Trigger Warning: This chapter contains self harm and attempted suicide of a child. If this is triggering for you please do not read. Look after yourself.

a summery of this chapter will be in the notes at the end of the chapter.

Waking up after being knocked out was never a pleasant experience, the boy found himself thinking as he slowly became aware of his surroundings, along with the residual pain in his head, although it seemed somewhat dimmed to how it normally felt after he'd been knocked out.

Keeping his eyes shut the boy focused on what he could sense using his other senses. He could hear the movement of one other person in the room, along with the steady, constant sound of something beeping. He was laying on something soft...softer than anything he'd ever felt before...certainly not his own bed back at the base. Nothing there was this soft and comfortable...or warm.

His entire body was comfortably warm, for what felt like the first time in his life. When he'd been growing up he'd never felt completely warm, always feeling cold, even during the summer months, when snow still occasionally fell on the mountains the base had been built into, the deep cold seeping through the rock and deep into the boy's clothing.

Continuing to fake being unconscious, the boy lay still, registering each of his injuries. Nothing too bad, although his ability to judge the severity of his injuries had probably been hampered by whatever drugs he had been given. Now that he was more alert, he was becoming aware of the cold touch of metal around his left wrist...he was obviously handcuffed, although he was reasonably sure his right hand was still free.

The presence of drugs in his system, along with the warmth, and the softness of the bed he was laying on, the blankets that were warm and heavy as they lay over his chest, along with the fact that his wrist was handcuffed, indicated that someone was looking after him, and that they knew that, despite his apparent youth and size, he was dangerous.

Thinking back, he tried to remember the events leading up to his falling unconscious and, bit by bit, the memories drifting back. He remembered the alarms blaring through the base indicating there were hostiles approaching, and he distinctively heard one of the senior agents talking about it being the Avengers. He remembered being ordered to gear up along with the other soldiers, none of them paying attention to him, despite the fact that they were all at least twice his height.

He'd been ordered up into the air vents, a place which he was very familiar and comfortable, his small size and stature allowing him to move far more quickly through the confined space than any of the other agents. The only issue was that, in the air vents, his com unit was useless. Still, he hadn't needed it to hear the screams and the sounds of battle as the Avengers attacked the base, although he hadn't encountered any of them at that point.

He clearly remembered the moment he'd caught sight of a flash of colour through one of the air vent grates, and he carefully and silently lifted it, leaving a clear hole he could see through...and shoot through. He hadn't hesitated, seeing Captain America's distinctive uniform in the corridor below him, drawing an arrow from his quiver and notching it to his bow, before pulling back as much as his strength and the enclosed space would allow, before aiming, and firing, retreating the moment he'd heard Captain America's shout of pain confirming that his arrow had found it's mark.

After that his memories got blurry, but he remembered the moment he realised, from the sound and vibrations echoing through the ventilation shaft, that someone was pursuing him through the vents, he remembered the moment when the Winter Soldier...a man he'd only heard stories about, dropped out of the vent in front of him in his commanding officer's office...the moment he'd realised that he was going to die a horrible death if he didn't try and get away, and he'd headed for the window, one of the few in the entire base, throwing himself through it and down the steep mountainside beyond, before everything had gone dark.

The fact that he was still alive told him that he hadn't plummeted off the cliff, so the question remained of where was he?

Deciding it was time to give up his act, he forced his eyes to open, letting out a genuine groan when the overhead lights hurt his eyes and made his headache worse, and he slammed his eyes shut, trying to roll away from the light source, although the handcuffs prevented him moving as much as he would like.

"The lights have been dimmed," a calm women's voice replied, and the boy opened his eyes again, finding the room he was in much darker and more comfortable for his headache. He took the chance to look around the room curiously, recognizing it as a medical quarantine room, with a reinforced glass window for the observation of patients from the outside corridor, and a thick, heavy-duty door. The other walls were lined with medical supplies, with a small window looking outside, although it was pitch black outside, obviously night time at his current location.

His gaze turned to the woman in the room with him, sitting in a chair at his bedside. She was wearing dark, casual clothing, her red hair curling slightly around her face. She was watching him intently, and the boy found himself swallowing nervously at her penetrating gaze.

"What's your name?" She asked, her tone gentle and friendly.

The boy blinked, not sure if he should respond. He'd been told, so many times, not to say anything should he be captured...that if he knew what was best for him then he'd take the tablet and have a quick death. He'd been told that what he'd been through...that it was nothing compared to what others would do to get information out of him. The fools that called themselves SHIELD, and the Avengers, they were only some of those that he'd been warned about, but they were all just as bad as each other.

One glance at the clothing he was wearing told him that he wasn't wearing his tactical gear anymore, and that he didn't have his poison tablet with him, so he kept his mouth shut, looking away from the woman and her penetrating gaze, hoping that she'd go away and leave him alone until he'd found another way to ensure his silence.

The woman asked him the question again in Russian and German, as well as French and another language that he didn't actually recognize, but might have been Danish. He'd always been told that he was going to travel all over the world when he was younger, so learning languages was something he was very used to. He was fluent in English, Russian and German, and was doing well with French, Arabic, Chinese and Spanish, although he would much rather be at the range shooting with his bow instead of sitting in his room studying or being taught by whichever Agent had been ordered to teach him some foreign language.

Studying languages wasn't his favourite thing to do, no matter what language you were using.

Watching the woman closely, he knew the moment she realised that going gentle wasn't going to get her anywhere. He watched as she rose to her full height, stretching slightly, before she leaned over him a little.

"Of course, you were probably told not to talk to strangers," she reasoned in the soft voice that had little of the gentleness it had possessed earlier...It was the voice of a predator...and he was her prey.

Still, he wasn't scared of her. Scared of his situation...yes, definitely, but he couldn't bring himself to be scared of her...yet.

"I should introduce myself," she continued, rising back to her full height, "My name is Natasha Romanoff, although there are some that know me by another name...the Black Widow.

The boy couldn't help the way his eyes widened in surprise, nervously trying to get rid of the dry feeling in his mouth. The Black Widow...he'd heard stories about the current Black Widow, mainly from eavesdropping on the other agents as they whispered in the corridors about the former asset of the Red Room, who'd turned to SHIELD, and had become one of the Avengers, about how she was one of the best hand to hand fighters within SHIELD before it fell, and how, when she was in battle, she left a trail of broken and weeping men in her wake. She was said to be ruthless, loyal only to herself and the Avengers...she certainly wouldn't hold back in interrogating him just because he was young, instead she would be focused on getting what little he knew out of him, and she would. Nobody could withstand the Black Widow. She would find out exactly what she wanted to know, often without her victim knowing what exactly they had told her that had given her what she wanted.

Deciding that it couldn't hurt in the long run, the boy decided to speak, "I'm Clint," he replied softly. A ghost of a smile crossed the Black Widow's face, but it was gone so quickly that Clint wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.

"Clint? It's a pleasure to meet you. Where are you from, Clint?"

At this question, Clint replied honestly, with a shrug and "I don't know." It was the truth...he'd never been told where he'd been born, only that his parents were traitors to Hydra and that Hydra had done the right thing for Clint by taking him away from them. Although it was never said for certain, Clint was fairly sure that Hydra had murdered his parents.

"Do you know where you were when you were found?"

"At a Hydra base," Clint answered shortly, although he honestly didn't even know what country the base was in, let alone it's exact location. Every time he'd asked, when he'd been learning about different countries, his teachers had laughed and told him that it didn't matter. It had bothered him, but he'd learned that asking questions usually didn't end well for him.

The Black Widow nodded, "You knew my name when I said it to you...do you know who I am currently allied to?"

Clint hesitated, "The Avengers?" he replied, more than a little confused. She should have started really interrogating him now. This...this was just idle conversation...unless she was just trying to get him to like her.

Clint hardened his resolve, refusing to allow himself to even think anything nice about the Black Widow.

"I know this might be hard to believe, but I was like you once...taken from my family when I was very young, trained...brainwashed, with no freedom. I did what I was told because I was scared of those that controlled me. I hurt a lot of people because I was told to."

Staying silent, Clint watched the Black widows face as she spoke, trying to figure out when she was going to switch out of the 'good cop' routine.

Perhaps sensing that she wasn't getting anywhere, an almost sad look crossed her face and she sat on the edge of Clint's bed, "What I mean is...nobody here blames you for shooting at Captain America, or for anything else you might have done, do you understand? You're a child, and you've been with Hydra since you were a baby. They've controlled you all of your life."

Clint nodded in reply, although he still kept quiet. There was nothing in the Black Widow's assessment of him that wasn't true. He was young, he had been with Hydra since he was a baby, and his whole life they'd been telling him what to do, even if Clint hadn't wanted to do it, or it hadn't felt right. Clint had no idea how she'd already figured all that out though. He'd said practically nothing to her, how did she know that Hydra had had hin since he was a baby? Maybe it was his comment about not knowing where he was from?

Still, she was the Black Widow. Finding things out about people was her thing, she was just even better at it than Clint ever imagined.

The Black Widow was silent too, and Clint dropped his gaze to his own lap, uncomfortable at the penetrating look she was giving him. Neither of them spoke, until the sound of the door opening and closing again broke the silence. Clint looked up, taking in the new person in the room. She was dressed as a medic, her black hair swept up into a bun, although wisps had escaped and hung around her face. She smiled cheerfully when her eyes met Clint's, and he looked away again quickly

"Ah, I see our guest is awake," she commented brightly, resting a tray of medical supplies on the bedside table on Clint's non-handcuffed side.

The Black Widow nodded, "Helen, this is Clint," she introduced, "Clint, this is Doctor Helen Cho, she's been looking after you since you got here."

"Hello Clint, it's nice to meet you." Helen Cho greeted with a smile. Clint didn't say anything back, but he allowed himself a small smile.

"Clint, I'm just going to check on something really quick, ok, I'll be back soon." Natasha offered, rising to her feet. Clint shrugged his shoulders and nodded, watching as the Black Widow left the room, closing the door and walking past the observation window that lined the side of the room facing the corridor.

"How are you feeling, Clint?" Helen Cho, having a look at the monitor

"Ok," Clint replied cautiously

"How does your head feel, you gave it a pretty solid whack when you were trying to escape Bucky. He's not all that scary...he's actually a big soft teddy bear, but don't tell him I said that," Helen giggled, pressing her finger to her lips in the very familiar shushing gesture.

"It hurts a bit," Clint admitted, wincing and pulling away when Helen flashed her pen light in his eyes. She nodded understandingly.

"It probably will for a while, sweetheart. I can give you something that will make it stop hurting for a bit, it'll let you get some rest too."

Clint sighed and nodded, glancing over at the tray of medical equipment as Dr Cho put her pen light down and began looking at the bandages on his arms.

"You've been a good boy so far; these stiches are holding nicely. It's a change for me. The Avengers could win a prize for being the worst patients I've ever had to deal with, I usually have to restitch their injuries a couple of times because they keep moving and re-opening them. You're going to have to be fairly careful with yourself for a few weeks until these cuts get better, we don't want them getting infected."

Silently Clint nodded. He had no intention of being in the custody of the Avengers for that long. He'd been taught what to do if he was captured...especially by the Avengers or by whatever was left of SHIELD. Yes, the ones who had told him what to do were probably dead, and so far the Black Widow had been nice enough, but Clint didn't plan on hanging around long enough for the Avengers to turn the tables.

Besides...what if one or more of his handlers at Hydra had survived? Clint had seen firsthand what happened to agents who disobeyed orders, or who revealed Hydra's secrets to the enemy. He wasn't going to risk Hydra finding out he was alive and thinking that he'd told secrets to ensure his own safety. Hydra would take him back from the Avengers...and Clint shuddered as he imagined the many different, bad, ways they could make him suffer for his disobedience.

Clint forced himself to shift his line of vision, finding himself looking up at Doctor Cho. He licked his dry lips slightly.

"Can I have a drink of water?' he sheepishly asked.

Doctor Cho nodded, "of course you can, Clint, I'll go get you some," she smiled brightly; setting aside the file she was holding and heading for the door.

"I'll be right back, ok?' she asked, and he nodded, watching as she let herself out of the room and walked away. The moment she was out of sight Clint threw himself sideways, ignoring the pain from his injuries as he stretched his un-cuffed hand towards the tray of medical equipment, ignoring the burning pain as the movement pulled on his stiches and opened a few of the older cuts. The cold metal of the handcuff dug into the skin covering his left wrist as he moved so that he was as close as he could physically get to the tray while still handcuffed.

"Come on," he whispered through gritted teeth, stretching his arm out as far as he could, "come on." The words seemed to work, and Clint's fingertips brushed the tray. Groaning in frustration, he stretched himself even further, feeling a few of his stiches breaking open as his fingertips hooked on the edge of the tray and pulled it a little closer.

Fumbling slightly, his fingers trembling, Clint looked at the objects on the tray. Some there were still some clean dressings there, as well as some tape, a tube of some sort of cream, and a sharp looking pair of scissors...the scissors that the doctor had used to cut the tape to secure the dressings that she'd already changed.

Clint picked up the scissors. Testing the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. A thin red line appeared as he slid the knife across the pad of his left thumb, a couple of drops of blood running down his thumb and onto his hand, staining his skin red. The scissors were sharp, they would do the job. Clint glanced p to check that the Doctor hadn't returned, knowing that, if he had to, he could simply hide the scissors beneath the pillow and wait for her to be finished, hoping that she wouldn't notice the new cut on his thumb, or the broken stiches.

The doctor, however, still hadn't returned and Clint let out a shaky breath, a single tear rolling down his face. He knew a lot about death. He'd seen people die before, and although nobody had ever admitted it, he'd known that chances were that he would never live to be considered old. Few within Hydra ever did

Before the Avengers had attacked the base Clint had never thought that he would die when he was only six...before he even got to go on any missions...before he had the chance to finish his training. Yes, there were times that he'd wished for death...after one of his punishments, when he used to wish that somebody would take him away from Hydra...that he could escape, even if it meant death. Anything would be better than the hell he'd been living.

Tears rolling freely down his cheek, Clint opened up the scissors and dragged the blade across his wrist. One cut, blood immediately coming to the surface. Clint watched the blood, transfixed for a moment, as it ran from the cut in his left wrist, down his arm, and onto the bedding. His hand still shaking, Clint made another cut, a little deeper than the first, right beside it. He flexed his left hand, watching as the movement made more blood come out of his body, relaxing against the pillows tiredly. He wasn't sure if it was his headache that was making him tired, or the blood loss, but he could feel his eyes becoming heavier and heavier, as it became a struggle to keep them open.

Despite being on the edge of falling asleep, probably never to wake up again (or at least, that was the plan) Clint still heard the ear-splitting scream of Doctor Cho as she let herself back through the door and took in the sight of Clint and what he had done to himself in her absence.

What happened next, however, Clint was oblivious too, lost to the blissful darkness of unconsciousness.

AVENGERS

Natasha, Bucky, Tony and Bruce were the ones closest to the door of Steve's room when Helen Cho's scream cut through the air, and they all turned and ran towards the noise without hesitation. None of them were prepared for the sight that was awaiting them...Clint sprawled on the bed, pale and unconscious, a pair of bloody surgical scissors lying innocently on his lap, his left arm...the one that had been handcuffed to ensure the boy didn't escape, was drenched in blood.

It was all too obvious what had occurred, and Natasha felt her knees give out a little beneath her weight as she slumped against the door as it sunk into her mind what had happened in the room. Her son...her six year old son, had slit his wrist...in an attempt at suicide, or perhaps in an attempt to get free form the handcuffs so he could escape. Either possibility was terrifying, and it made Natasha want to know what exactly Hydra had told Clint about what to do if he was ever captured by the Avengers.

Of course, Natasha could understand why Hydra would do whatever it could to make Clint wary of the Avengers. In the circumstances of Clint being captured by the Avengers it would be unlikely that Hydra would be able to get him back, so it would make sense that Clint would be instructed to escape, if he could, or if not, to kill himself. Getting Clint back after so many years, only for the boy to die by his own hand would break the Avengers more than anything else that Hydra could do.

Helen Cho was already taking action, using whatever bandages were within arm's reach to try and stanch the bleeding, all the while watching as the monitor the boy was attached to went crazy. Bruce pushed gently past Natasha, hurrying into the room, getting extra bandages, towels, and, frighteningly, getting the crash cart ready to use, if they had to.

Natasha felt a hand close around her own, and she knew instinctively that it was Bucky's hand...his flesh hand, both trying to anchor her...reassure her of his presence beside her, and also holding her back. Natasha's first instinct was to race into the room her son was in, to try and wake him up, although she knew, in her head, that he probably would wake up, and that she'd only be making things worse. Helen and Bruce needed all the space they could get to look after Clint and make sure he didn't die.

"Son of a Bitch," Tony swore softly from where he stood beside Bucky, "I know we found a cyanide tablet on him but...but I didn't think he would actually..." Tony faded off, unable to voice his thoughts.

"It's Hydra," Bucky offered in a dark sounding voice, "Who knows what lies they told him...what they manipulated him into thinking. They've had him since he was a few hours old...he only knows what they've been telling him."

Natasha found herself nodding in agreement. Manipulation and brainwashing were two of the things that Hydra did best. She'd seen it before, and Clint would have been an obvious target for it.

"He...he's strong...he'll make it...and we'll get him past it," Tony promised solemnly, "He might not get to live a normal life, but we'll help him know that what they...what they did...that it wasn't ok, that it isn't supposed to be like that."

Natasha felt Bucky gently wrap his metal arm around her stomach in a hug, and she allowed it, drawing comfort from the feel of Bucky's chest against her back. Normally she wouldn't tolerate this sort of gesture from any of the team, but in that moment, as she looked at Clint...the baby boy she thought that she'd lost six long years ago, lying on the bed in the isolation room his wrist cut open, blood staining the towels that Helen and Bruce were using to staunch the flow, the monitors beeping frantically in the background as the boy's blood pressure dropped, she felt that she needed the physical support that Bucky offered.

Besides, he'd only just learned that he was Clint's father. He probably needed her just as much as she needed him.

Chapter Summery

The child rescued by the Avengers wakes up and talks to Natasha, who tries to interrogate him. When she introduces herself he realizes that he doesn't really stand a chance and tells her his name is Clint. Clint is confused by Natasha's friendliness. Helen Cho comes in to check Clint's bandages, and Natasha goes to check on Steve. Clint decided to follow through his Hydra training and convinces Helen to leave the room. He gets hold of a pair of surgical scissors and uses the scissors to cut his wrist before loosing consciousness. Helen finds him and screams, alerting the Avengers.