clothing, aged between six and thirteen. Katie started pulling things out and handed them to Phil. The experienced agent wasn't sure if Clint would need all this stuff, but figured the kid probably never had anything new or entirely his before and deserved a moment of being spoiled a little.

"You can have a look through those, they're our best sellers at the moment," she informed him and glanced to the other side of the shop. "Will he need running shoes and things like that?"

Coulson was feeling a little overwhelmed, he was sure the kid would need everything, so he settled for nodding at Katie. "Everything."

The young brunette beamed and scooted off to grab more things leaving Phil holding a pile of clothes. He headed to the checkout and placed the clothes on the counter. There were lots of t-shirts, jeans and shorts. Katie walked over with boxers, socks and a hoodie.

"Do you know what size shoe he is?"

Phil frowned, he didn't. But he did have a very good memory, and could roughly guess the size for the moment and get the kid's feet measured later. Following the young woman to the shoe selection, the agent's eyes widened at the different styles and colours. How did kids choose, seriously? Phil eyed a pair of converse, purple and checked the size. "Those should do."

Katie lifted them from the shelf and returned to the tills. She eyed the pile of clothes and turned to Phil. "Are you taking everything?"

"Yes." He handed the credit card over and smiled. "Thank you Katie, you've been a big help."

The brunette grinned. "You're welcome. I hope your nephew likes his new clothes."

Phil nodded and grabbed both large bags. "I'm sure he will."

Once outside the agent felt his chest tighten, he was seriously out of his comfort zone. He and Fury would be having words later. Making his way back to the dark sedan, Phil popped his sunglasses on and placed the bags in the back seat. Time to head back and get this over with.


Clint lay staring up at the ceiling, again. This place was in serious need of a makeover, throw in a little colour; give him something different to look at. He'd spotted the agent sitting outside and knew he was there to keep an eye on him. Barton sighed and glanced down at the tape holding his I.V in place. He started picking at it and thought about what the man, Phil, had told him. This was some government agency, SHIELD he'd called it. Clint had no idea what that meant, would they protect him? Or would they send him away?

All he knew was that if the opportunity came around to escape, he'd take it. He stiffened when he noticed someone walking towards the room, the blinds covering the large window in front of him were slanted obscuring his view, he could just make out a dark figure and felt himself relax ever so slightly when he realised it was Coulson. Clint wasn't going to read into that too much.

Phil walked through the door, closing it behind him. Barton noticed the large bags he was carrying and arched an eyebrow. The agent set the bags down and collapsed in the chair. He felt physically drained, was that even possible when he'd done nothing but shop? Phil had no idea how women enjoyed this sort of thing.

He turned to the young patient and gave him a tired smile. "How are you feeling Clint?"

The youngster shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't entirely sure how he was feeling at the moment. Afraid, maybe? He'd never admit it though, didn't want to give them anything they could use against him.

"I have a proposition for you, kid and it's entirely up to you. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to, alright?" Phil sat stiffly next to the bed and watched as Clint frowned at him. Coulson kept his expression blank, he didn't want to show the kid how much this was affecting him. He secretly hoped the boy might decide he'd rather stay in the infirmary, but at the same time, he knew that was unlikely.

"You're welcome to stay at my house; I have more than enough room and plenty of food."

Clint stared at the man before him with confusion written clearly across his face. He didn't know why the agent was trying to help him, maybe it was some sort of trick; a way to make him feel safe before they pulled the rug out from under him.

"Why?" The softly spoken word hit Phil like a ton of bricks, the kid sounded so confused and broken that it physically hurt the agent to hear.

"Why what, Clint?"

"Why are you helping me? Why do you even care? I'm a ghost to anyone and everyone." Clint's jaw clenched painfully as he tried desperately not to let the tears spill over, refusing to make eye contact with Coulson. He picked at the blanket that was draped over him, waiting for the man to speak. Or perhaps shout at him for being disrespectful.

Phil really wanted to hit whoever had made this kid feel like he wasn't worth anyone's time. He was just a boy; he should be out playing with friends and causing mayhem as most children did, not wondering why someone would actually offer to help him by putting a roof over his head.

Coulson leaned forward, looking the boy square in the eye. "I don't know what's happened to you or who made you think you weren't worth the effort, Clint, but I'm offering you the chance to get out of here, even if it's only for a few days until something is sorted for you. I do care kid, and if you'd rather stay in medical, that's okay too."

Clint stared wide eyed at the agent. He wasn't sure what to make of this, on one hand he could get out of here which was a plus, or he could get left here, in medical with the doctors. The choice was an easy one, but he couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. Phil Coulson did seem like a nice guy, but Clint had been fooled before. This could simply be a trap. The man might be taking him away from SHIELD so he could exact his own revenge on him for breaking into his home. The rational part of his head that might have argued why Phil would have brought him here in the first place, was ignored. This could be a perfect opportunity to get away.

So he settled for nodding at the agent. "Okay."

Once Clint had been freed from the infirmary, Phil took him down to the garage and placed the bags in the trunk. The agent watched the kid play with the zipper on his new hooded jacket and frowned. He thought the kid might be a little happier to get out of medical but he knew there were probably other thoughts running through the young boys head. Maybe he thought Phil was going to punish him or something, he shook his head; he could never do that.

"Ready to go kid?" he asked softly.

Clint dropped the zipper and nodded, sliding into the back seat and pulling the belt on. It had been a long time since he'd been in a car but after losing his parents in a traffic accident he was a little safety conscious.

The trip was made in silence, Phil trying to make small talk but the youngster was stubbornly silent, staring out the window at the passing scenery. Clint almost felt a smile tug his lips as they passed a large park and he spotted the trees. He loved to climb high, always had. He'd never been afraid of heights, he'd realised that after his short time at the circus.

They arrived at the house quicker than Barton expected and he sat frozen in the back seat unwilling to move. If he went inside then it would just be him and Coulson. He'd be left at the older man's mercy, and Clint promised himself long ago that he wouldn't let that happen again. Something about this man oozed trust and he wasn't sure if Coulson was just really good at being deceitful or if he really was that nice.

Phil pulled the bags out and gave him a small smile. "You coming?"

Clint swallowed down the fear and nodded, unhooking his belt and sliding out of the car. A part of him knew he could make a run for it, go back into hiding, but another part of him wanted to try, thinking maybe something good might come of this. No matter how many times he faced disappointment, hope was a hard thing to kill.

He followed Phil inside and felt his stomach drop when the door closed behind him with a loud bang. Forcing himself to calm down even though he felt the walls closing in on him, he took his first step out of the entrance way.

Phil moved into the living room, dropping the bags on the couch, dropping his keys on the side table. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the rigid kid trying very hard to convince himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Coulson let out a deep breath and moved to stand before the boy. Applying his interrogation techniques in an entirely new scenario he knelt down to make himself seem less threatening. "You okay kid?"

Clint felt all his emotions bubbling to the surface. He wasn't okay, not at all. He felt scared, trapped, unsure, unworthy. He'd never had anyone help him before that didn't want something in return and he didn't want to think about what Phil might want from him. He wasn't sure he had anything left in him to give.

Clint blinked to bring the white blob dancing in front of his face into focus. He took the tissue Phil was holding out, offering a small nod and a whispered thanks.

"You're welcome." The agent stood up and gestured around the house. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Barton nodded and followed, might as well get this over with.

Phil gave him the grand tour, ending with the room that would be Clint's for the next few days. It was a nice sized room, single bed, dresser, closet and a small television. Coulson left the boy to get adjusted while he went downstairs to start dinner.

The eleven year old lay curled up on the bed, his back to the wall, eyes glued to the door. He waited, and waited. It was inevitable, Coulson would come up soon and punish him for what he'd done. He deserved it, he had broken into the man's home.

It was over an hour later when Phil made his way upstairs with some food for the kid. He was pretty sure Clint wouldn't be joining him downstairs just yet, but he was a patient man. Pushing open the door he was shocked to find the boy sleeping, the covers gripped tightly in his small fists. Phil put the plate on top of the dresser and crouched next to the bed.

"Clint?" he called softly.

The boy flinched but didn't wake up. He tried again a little louder, "Clint."

The boy's eyes snapped open and he scrambled backwards, his back hitting the wall.

Phil's eyes widened in surprise, he'd never seen that level of fear on a kid's face before. "It's okay kid, just brought you some food." He pointed to the plate of mac 'n' cheese.

Barton took a few calming breaths and nodded before pulling himself into a sitting position. The plate was handed to him and Phil gave him a nod before heading back to the door.

Phil stopped and glanced over his shoulder, the boy was still watching him with cautious eyes but he dug into the food regardless. "Just give me a shout when you've finished."

Clint swallowed the pasta then gulped, eyeing the food in front of him. Maybe this was his last meal. Shaking his head he ate the rest quickly, it was too good to pass up. Making his way out of the room, the youngster stopped at the top of the stairs.

"Phil?" He called out quietly.

The agent appeared at the bottom of the stairs and smiled. "Finished?"

Clint nodded. He edged down a couple of steps and handed the empty dish over to the man. Both were careful to ignore the way the fork betrayed the boy's unsteady hand by rattling on the plate. Once Phil had the plate in hand, Clint fled back to the relative safety of the guest bedroom. Coulson sighed and made his way back into the kitchen. It was going to be a long night.

It was almost midnight when Phil sprung from the sofa and headed upstairs to the kid's room. He stopped outside and peeked his head into the darkened room. He could make out the silhouette of the boy huddled at the bottom of the bed, crying.

The older man sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't know what to do, he knew the kid didn't want to be comforted, it wouldn't be appreciated. Phil knew it was better to just leave him be, for the moment anyway.

He headed back downstairs and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge settling in front of the television. Phil wasn't really one for watching TV shows but when he flicked through the channels and came across something called Supper Nanny, he paused. Maybe she could help him with some of the issues Clint suffered from. It was worth a shot. He watched three episodes back to back before sleep claimed him.