Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"


So this idea has been percolating in my mind for months now. Its a big one. It'll have two main story arcs - Clint and Phil coming together and then later Natasha showing up. Now, I was gonna wait to post any of it until I had the entire first arc written, but since it's shaping up to be thousands and thousands of words long (and that's just arc 1) I figured I'd go ahead and give you guys a taste of it. Now, be forwarned, I'm working on like 4 different stories at once right now, including this, and also including a fic in another fandom. So who knows when the next part of this will come your way lol. I ask only for patience.

Now, this is the oft' done High School AU! All the Avengers will appear, but this story, make no mistake, is about Clint, even more so Clint and Phil - because this is me and that's what I do ;) Nat won't be showing up for quite a while, but she WILL show up.

Anyway, enough from me. Check it out, let me know what you think. If you like it, tell your friends lol.

As usual with these AUs these characters appear as they are portrayed in the VPU and this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Trigger Warning: Child abuse


Teenagers. Pack animals in their truest form. Sure, there were the occasional anomalies. The outliers. The boys or girls that tended to be lone wolves. But even then, many times, Phil had found, those 'loners' tended to band together at least to the same areas of the school yard.

Here, though, at Bouclier Academy, the local populous seemed to defy the norms Phil had come to expect in his years as a high school guidance counselor. There were jocks – like the tall lean blonde wearing a Bouclier Avenger's baseball hat – mingling with intellects – like the slight young man with a mop of curly black hair and a pair of glasses he kept removing to gesture with as he talked – and further, interacting with a 'rich kid' – he knew Tony Stark on sight, even if he'd never met him. The three young men – Tony he knew to be a junior – talked amicably, obviously friends. Even as Phil watched a fourth jogged up to join their group – a tall, broad youth with long blonde hair and booming voice Phil could hear clear across the yard.

A horn honked angrily off to his left and Phil turned. He watched a youth on a too small bike weave daringly through the parking lot, cutting off cars and narrowly avoiding other students. He was moving fast, seemingly unconcerned about his risk of hitting anything or anyone. He nearly clipped a boy in a letterman's jacket who looked immediately furious.

"Watch it Barton!" the boy yelled, but the kid on the bike – Barton – didn't even slow. Instead, he jumped the bike over the curb to the sidewalk with nothing more than a twitch of his body and slid to a stop at the metal rack with a squeal of rubber. Barton tossed his bike into place without bothering to lock it and then swung a worn purple and black backpack off his back and started digging around in it.

Before Phil could see if he found what he was looking for, a voice at Phil's right drew his attention.

"You must be Phillip Coulson."

Phil blinked and tore his eyes away from Barton to look the woman next to him.

"Phil," he corrected lightly, shifting bag to his left hand so he could hold out his right. The woman, her dark hair pulled back in a smart bun and her eyes sharp and intelligent, nodded and shook his hand.

"Maria Hill, Assistant Headmaster. You can call me Maria. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you interviewed, but Headmaster Fury spoke very highly of you."

Phil nodded, recognizing her name.

"You're the one that set up the scholarship program," he realized. "For the local orphanages."

She smiled.

"I was just the facilitator. The program was conceived by two other staff members, the Athletics coach, Todd Bryan and the nurse, Dan Wilson."

Phil nodded. He had read a lot about the scholarship program Bouclier Academy had enacted several years ago. Bouclier was a private school, the tuition reflected that clearly. But four years ago, two of the staff – Todd Bryan and Dan Wilson – had proposed an idea to use the schools excess funds – usually used for lavish student events – to create a scholarship program for the two local orphanages, Waverly Home for Boys and the Visyachaya Stroka, a home for girls. The girls' home was newer, built by a Russian Couple who had decided to use their considerable fortune to offer the orphaned and abandoned girls of the area a place where they would learn propriety. The Waverly Home then became The Waverly Home for Boys.

Over the years, Phil knew, Bouclier's scholarship program had given several young men and woman an opportunity to go to college – one had even gone on to Harvard – when otherwise they might not have even graduated high school.

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your office," Maria offered.

At Phil's nod, she started towards the school building. He fell into step with her, eyes straying once again to the young man with the purple backpack. He had retrieved a spiral notebook, also purple, and was holding it in is teeth as he continued to search his bag.

"Mr. Barton," Maria called out as they moved past him.

Suddenly a set of sharp, blue gray eyes – one of the ringed with vague remnants of a bruise – were fixed on them, first on Maria warily then on Phil with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. He didn't bother to remove the spiral bound notebook from his mouth as he watched them.

"Aren't you supposed to be in morning detention?" Maria asked with an arched eyebrow.

Barton's own blonde eyebrow arched above his left eye and he tossed a look around. As clearly as if he'd spoken out loud, Phil felt like he could hear the teen's response. The eyebrow and the glance around…

I'm here, the look said, what more do you want?

Maria tutted and looked pointedly towards the school building.

Barton sighed audibly around his notebook and made no effort to hide his eye roll as he started off towards the school, one hand still digging into his bag.

"With some haste, Mr. Barton, unless you want to extend your afternoon detention by the amount of time you missed this morning," Maria urged.

Phil heard Barton vaguely mutter something around his notebook then he pulled it from his mouth and jammed it back into his bag, taking off at a jog.

"That was Clint Barton," Maria informed Phil as they followed Barton's path at a less hurried pace. "A sophomore with a lack of concern for…anything it seems. You'll be seeing a lot of him, I'm sure."

Phil watched Barton disappear into the building ahead of them.

"I'd like to meet with all the students, individually," Phil said by way of reply as they finally drew near the large double entry doors. "Coming in at the middle of the school year puts me behind the curve, so to speak, and I'd like to get a lay of the land as soon as possible."

Maria nodded.

"I'll draw up a schedule," she assured. "The former counselor helped the seniors with college applications last semester, but they'll start getting acceptance letters soon. So we'll start you with them and work through the grade levels."

Phil nodded.

Clint Barton was a sophomore. It would likely be days at least before he got to him. Some instinct, a feeling in his gut, was telling him that Barton needed to be a priority.

"Barton," Phil announced as they moved into the halls. "I'd like to start with Barton."

He was intrigued by the vague smirk that curved up the corner of Maria's mouth.

"What?" Phil asked, confused. He waited while Maria unlocked an office door and pushed it open. Then she handed him the key.

"Starting the day with Clint Barton?" she replied. "You're braver than most."

Phil frowned in confusion.

"You'll see," she replied with a slight chuckle. "I'll have him sent to you after homeroom."

Phil nodded in thanks and started to enter his new office, Maria's hand on his arm stopped him.

The humor in her expression had faded and her eyes were serious now as she looked at him.

"Clint can be…difficult, infuriating even. But he's…" she sighed, something in her gaze softening. "He's been through a lot. I would highly recommend reading his file before you meet with him."

Phil nodded and she let him go, moving down the hall without another word to him.

He watched her for a moment, saw her scold a few students for loitering around the water fountains and then she disappeared into the main office.

With a sigh, Phil moved further into his office and dropped his worn leather briefcase onto the desk. He sat and spun his chair to face the large file cabinet.

He ended up having to stand again to access the top drawer and a few moments later he had a file labeled 'Barton, C.' in his hand.

It was thick.

He sat back at his desk and flipped it open.

Both sides of the file consisted of thick stack of paper clipped to the file cover. On the left, it looked like his transcript, the previous counselor's notes, and what looked like a stack of doctor's notes. On the right, it was a stack of disciplinary notices…a thick stack considering the kid had only been attending Bouclier for a year and a half.

Phil flipped through the stack of reprimands. Barton was a jack of all trades when it came to getting into trouble. He had notices for everything from fighting to cutting classes to cheating – though Phil was intrigued to notice that Barton seemed to fervently deny the last of those.

The date on the first of the reprimands caught his eye. It was dated January of last year. Before that, there was nothing. Not even a slap on the wrist. Confused, and wondering if Barton had perhaps started mid school year, he turned his attention to the other half of the file.

He scanned Barton's transcript.

He saw preliminary grades from the beginning of last school year – Barton's ninth grade year – but then there was nothing from October to January. No grades, no attendance count, nothing…nothing but a hand written notation.

Hospitalized: October-December

Then the grades picked up again with the start of the spring semester. They were all over the place. A's to F's to incompletes. He'd had to attend summer school, to make up for the months he'd missed. The grades had then steadied out to a solid C average.

Phil looked back up at the beginning of the transcript.

Barton had held straight A's when he started at Bouclier…now he seemed to hold steady at barely passing. His eyes fell on the handwritten notation again.

Hospitalized: October-December

An illness perhaps, or an injury. Whatever it was, it seemed to have been the turning point.

Remembering the doctor's notes, Phil flipped through the pages until he found them.

The doctor's note was pretty basic, merely excusing Barton from school for the duration of his hospital stay. But the former counselor had attached a notation to it.

Phil read it quickly, feeling suddenly as if he'd had ice water dumped over his head.

Barton had been stabbed, in the chest, by his own brother, Barney Barton. Barney Barton had been a senior at Bouclier at the time – he'd also been one of the first students brought in through the scholarship program – and had disappeared after the incident.

Barton had nearly died and had spent those months in the hospital recovering.

"Jesus," Phil breathed, dropping the papers down flat again and taking a moment to absorb what he'd learned. No wonder Barton's grades had taken a nose dive.

The homeroom bell suddenly rang through the halls and then there were masses of students moving around, coming in from outside to find their homeroom class. Phil knew that his time was dwindling. Homeroom wouldn't take long and then Barton would be here.

He found the most recent of the former Counselor's notes on his meetings with Barton and read over it.

It was about what he expected from a kid who had experienced a trauma like that. Anti-social tendencies. Anger issues. Attitude problems. The former Counselor's notes were frustrated. He clearly hadn't gotten anywhere with Barton and by his last days there, he'd apparently been fed up. Phrases like 'lost cause' and 'waste of time' were peppered throughout. He'd, by the end, been content to write Barton off.

Phil was suddenly very glad the man had been abruptly fired mid school year, leaving this position open for Phil.

Phil looked up when he sensed a presence in his doorway.

Clint Barton was blinking back at him.

For a moment, they just sized each other up.

Barton was on the smaller side, perhaps a bit short for his age, and thin. But there was lithe, lean muscle evident in his bare forearms. His light blue dress shirt – part of the Bouclier uniform – was ill fitting, probably a size too big at least. It was only half tucked in and the sleeves were rolled sloppily up to his elbows. The required tie was there, but the knot hung loosely around Barton's neck and looked like it had been tied once long ago and had just been loosened and tightened repeatedly after that. His navy blue uniform pants were big too, hanging low on his hips and barely held in place by a belt. There was a rip on one of the knees that Phil was fairly certain put the pants out of dress code. But if none of the other staff said anything about it, Phil wouldn't either.

Held tightly in his left hand, Barton clutched his purple backpack. It was doodled on, Phil realized now, with black sharpie. The purple canvas peppered with various designs ranging from song lyrics to a cartoon, sunglasses wearing monkey who was brazenly flipping off the world with the middle finger of his monkey hand.

Barton's knuckles were scrapped and scared. Fights. Phil remembered the disciplinary notices. That probably also explained the various bruises – in varying stages of healing – that peppered his arms and the healing shiner around his right eye.

And now that Phil was looking, he saw another, fresher, bruise painting the underside of Barton's jaw purple and blue.

Something pulled at Phil's instincts, something he couldn't quite place.

He met Barton's gaze and realized Barton had been looking him over too. He still hadn't moved from his place in the doorway and hadn't said anything.

"Come in," Phil invited, "take a seat."

Barton did. Then he stared at Phil and waited, expression unreadable.

Phil continued to stare back, waiting to see what Barton would do. Most people, teenagers and adults alike, would grow uncomfortable after a while and would break the silence on their own.

But Barton was unmoved. For as long as Phil stared at him, Barton stared back.

Phil found himself smiling. He liked a challenge.

"My name is Mr. Coulson," he greeted lightly.

Barton glanced around the room and then looked steadily back at Phil. Still, he didn't say a word.

"As you've probably noticed, Mr. Williams, is no longer working here. I'll be taking his place as the school counselor."

Barton shot another glance around the room as if to say 'obviously' but despite the sarcasm of his expression, Barton looked relieved.

"Did you and Mr. Williams get along?" Phil asked carefully.

Barton blinked slowly and arched an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the file open on the desk in front of Phil as if it answered that question on its own.

Phil smirked. Fair enough.

"I'm making the rounds today," Phil went on. "I'll be meeting with all of the students over the course of the week to try and get a handle on how Mr. Williams left things."

Barton blinked at him.

"Is there anything I can do, Mr. Barton, to make this transition easier for you? From what I can see, we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Another slow, lazy blink.

"Is there something Mr. Williams said or did that I can avoid to make our interaction a little smoother than it was with him?" Phil tried.

Barton's eyebrow quirked.

"Yeah," he answered finally, his voice low and even and very very matter-of-fact, "don't be a dick."

Phil choked down a laugh and hid it behind a cough.

"I'll do my best," he promised. "Let's get started shall we?" Phil looked over the most recent disciplinary action in the file. "I see you've got morning detention until Wednesday and afternoon detention until next week."

Barton stared at him.

"The afternoon detention was for…skipping class?"

"I was late and missed my first class," Barton defended. "It happens."

"Six days in a row?" Phil challenged with a grin to take as much censure out of the words as he could.

Barton's brow arched and he shrugged a shoulder.

"And the morning detention was for," Phil looked down at the paper, "cheating on a quiz."

He looked up in time to see Barton scowling.

"I take it you contested that."

Barton shook his head and looked down at his hands, where he was picking at a few scabs on the knuckles of his left hand.

"You didn't contest it?" Phil questioned curiously.

"What's the point?" Barton replied with another shrug.

The 'Nobody would believe me' wasn't said out loud but Phil heard it all the same.

"Did you cheat?" Phil asked plainly.

Barton's blue gray eyes snapped up to meet Phil's gaze and he actually looked surprised. Phil realized, with a bit of annoyance, that nobody had bothered to ask Barton his side.

"Well?" Phil prodded.

Barton's gaze grew more intense, staring at Phil as if he could see right into his soul.

"No," he finally answered.

Phil held his gaze, wondering if Barton would bother lying when the whole thing was over and done with anyway. Barton was watching him, waiting. Waiting, maybe, for Phil to scoff and call him a liar. Waiting for Phil to brush aside his defense.

Somebody here at Bouclier Academy was missing something when it came to Clint Barton. Phil was determined not to make the same mistake.

"I believe you," Phil announced.

Barton blinked at him, eyes wide.

"You do?"

Phil nodded.

"I do," he assured.

Barton stared, looking shell shocked. Then, so fleetingly that Phil almost missed it entirely, Barton smiled – a real, genuine, honest to God smile.

Phil could swear the whole room brightened.


There you go! First installment of the Bouclier Academy AU! Anybody want to guess why I named the school that? Sound off with your guesses.

Also, love it? hate it? lack any feeling at all concerning it? Let me know. I love hearing from you guys!