With Bruce on one side, and Pietro on the other, Steve slowly made his way down the corridor, heading towards the room that contained Natasha and Bucky's son. Steve really didn't need to be supported by two of his teammates, his injury was nearly entirely healed already, thanks to the serum. He was still using a sling, but that was to avoid what Tony had termed Bruce's kicked puppy look rather than helping the arrow wound heal.

Technically Steve hadn't been cleared to get up yet, but with everything that had happened Dr Cho was (correctly, in Steve's opinion) focused on her other patient, and Bruce and Sam had finally agreed to Steve's requests to let him go and see what was happening in the other occupied hospital room at the Avengers base.

After the excitement of the last few hours the Avengers' secret base was oddly quiet. It was the early hours of the morning, although none of them could bring themselves to try and sleep. Tony, Rhodey, Thor and Vision had all headed back to the base they'd found Clint at, hoping to find something...any piece of information that might help Clint readjust and heal after what Steve imagined must have been a fairly horrible childhood.

Natasha and Bucky had refused to leave Clint's bedside, although the boy hadn't woken up again since he'd used the surgical scissors to cut his wrist open. Steve couldn't blame them; if Clint was his child, then he wouldn't have wanted to leave his side either.

Sam and Bruce had both elected to stay, mainly because they were more useful here in the Avengers compound with Clint than searching the Hydra base...Bruce, because the Hulk wasn't very good at searching for things, and Sam because of his background in psychology and counselling. It was because of his experience with people who had lived through trauma, although they were usually a lot older than Clint, that Sam had asked Wanda and Pietro to stay, suggesting that, assuming that Clint was the little boy that they had seen in Strucker's lab, it might help for him to see two people he had met before, albeit years earlier. It was highly likely that Clint wouldn't even remember the twins, but it might help.

Steve was quiet as Sam helped him into the room while Pietro held the door open. Bruce wasn't in the room, but the rest of the Avengers who had remained at the base were, the room a little cluttered from all the chairs that had been brought in. Steve dropped into an unoccupied chair, taking in his teammates as they sat in silence. It was a stark contrast to the light, joking atmosphere that had been in his room earlier, when Thor had watched enraptured by the card game Tony had brought out, and Bucky had hovered protectively over Steve.

Wanda had tucked herself into a corner, her head resting against the wall as she dozed lightly, although Steve knew her well enough to know that she could be awake and fully alert in mere seconds. Sam was sitting beside Steve, his expression grave. Pietro was uncharacteristically sombre, his gaze lingering on the unconscious boy lying on the bed, both arms securely tethered to the bed frame to limit his movement, bandages thickly covering his injuries, hiding the real extent of the damage he'd done to himself.

At Clint's bedside was Natasha and Bucky, and Steve immediately noticed the way Bucky's flesh hand was resting against Natasha's left hand...touching, but not holding. Bucky was the only one of the pair who reacted to Steve entering the room, but even then it was merely a sideways glance before Bucky returned his attention to Clint.

Steve knew Bucky better than anyone, except for Bucky himself and possibly Natasha. Even with only that short glance to work off Steve could begin to guess how Bucky felt. He saw the mix of emotions playing across Bucky's face...in the depths of his best friend's eyes. Steve could see the pain, the regret, the guilt and the sorrow written there, just as clearly as he read the newspaper each morning.

Natasha's face, as always, was nigh impossible to read, but Steve did notice how she had her right hand resting on the bed beside Clint's left hand. She wasn't touching the boy's hand, there were a couple of inches between them, but her hand was close to the boy, as if she was ready to comfort him if he started showing signs of waking up.

Finally, Steve turned his attention to Clint, the poor kid still apparently either sound asleep or unconscious. Steve watched the boy's chest as it rose and fell, looking far younger than six years old in the oversized bed, which had, admittedly been made so that it could fit any of the Avengers comfortably, with the exception of the Hulk. It was obvious that the bed would, therefore highlight how small the kid was.

The bruises and cuts Clint had received during his attempted escape a painted vivid contrast to the pallor of his face.

It was the first time Steve had seen the kid for himself, aside from a fleeting glimpse in the moments before Clint had fired an arrow into Steve's shoulder, and when Bucky had carried the boy on board the Quinjet, and neither occasion had really permitted Steve to get a good look at the boy who had come closer to killing him than anyone had in a while.

Now, however, he got a good look at the boy. Knowing what he did about the identity of Clint's parents he could clearly see the resemblance to both Bucky, and Nat, although mostly Bucky and his family. A sad smile crossed Steve's face as he imagined how Bucky's mother and father would have reacted to their grandchild. He could imagine how Bucky's mother would have gushed over the little boy, feeding him just like she used to feed Steve, fussing over how skinny he was.

It was sad that Mrs. Barnes wouldn't ever see her young grandson. Once he'd been freed of the ice Steve had followed up on what happened to Bucky's family...the only family Steve had really had left. It had been a real kick in the gut to learn that Bucky's supposed death had only been the start of run of bad luck for his family. Bucky's father had died only a few years after Steve and Bucky had been assumed dead, and his mother had died in the 1970's. One of Bucky's sisters had died at about the same time as their father after giving birth to her first child, a little boy, who had gone on to fight, and die, childless, in the Vietnam War. Of Bucky's two other sisters, one had never married and had lived with their mother, and then alone, and had died in 1997, while the other had married, had two daughters (neither of whom had survived to adulthood) and passed away in 2002.

Steve himself had been the one to tell Bucky about the deaths of every single member of the family that Bucky had loved, and Steve had loved just as much as his own parents.

Now though, admittedly not under the best of circumstances, Bucky had a family again. He had the rest of the Avengers, he had Natasha, and now, he had Clint...and Steve knew both Bucky and Natasha well enough to know that neither of them would give up on Clint. They would do anything on the world to help their son recover from the traumas of being raised by Hydra.

And Steve would do everything he could to help.

AVENGERS

Sam sighed as he sunk a little in the chair at Clint's bedside, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. He wasn't looking forward to it...but it needed to be done, for the boy's sake.

The Incident with the scissors had proven to be not as bad as it had initially looked, from a physical perspective. The cuts had proven to not be that deep, and it looked likely that they wouldn't even scar, (especially with the state of the art equipment and treatment that the Avengers had access to), with the scissors designed to cut through material and bandages, rather than skin. Clint's loss of consciousness had been more due to the painkillers he was on, although blood loss had played a small role too, something which had relieved the entire Avengers team more than any of them would ever say.

Helen had kept Clint sedated after that, both to give his body more time to recover before Clint started to move around again, and to given the Avengers more time to prepare themselves for how exactly they would handle a traumatised, potentially suicidal, six-year-old.

The Avengers had taken advantage of the reprieve. Tony, Rhodey, Thor and Vision had yet to return from their journey back to the taken the mountainside Hydra base where they had found Clint to see if they could find any of his belongings or anything else that might help them get Clint readjusted, as well as to look for evidence of what kind of treatment Clint had been subjected to while he was there, while the rest of the team had remained behind, not sure of what they could do.

Helen had slowly lessened the dosage of the medication Clint was on, letting his body come out of its slumber at it's own pace, although Sam could tell she was worried that it was taking so long for Clint to wake up.

Still, Clint had woken up a couple of times, although never for more than a few moments. The first few times he'd still been too groggy to really do more than blink sleepily a couple of times, before he'd passed out again. The couple of times after that he hadn't said anything clear, but mumbled a few words, which Natasha had informed them were Russian swear words.

As time passed though it was obvious that Clint was recovering, the sedative's impact easing as the dosage was reduced. He was staying awake for longer, and he seemed more lucid when he did wake up. Steve, Sam, Natasha and Bucky had discussed what to do at length while Clint was asleep, all of them knowing that, somehow, they had to get the boy to realise that they weren't going to hurt him, and that he was safe with them and that they would protect him from his former captors.

At the first sign of the boy regaining consciousness again Clint's room had quietly been emptied of everyone except for Helen and Sam. It had taken a bit of persuasion, but even Bucky and Natasha had been coaxed out of the room, although Sam knew that they were on the other side of the observation window. Sam himself had hit the button that had made it so that although those out in the corridor could see into the room, Helen, Sam and Clint couldn't see them.

At that this early point of time Sam knew that it was important to try and make the kid feel comfortable and relaxed. Natasha herself had admitted that the kid had known who the Black Widow was, and hadn't quite been able to disguise the way that he was frightened by her.

Sam kept his distance as Clint groggily woke up, not hiding his presence, but still staying back as Helen checked how responsive the boy was, softly reassuring him that he was safe, and that he was ok. She didn't wisely not comment on what the boy had done to himself, or why he was now secured by both wrists, and his ankles.

Finally satisfied, Helen nodded discretely to Sam before leaving the room, closing the door securely behind her as she left.

Sam could feel Clint's gaze on him, but didn't do anything, just letting the kid watch him as he mentally prepared himself. He was used to talking to PTSD victims, it was part of his job, but he'd never had to talk to someone as young as Clint before. Bruce was standing by, just in case he needed to provide additional support, but he was probably even less qualified for this than Sam was.

"So...Clint," Sam began casually, smiling at the boy, hoping to put him at ease. Clint, for his part, simply watched, his gaze serious, his lips in a straight thin line, not saying anything. That was ok...Sam had expected that.

"My name's Sam," Sam introduced himself, moving so he was a little closer, but still far enough away that Clint would know that Sam was too far away to touch him, "Some people call me Falcon though. You can call me whatever you want, it's your choice."

Clint said nothing, although Sam noticed the way that his eyes sparked with childish curiosity, albeit briefly, when Sam had mentioned the word Falcon. He made a mental note of it and moved on.

"Natasha tells me that you don't know where you came from. That must be tough, not knowing who your parents are or what kind of people they were. What's the first thing you remember?"

"Barney," Clint replied after a lengthy pause, a defeated look settling on his face. Sam observed the way Clint's shoulders slumped, as if he'd given up.

"Who was Barney?"

"He...he looked after me, when I was little." Clint replied, avoiding making eye contact with Sam. Sam, however, noticed the way Clint's voice caught in his throat.

"Did you like Barney?"

Clint didn't say anything, but instead he nodded, a tear rolling down his cheek. Sam decided that obviously Barney was a sensitive issue and moved on.

"What about your parents? Do you know anything about them?"

"They're dead," Clint replied his tone flat, clear from any of the emotion that it had carried when he spoke about Barney.

"What happened to them?"

"They betrayed Hydra. Everyone who betrays Hydra dies."

Sam frowned, "Is...is that why you cut yourself?" he gently asked. Clint shifted a little, pulling on the restrains on his wrists a little. Clint's gaze lingered on the bandages around his left wrist for a moment, and when he replied his voice was distant

"They're going to find me and they'll think I told you something. It would have hurt less than what they're going to do to me. I was told that if I got caught to kill myself, and to take out as many of my captors in the process."

Sam made a mental note to remind the rest of the Avengers to make sure the armoury and the labs were kept locked, not wanting to risk Clint getting his hands on anything he shouldn't.

Outwardly, however, Sam kept his face neutral, "How?"

Clint shrugged, looking close to tears again, "I don't know," he admitted, "They're going to get me..."

"Hey, no they're not." Sam corrected, "They're not going to get you, OK? You're at the Avenger's base, ok, and Hydra is not going to get in...unless they can shrink down to the size of an ant...long story. Anyway, the point is that they can't get you here. You're safe here."

"Am I safe from you? I shot Captain America."

Sam shrugged, "Cap's a forgiving kind of guy, I'm sure he'll get over it. He's pretty much all healed up now anyway. You're a kid; you were just doing what you were told, you were only protecting yourself and your base. The rest of the team's gotten over it too, so you don't have to worry about us. None of us will ever hurt you, Kid. I promise."

Clint nodded, and went back to avoiding looking at Sam. Sam shifted slightly in his seat.

"Look...when we attacked the Hydra base you were at...I don't think there were any survivors, other than you. Chances are that no-one from Hydra knows that we have you, so you're not in danger from them, and none of us will ever intentionally hurt you."

"But why?' Clint asked, "I'm Hydra. Why am I different to the others at the base?"

Sam sighed, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the observation window, "Because you're a kid, for one. We try and avoid killing kids," he offered "But there's something else too...Another reason why we're keeping you here, safe and alive."

Clint looked up at Sam, definitely curious now, and not as nervous as he had been.

"What? Why" he asked. Sam shifted in his chair so he was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"When you said that your parents were dead...that they'd betrayed Hydra...it wasn't completely right. Yeah, from Hydra's point of view there was a certain degree of betrayal, but they aren't dead."

There was a flicker of hope in Clint's eyes, but it didn't last, hastily stifled and hidden away by the boy, "you know who they are? How?"

"We did a DNA test when you first arrived and ran it through our database." Sam explained, and got a confused look from Clint. Sam sighed...he'd forgotten that he was, after all, talking to a six year old.

"Basically we took a little of your spit and put it in a machine, which compared it to lots of other people's spit and the machine matched your spit with your parent's spit, because there's…stuff…in your spit that is the same as your mom and dad's spit"

"Ew," Clint scrunched up his nose, "That's gross,"

Sam nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I guess you're right, it's gross when you think about it. How about we talk about you first though, before we talk about your parents."

Clint shrugged as well as he could with the restraints, "OK,"

"Now...this has nothing to do with Hydra. I just want to learn more about you, alright? There isn't any right or wrong answers, and if you don't know, or don't want to say, then you can skip it."

Again Clint nodded, so Sam began.

"How old are you?"

"I'm Six and a half," Clint replied confidently with no hesitation, which matched exactly with what Sam already knew, although Clint obviously didn't know that.

"What's your favourite food?"

Clint hesitated, "I don't know," he admitted, "There was lots of different foods at the base, and I liked a lot of them."

"Ok...if you could have any of them now what would you choose?"

"Pizza and Pancakes. Barney used to make Pancakes for breakfast sometimes...and sometimes they make them in the mess hall. On my birthday Barney made a pancake cake with candles, and Pizza is amazing."

"Pizza and Pancakes huh? Good choices, kid. Pancakes are one of my favourites too. Maybe tomorrow morning we can have pancakes."

Clint visibly brightened at the prospect, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

"What's your least favourite thing to eat?"

"Cold scrambled eggs," there was no hesitation or thinking required for Clint this time around, and Sam made another mental note about that.

"Why's that?" he asked.

Clint dropped his gaze again, "sometimes I don't want to get out of bed and do my …jobs," he admitted, "and I used to get in trouble. I'd get extra jobs to do before breakfast and by the time I got to eat my breakfast it's cold and icky."

Sam refrained from reacting, although he guessed that out in the corridor the watching Avengers were probably furiously reacting. Judging from Clint's body language Sam could guess that part of Clint's 'extra jobs' was being abused, verbally, if not physically or in…other ways.

"Everyone finds it hard to get out of bed sometimes. What did you use to do during the day?"

"Get up, do my jobs, eat breakfast, I'd have lessons in the morning, followed by lunch, then training, showers, more lessons, dinner, then bed." Clint replied easily, obviously having memorised the routine. Sam's curiosity was peaked.

"Lessons huh. What did you learn about?"

Clint shrugged, "Different languages," he replied, "numbers and reading and writing, where different places were, stuff they said I needed to know."

"Did you like it?"

Clint nodded, "it was ok...sometimes I'd get in trouble though. I'd get bored and they'd hit me to make me pay attention."

"Clint...I know that it's what you're used to...but when they used to hit you...that isn't ok."

"But I was being bad," Clint defended.

Sam shook his head, "It isn't ok for grown-ups to hit you. Hitting isn't ok."

"But what if someone's going to get you?" Clint frowned, "what if you're trying to stop someone."

Sam stopped, realisation sinking in that Clint had been raised his whole life to be a weapon...that violence was the norm...the expectation. Even if he ended up living with the Avengers he was going to see them sparring against one another, and would probably see news reports of them fighting whatever threats they needed to face.

"Ok, that's a good question," Sam nodded, "Do you know what the Avengers do, other than fight Hydra?"

Clint shook his head in reply.

"That's ok...the Avengers...they protect people. They protect people's freedom; they protect people from getting hurt. Sometimes there are those out in the world...or from further away from that, that want to enslave us...to hurt us. The Avengers try and stop that from happening. That's why we fight...to protect people."

"Hydra wanted to hurt people. They...they told me that I was going to be their weapon...that I was going to kill people for them," Clint said in a sad, quiet voice, "people that weren't doing what Hydra wanted them to." Sam blinked, having almost missed the comment.

"And did you want to kill people?"

"No," Clint replied, "I didn't understand why they needed to die. When I asked they used to hit me and told me it wasn't my choice, that I didn't need to know why, all I needed to do was do my job. I was the arrow, they said, and they were the person holding the bow, aiming it and telling the arrow who to kill, and firing the arrow when the right time came."

"Nobody should make you do something that you don't want you to do, especially if it hurts someone else. I mean, if it's you know, eating all your veggies or washing behind your ears or doing your homework, then yeah, you should do it, but...not killing people."

Clint nodded, although Sam had a feeling that most of what he had said had gone over Clint's head. It was probably fair enough, the kid was only six, and he'd had a traumatic day.

"You know," Sam offered lightly, "I just learned so much about you. Do you know what I just learned about you?"

"What?" Clint asked, his face apprehensive, as if he was frightened that he just gave away important information that would be used against him.

"That you're a good person, that you didn't want to do what Hydra was telling you to...that you didn't want to hurt Cap, and that you didn't want to do what they had planned for you when you're bigger. I'm guessing that, if you knew then what you do now, you wouldn't have hurt yourself either," Sam pointed at Clint's heavily bandaged wrist, and Clint slowly shook his head.

"I don't want to leave," Clint admitted shakily, his tears shining with unshed tears. Sam took a chance and rested his hand on Clint's gently.

"Trust me kid, no one's going to make you go anywhere."