This chapter gets a little angsty. Clint is a teenager with a turbulent history, so he tends to blow things out of proportion sometimes, so if his logic is a bit flawed, I blame hormones. Thankfully, things should lighten up from here for a while.
Enjoy!

Chapter 20- The Best Lessons Don't Come in Books

Going over his lessons were one hundred times more boring than Clint's worst fears. He expected to be bored. He expected to be in over his head. He did not expect to be thinking longingly of the bearded lady's dark incense filled trailer, bent over worn books that she dug out of the rejected donations bin. Those books had been decades out of date with pages missing, but she drilled him mercilessly over them whenever she could pull him away from his other duties, which wasn't often and he didn't exactly go out of his way to make it easier on her. Still, that had been better than what Dr. McCoy had in mind for today.

It wouldn't be so bad if Clint was actually learning anything, but right now Dr. McCoy was only showing how he will be learning in the future, rather than giving him an actual lesson. The blue doctor had carted in a truly intimidating stack of books and papers into the cabin, plopping them down on the little wooden table with a thwack that Clint thought sounded just like a bell tolling his doom. Not really, of course but that's what it felt like. Seriously, there were a lot of papers, and notebooks, and books, and text books, and answer keys, and… and… and…

"Entspannen Sie sich. Breath, Clint," Kurt encouraged him, draping an arm over the hyperventilating teenager. "We're not expecting you to use all of this right away, or learn all of it at once."

Dr. McCoy looked up from where he was explaining a writing syllabus, referencing the books that he wanted Clint to read and write reports on. Apparently he hadn't noticed Clint's distress and he looked very upset by his oversight. He put down the copy of Treasure Island that he had been talking about and took off his glasses regard the teenager with worry. "Is something wrong?" he asked, leaning forward.

Clint shrank into himself, sure that he had let the man down. Hopefully, Dr. McCoy wouldn't just throw his arms up in the air and give up on Clint like that one teacher in 1st grade. Clint had been having hearing problems at the time, so it wasn't his fault he couldn't hear her questions, but she never believed him and eventually threw him out of her class. He looked away from his new teacher and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He really didn't want to feel that stupid again, not here.

"Clinton, I need to apologize. I get caught up in the excitement of my work, of teaching and sometimes forget to pay attention to my pupil," Hank said after a long moment, sounding sad but not disappointed, not angry. He smiled kindly and reached across the small table to pat Clint's shoulder with one large blue-furred hand.

Clint struggled to hide his flinch at the physical touch. He hadn't flinched when Kurt had put his arm around his shoulders. He should be able to handle Dr. McCoy as well. The doctor's fur was longer and of a lighter color than Kurt's, giving him more of an animalistic appearance. Clint had always liked animals. He could do this. Before he could reply though, Beast pulled back, giving Clint his space back. Kurt also leaned back, naturally like he had meant to do that already. Clint finally relaxed, letting his lungs fill with air again. He shot a grateful look at his fellow carnie before nodding at Dr. McCoy. He steeled himself, eager to prove himself.

"Let's see if I can simplify this a little," Hank mused, running his hands over the piles of notebooks in front of them. He put his glasses back on, and started to look closer at some of the books. Those glasses looked so small perched on his broad nose, and they kept slipping down so he was constantly pushing them back in place. "How about we start with just the basics, then Logan or one of us can introduce new topics as you tire of the old? That seems like a more logical approach." When Clint nodded eagerly, thankful for the reprieve, Hank grabbed several stacks and handed them to Kurt. "Let's put these away for now. I'll go over them with Logan later."

In a burst of brimstone, Kurt transferred everything Hank indicated out of sight, leaving Clint with a much more manageable array. He sighed in relief and pulled one of the workbooks toward him. "'Introductory Geometry'?" he asked. "That sounds a little beyond my education level."

"Never fear," Dr. McCoy reassured him quickly. "We'll start with this one, 'Arithmetic 101'. Based on your scores in on the tests that Ms. Munroe gave you last time, you should breeze through this with little difficulty, then you can explore the more interesting aspects of mathematics."

Clint snickered, remembering something from when he was a kid. "So, I'll be working on my three 'R's'," he teased, thinking the dumb posters from his first elementary school.

Dr. McCoy froze in mid-reach for another workbook. He pushed his glasses higher up his nose and "Clinton, I must ask you never to use that insultingly inaccurate generalization before me again. Perhaps our first lesson should be spelling," he exclaimed, looking positively offended.

Clint choked on the distaste emanating from the teacher. What followed was a very in-depth lesson, but entertaining, in the spelling and origins of several commonly misused words, including arithmetic, writing and reading. Hank was actually a very good teacher and patient with Clint's mediocre education. This was more what Clint had been expecting when Dr. McCoy promised to start his lessons. Then, just as the teenager started fidgeting in his seat, Kurt offered to take him outside for a swordsmanship lesson. Clint was out of his chair and out the door before Kurt finished his question.

Kurt's sword style was completely different from anything Clint had ever seen from the Swordsman. Nightcrawler danced with his swords, flipping and flying through the air like an acrobat. With a blade in his hand, he didn't look demonic, at least not to Clint; he looked like an angel, like he could fly off into the sky. If he was honest, Clint was jealous, and ecstatic that Kurt wanted to teach him.

"Relax, Clint," Kurt reminded him as Clint tried the complicated twist that Kurt had demonstrated for him. "You need to roll with the movement while keeping your blade flat."

Clint was sweating and panting like a dog as he tried to copy the mutant's fluid, flexible movements. He was getting frustrated and his stomach was reminding him how long it had been since lunch but he refused to give up. In the circus, he had worked with acrobats and contortionists and got good at it. He was not used to not being flexible enough, to having someone better. "I can't move like you do," Clint complained, stepping back and planting the tip of his wooden sword in the dirt so he could slump over. He liked the practice swords Kurt had brought. They were wooden with a lead core so they felt real in his hand, and there were two styles, one set looked like heavy rapiers, the others were like the wooden katana that he saw in an anime once. Kurt promised that Logan was the better teacher for that style. Beyond that he didn't elaborate, which left Clint with a whole lot of questions that he couldn't wait to ask Logan.

"Let's take a break," Kurt admitted, grinning sympathetically.

Clint shook his head stubbornly. He would get this. He pick up his blade and got in stance again, but Kurt shook his head and with a few quick flicks, knocked Clint's weapon out of his hands.

"There is nothing wrong with taking a break when you need one, Clint," Kurt pointed out. "We will have time to continue this later. We were planning on staying at least until tomorrow."

Clint sighed and finally gave in collapsing next to his sword, lying on his back to stare up at the sky. Kurt sat down beside him, snagging a water bottle with his tail to give to the prostrate teenager. Clint poured the luke warm water over his face so only some of it went in his mouth, sputtering when the water went up his nose. He sat up coughing and Kurt did his best to keep a straight face.

"Seemed like a good idea," Clint murmured ruefully after Kurt helped him sit up and pounded on his back a little to get him to stop coughing.

"So many things do, at the time," Kurt said, his face slipping into a wide grin. But rather than teasing Clint, the mutant picked a different topic. "So, tell me, how has it been, traveling and living with my best friend?"

"Logan? It's been pretty great, actually. I got to fight Nazis, stay up late, learn how to fight from an expert, so all in all, pretty awesome," Clint said after a minute. He studied the elf out of the corner of his eye. Somehow he knew that this was not an unplanned conversation, and he wondered what the other man was fishing for.

Kurt nodded sagely. "Ja, it sounds like you have had some fun," he teased, poking Clint with his tail. "Yet something is bothering you. I was once a priest, you know," he added, looking away into the trees. "If you need to talk, I am a very good listener."

"Did Logan put you up to this?" Clint asked, pulling one knee up so he could rest his chin on it. The blue X-man was being as subtle as his appearance, and Clint didn't need to be Hawkeye to see the nervous twitching tail or tightness in the man's shoulders. This was not going to be a fun conversation, and Clint could only trust Logan's promises that they weren't going to make him leave. Kurt was looking a little too much like some of the social workers who had to give him and Barney the news that they had to move again.

Kurt shook his head. "Non," Kurt disagreed but when Clint just gave him a look he learned from Logan that he had been practicing, he relented. "Logan might have admitted that he has been worried about you, after your adventures in Oklahoma."

For a minute Clint had no idea what Kurt was talking about. Why would Logan be worried about him? He had told Clint over and over how proud he was of how Clint handled Hydra. Then Clint remembered his dreams. He felt his chest seize. For a moment he was trapped in his nightmare from last night, the one where he shot at Logan. He grabbed at his ears, trying to block out the remembered sound of Logan shouting his name, the sound of his arrows hitting flesh. Clint's mind blanked out for only a handful of seconds, but it was enough to have Nightcrawler in a panic of his own. Clint finally looked up to see the man kneeling before him, his head tilted to see Clint's face, and his tail and ears twitching in agitation, his hands reaching for Clint's but hovering like he was afraid of touching the boy and making it worse. He looked a little like a startled cat, which was incongruous enough for Clint to pull himself out of his remembered terror. He waved off Kurt's urgings for him to breath and forced himself to stretch out, giving his lungs room to fill with a full breath.

"Sorry, sorry," Clint rambled, desperate to brush it off, "I'm okay, I'll be alright."

Kurt leaned back, shifting onto his haunches. His yellow eyes were still wide with alarm, but he was calmer. "Has this happened before?" he asked carefully.

Clint shook his head. It was the truth too, he hadn't had a panic attack like that since the circus, since he had started running with Logan; well, outside of nightmares, that is. "Sorry, just remembering a nightmare," he admitted when Kurt didn't look convinced.

Kurt nodded. Then he stood up and offered his hand to Clint. The blond took the offered assistance and followed his teacher to the steps leading up to the house. He had expected Kurt to take him inside, but the elf took a seat on the steps and patted the step next to him. Clint shrugged and took a seat. The step was made of roughly hewn logs, and wasn't all that comfortable, but it was better than sitting on the ground in the middle of the yard. Maybe Kurt knew that and figured Clint would be more comfortable talking here. Clint thought he was wasting his time. There was no way he was ever going to be ready for this conversation, there was a reason he hadn't talked to Logan.

"Clint, Logan told me that you had been having nightmares, and that they have been getting worse since Oklahoma. Is that true?" Kurt asked when they had both settled.

Clint shrugged. He rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided the other's eyes. "So what if they are? I can still stay with him. I'll get over it, I'm not a baby," he snapped defensively with a little more heat than he intended. But he really didn't want Kurt to think less of him, and wanted Logan to know even less.

Kurt shook his head, not reacting to Clint's hostility. "No one is saying anything of the sort, jungling. I just wish to help. Maybe, if you could tell me what the nightmare was about?" he pushed, his German accent getting a little thicker.

Clint looked down at his hands, clenching and releasing them as he tried to get control of himself. He felt like Logan probably already had a good idea of what happened in those nightmares. He had been pulling back, giving Clint more space lately. Clint appreciated it but he couldn't stop himself from worrying that Logan needed the space because he didn't trust Clint. That thought hurt, regardless of whether it was true or not. He wanted so badly to make Logan proud, to be a hero. If Logan knew about his dreams, about how Clint was the villain in them instead of the victim, maybe Logan would be disappointed. Maybe he would see that Clint wasn't worth it in the end, maybe those dreams showed that Clint was as rotten in his core as his father had been. That's why he had been avoiding talking about his dreams, about his fears, because he didn't want to let Logan down. He wasn't scared of Logan hurting him, not like he was with Buck and Jacques, but disappointing him? That scared him more than a hundred beatings.

"Do I have to?" Clint asked quietly. He avoided looking at the other man, focusing on the dirt on his shoes (that actually fit well and didn't hurt).

Kurt stayed silent for what felt like a long time, and Clint couldn't get the courage to look up at him to try to figure out what he was thinking. Finally, the X-man spoke. "No, you don't have to tell me. But maybe you should tell Logan," he said thoughtfully. "He's worried that he's giving you nightmares, you see and…"

Clint's head popped up at that. "What?" he exclaimed.

Kurt gave him a considering look. "Logan believes that he gave you the nightmares, when he killed those men at the SHIELD base. That is not what your nightmares are about?"

"What? No, I…" Clint shook his head, trying to get the idea to fit. It felt like the world suddenly turned upside down. "No, he was awesome. The scariest thing he did was take a gunshot to the chest! I know he's Wolverine and all, but he got shot!"

Kurt nodded like he had figured something out, and by the way the corner of his mouth ticked up, it was a positive thought. "Then what is frightening you, falke?" he asked.

Clint stumbled over the endearment, distracting him from the question. "Folk?"

"Falke," Kurt repeated with a chuckle. "It means hawk."

"Oh, right. Um," Clint tried to figure out how explain what he was really worried about, hopefully without sounding like a child. "In my dream, I'm practicing hitting different targets while my mentors call them out," he started, deciding to just jump in the deep end. "It's pretty normal until they call out a target I can't find, and when I do, it's attached to Logan." He pulled his knees up and hid his face before he could admit to the next part. "They keep yelling at me to hit the target so I, so I do. I shoot Logan again and again while he just looks at me like a betrayed him and I… I just can't stop shooting him." Clint was crying now, his pant legs soaking up his bitter tears. Oddly enough he does feel a little better, like a weight was lifted now that someone else knew his secret.

"Oh, Clint," Kurt sighed. "Can I give you a hug? I would really like to hug you right now."

Clint nodded into his knees and Nightcrawler pulled him into a full embrace. Clint could feel the man's tail wrap around him as tight as his arm and the fur on his cheek rubbed against Clint's temple. It was a different hug than Logan's, warmer, but it was nice.

For a few breaths, Kurt just murmured encouragingly in German. The words meant nothing to Clint, but the tone had him uncurling a little. When he felt the teenager relax, Kurt switched languages. "Clint, you never have to worry about hurting Logan," the elf said, still squeezing Clint for all his worth, "even if for some impossible reason you had to, he heals and he would forgive you. Believe me, we've all hit Logan at one time or another, and often it's even on purpose. I've done it, too." He chuckled like he was remembering something. Clint could feel him smile and relaxed a little. "He would never blame you or abandon you for something like that; especially since it has only happened in your dreams." He laughed again, making both of them shake. "I can't tell you how many walls Cyclops has blasted Wolverine through for some of the stunts he's pulled, and Logan is still part of our team, our family."

Clint took a deep breath, squirming a little bit, and Kurt took the hint and pulled back, though his tail was still wrapped around Clint's skinny waist. It was surprisingly comforting, if distinctly odd. "I know that, kinda," Clint admitted. "Well, except for Cyclops blasting him through walls, he never mentioned that. But…"

"There is more to your worries?" Kurt asked, wisely picking up on what Clint wasn't saying.

"Yeah, it's just…That was the first time I ever really shot someone," Clint confessed. "I shot those men, so the agents could kill them. People died because of me! And then they said I was a hero, that I did good, but it doesn't feel good. The climbing through vents, the helping the agents get out, helping Logan; that felt good, but actually shooting at a man? That doesn't, because, because what if they didn't really deserve it. What if they were like Logan, just trying to do what they thought was right?" He looked over at Kurt, tears rising up in his eyes again. He was so tired of crying, and he could almost hear his brother's voice telling him to stop being a crybaby. "Does that make me a bad hero?"

Kurt slumped down, shaking his head, but before Clint could panic at the apparent disapproval, he spoke up. "No, Clint, that doesn't make you a bad hero," he said, making sure that Clint was looking into his yellow eyes. "That worry you feel, that is what makes you the best hero. Remember that feeling, remember it and use it."

Clint snorted. "Logan doesn't worry about things like that," he pointed out petulantly. Logan would probably think he's being childish.

"He does though, he just stopped showing it a long time ago," Kurt said, pulling his tail back. He looked out into the woods. It sounded like Logan and Kitty were heading back their way. There was a crash that sounded suspiciously like a tree being sliced down. "You should have this talk with him. He'll probably explain it better because he's had more experience. And it would put his mind at ease. He admitted to some of his worries to Hank and I, but I know him better than most and can see his other fear. He worries that he scares you, and that he is corrupting you." He snorted. "That is part of why he leaves, why he needs time alone. He worries that if he spends too much time with us, his past will taint us all."

Clint glanced over at Kurt, unbelieving. "No way, he's the coolest, nicest man I have ever met! He saved me! No one has ever bothered to do that before, not really."

"That is why you are good for him, falke," Kurt agreed. "Talk to him, tell him your own worries. He has been in the game longer than any of us. He'll guide you, and maybe you can get him to see what you see."

Clint shook his head, still not comprehending the change of direction this conversation took. He had been convinced that Kurt, and Logan, would be disgusted with him, but instead Nightcrawler sounded proud. Then there was the idea that Logan worried about scaring Clint, which was ludicrous. Sure, Wolverine was someone to be scared of, but only if you were bad like Nazis in Oklahoma, not a rescue orphan from a circus. Clint knew very well how different his current guardian was from some of the adults in his past.

Clint turned to ask Kurt another question, but Kitty came sprinting out of the forest, dressed in a yellow and black, skin-tight uniform. She ran right through one tree and the fence before adjusting her headlong dash head toward them. She took a flying leap and landed behind Clint and Kurt, between them and the door, and crouched down, hiding behind them, just as Logan came crashing after her. He was soaking wet, but thankfully his new uniform was intact, bright blue and yellow stripes standing out vividly against the greens and browns of the forest. He came slashing his way through the underbrush, before catching sight of where Kitty was cowering, though giggling uncontrollably, behind Kurt and Clint. He snarled at her and checked his speed so he came to a halt about arm's length from the men on the steps.

Kurt turned part way around to consider Kitty before turning back to his friend with a deadpan face. "So, did you have fun?" he asked as blandly as possible.

Logan pushed back his cowl and shook his head like a dog, sending a fine spray of water everywhere. "We were doing fine until she phased me through the bridge over the river," he growled. "It wasn't easy swimming to the bank."

"How else was I going to get away from you?" Kitty asked, trying to stem her giggles but not quite managing it. "It was, like, my last resort to slow you down."

"What in the world were you doing?" Clint asked, looking back and forth between the two. He felt a little like the odd man out and didn't appreciate it, especially since he was still feeling prickly from his talk with Nightcrawler.

"Playing tag," Logan answered, a little more calmly, though there was still a hint of a growl. "Next time, I'm throwing her in. Maybe take a trip up to Canada and throw her in one of those lakes."

"Tag?!" Clint exclaimed. It had sounded much more extreme than tag.

Kitty looked down her nose at him, though to be fair she was standing while he was sitting. "X-man tag is, like, a little more advanced than regular tag," she tried to explain.

"Kitty," Logan rumbled warningly. He looked down at Clint. "Don't worry, Hawkeye, you'll be playing these training games pretty soon. Probably smoke half the class while you're at it, too."

"He doesn't have any powers," Kitty felt the need to point out.

Logan shrugged. "Who says he needs them? You all rely too much on your powers anyway."

Hank came out, forcing Kitty, Kurt and Clint to abandon the steps. "I see your training refresher is finished, Logan," he said, smiling. "If you have a minute before we prepare for dinner, I would like to talk to you about young Clint's lessons."

Logan glared at the bigger mutant, before sighing. "Fine, just let me dry off," he said, pushing his way inside.

"Thank you, my saturated friend," Hank said, joining the rest outside. He smiled at Clint. "How was your sword lesson? Did our Nightcrawler deliver?"

Clint grinned, happy to push back all the seriousness of his recent conversation. "He's pretty amazing; I can't wait until I can fight like him. He's way better than my old teacher."

"Logan was teaching me how to wield a katana," Kitty spoke up.

"That is awesome," Clint said, turning toward the pretty brunette. "Maybe after he teaches me for a while, we could spar. I used to do that with my brother before he left, after that it was hard finding anyone other than Jacques and he always kicked my ass."

Kitty started to say something in return but there was an annoyed roar from inside the house. "Beast!" Logan shouted. He stomped back to the door and poked his head out, showing he had already taken his shirt off, though luckily he still had his pants this time. He pointed at the doctor. "Beast, you better git in here and get that mess off my bed before I shred it. What the hell were you thinking?" He turned around and slammed the door. They could hear him grumbling about dragging a damn library across the country as he retreated deeper into the cabin.

Kurt shot an apologetic look at Hank. "Sorry, forgot I left those books on his bed."

"It's alright, my friend," Hank said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I had forgotten as well. I better see to it before our ill-tempered friend makes good on his threat. Maybe Storm and I were a bit overzealous when we were compiling Clint's lesson plan," he mumbled as he went inside.

Clint shook his head and turned to look at the last of the X-men outside with him. "So, um, dinner?" he asked. He was starving and his stomach chose that moment to announce it, loudly.

Kitty laughed and nodded eagerly in agreement.

"Ja," Kurt agreed. "We'll get that started while those two sort out Logan's bed. How do you two feel about hamburgers?"

The teenagers shared a look before cheering and grabbing Kurt's hands to drag him inside.