Hey everyone! So I got the urge to write this tonight and here we are. Now, this chapter is shorter, but it concludes the first arc of the Bouclier Academy AU. I'll explain more at the end, but the next of arc of it will bring Natasha into the mix. So enjoy, remember that this is unbeta'd and just for fun and is literally written without anything more than some mental plotting. So don't look too closely for plot holes lol.

Trigger warning: mentions of child abuse


The driveway was empty when he arrived and the house seemed quiet. Phil approached the front door slowly, glancing at the windows for any visible sign that someone was inside.

There didn't seem to be any.

Phil made his way up the front porch steps anyway and pulled open the ripped screen door. It was then that he hesitated. Clint had asked him – he had actually more ordered him – not to come back here. He was only here out of worry, out of concern, but it still felt like a betrayal of trust…whatever meager trust existed between them at least.

He dropped the hand he'd had raised to knock and sighed, retreating from the door. He turned, ready to go back down the steps, and pulled up short.

Clint was standing at the foot of the stairs. Absolute fury created a dark storm across his countenance. His posture was stiff and coiled and his hands were curled into tight, bloodless fists at his sides. But that was all lost on Phil.

All Phil could see were the fresh bruises and sloppy row of stitches above his eyebrow.

"Barton…" Phil descended the first step warily, one hand slightly outstretched as one would to a startled animal.

The teen just stared at him, dark anger swirling in his gaze, making them look more stormy gray than blue.

"I'm only here because I was worried," Phil explained quickly, descending the rest of the steps.

He expected Barton to retreat, to preserve his personal bubble, but instead the teen stood his ground, burning Phil to the ground with his gaze.

"You missed school," Phil went on.

Still nothing but cold fury.

"Barton…"

The blonde interrupted him suddenly, voice pitched in a low dangerous tone that was more effective than if he'd yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Do you have any idea what he'd do if he found you here?"

Phil wished he felt some measure of relief that Barton wasn't even dancing around the truth of it anymore. But instead, all he felt was a sickening mixture of guilt and worry.

"He gets off early on Mondays," Barton explained in a near growl.

Phil felt a chill glide down his spine. He hadn't known that. He reflexively glanced to the street, half expecting a car to be pulling into the driveway.

"I told you not to come here," Barton went on. "I told you."

"I was worried," Phil tried again.

"I don't need you to worry about me," Barton snapped. "I need you to not make things worse."

"I can help you," Phil insisted, stepping closer.

Barton outright laughed – a heartbreaking sound of hopelessness mixed with sarcasm.

"You want to help me? Just leave me alone."

"I can't do that."

"Why?!" It was a desperate, frustrated, and sadly confused response.

"Because you don't deserve this," Phil replied calmly.

Something in Barton's eyes shifted, so subtly Phil almost missed it. He wondered if anyone had told Barton that before – that he didn't deserve any of this.

"I can't just look the other way," Phil went on with a slow sigh.

"Why not?" Barton replied dryly, but his eyes shifted again, a faint sheen of moisture rising in them. "Everyone else does."

"Yeah, well, I'm not everyone else."

Barton scoffed sarcastically and averted his gaze.

"I will help you, Barton, if you let me."

"Please, just go," the teen requested quietly, refusing to meet Phil's gaze.

"Okay," Phil agreed softly, stepping so he was shoulder to shoulder with Barton, facing the street while Barton faced the house. "Who put those stitches in? Did you do it yourself?" Barton didn't answer. "Or did one of them have to do it?" The teen's jaw clenched. "I know you think you're protecting them. And you are, probably in the best and only way you think you can," he allowed, trying to soothe the harshness of his words from the other night. "But…there might be a better way, kid. There might be a way you can make sure he never hurts anyone else."

"I've been down that road," Clint whispered roughly. "It didn't end anywhere good."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have me in your corner then."

Phil pretended not to notice the moisture welling in the teen's eyes, moisture Barton blinked away before it could fall.

"Please go."

Phil didn't make him ask again. He nodded silently and made his way back to the car. Once inside, he watched Barton's back for a moment. The teen hadn't moved. He still stood stock still at the base of the porch steps, staring at the house before him.

Even though it went against every instinct he had, Phil turned on the car and drove away.


It happened that night.

A phone call at 3am had Phil startling awake and answering blearily.

"'ello?"

"Mr. Coulson?"

Ice raced through Phil's veins, leaving him cold and shaking.

"Barton?"

"I only get one phone call and I didn't know who else to call."

"One phone call? Barton what happened?"

"It's over now," the teen said instead of answering. "It's over."

"Barton, where are you?"

But even before he answered, Phil knew. He remembered the fire he'd seen in Barton's eyes. He remembered how vehemently he talked about protecting the other boys.

And he knew.

"Jail."

"Jesus, kid, what did you do?"

"I found a different way."

The line went dead with a quiet click.

Phil couldn't remember any of the drive to the police station. He didn't remember seeing a single stop light or speed limit sign. All he could focus on were Barton's last words before he hung up.

I found a different way.

Phil had thrown on clothes and called a buddy of his that worked at the police station. His friend, Jessica Yates, promised to look into it and would fill him in when he got there. It wasn't the first time a kid Phil knew had ended up in jail.

But this one felt different. This one felt worse.

Phil parked at the station and ran inside.

Jessica was waiting in the lobby.

"He's being processed," she said by way of greeting.

"What happened? Is he okay?"

"A little beat up from what I could see, but mostly okay. He's the one that did the beating, Phil."

Phil blinked.

"What?"

Jessica sighed and nodded for Phil to follow her. He did without complaint. A few winding halls later and he was looking through a two way mirror at Barton. The teen sat handcuffed at a small table, looking completely detached from the entire situation and not at all nervous.

"We've only got his confession so far, but they're interviewing the other kids as we speak," Jessica explained quietly.

"Confession?" Phil choked on the words.

"His guardian is in a coma in the hospital, Phil," Jessica revealed bluntly. "Your boy put him there with a leg broken off a wooden chair."

Phil felt sick.

I found a different way.

"He says the guardian was abusive. He claims to have done it to protect himself and the other boys in the home."

Phil closed his eyes. Barton was finally telling the truth. Phil just hadn't thought he'd do it like this.

"Only problem is he jumped the guy when he got home from work. Near as we can tell, he hadn't laid a hand on any of the kids before Barton took him down."

"He's not lying," Phil assured. "Just look at him. Look at his history…the bastard was abusive."

"I did," Jessica assured. "And so did the guys running the case."

"But?" Phil asked warily.

"But he put the guy in a coma, Phil."

"Is he gonna serve time?"

"Depends on the judge he gets," Jessica answered honestly.

Phil rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Can I talk to him?"

"Not yet, you've got no legal tie to him. His social worker is on the way and will be with him through processing. If you hang around, I'll let you know when you can see him."

Phil nodded silently and let himself be lead back to the lobby.

I found a different way.

The words haunted him now.


Four hours later, he was shown into a small interview room.

Barton was sitting at the table, cuffed wrists resting on the table in front of him.

"Hey kid."

Barton met his gaze unflinchingly but didn't speak.

"Where's your social worker?"

"With the others I think," Barton answered easily.

Phil nodded and sat down across from the teen.

"Kid, this isn't what I meant by finding a different way."

Barton's lips quirked sadly.

"I know," he admitted. "I didn't have time for your way."

"They could put you in jail."

"I know. I knew that when I broke off the chair leg and waited for him inside the door. I knew what I was doing."

"Why?" Phil asked. "Why now? Why today?"

Barton lifted his chin a little.

"It's not because of you," he said quietly, though it did nothing to settle Phil's guilt. "I know people at the construction site he works at. I work there on weekends and summers. He called me, told me Jacobs got fired today."

The pieces fell into place in Phil's mind.

"Preemptive strike," he realized.

Barton nodded once.

"Last time he was that pissed…" Barton trailed off and swallowed thickly, briefly looking down at the table before raising his gaze again, "he got through me. I wasn't letting that happen again."

Now it was Phil's turn to nod. He sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table between them.

"They're all telling the truth," he revealed, "the other boys. Every one of them is telling the whole truth."

Clint nodded, not looking the least bit surprised.

"You told them to?" Phil guessed.

A silent shoulder shrug.

"Why now?" Phil asked again.

"Because for the first time," Clint explained, "he can't hurt them for it."

Phil's gut clenched, thinking of the CPS interference at the beginning of the school year. He wondered how bad it had been for them after that. He almost didn't want to know.

He let out a slow breath and rubbed at his neck. A slight knock came at the door.

"One more thing, and then I have to go."

Barton stared at him expectantly.

"No matter what happens…jail time or not…I want to know if you'll consider something?"

Barton's eyebrow arched in question.

"I'm a registered foster parent," Phil revealed.

He saw something flash through Barton's gaze – maybe surprise, maybe hope.

"When this is all over…will you come live with me?"

Barton's jaw went slack, for the first time since Phil had known him, his entire expression was laid bare.

"You…you want me to live with you?"

"On one condition," he replied with a slight smile. "You just do your best. Whatever that looks like from here on out. Do your best to do your best every day and we'll never have a problem. What do you say? Think about it?"

Moisture welled in Barton's eyes, but never fell. The teen nodded, swallowing thickly but not speaking.

"Okay." Phil stood and on instinct, walked around the small table, hesitating by Barton's shoulder. He reached out and carefully rested his palm across the back of the teen's neck. "I'm in your corner now, kid. And I'm not going anywhere."

For some reason, the promise felt like the most natural thing Phil had ever said in his life.


Clint spent the rest of the school year and half the summer in juvenile hall.

Phil visited him three times a week, without fail.

And when Clint walked out a free man on July 12th, Phil was waiting for him.


Now, I don't presume to know anything about the legal system or if Clint would ACTUALLY serve any time for what he did, given the circumstances. However, for the sake of the story, I'm doing what I want to draw the parallel to the Clint in the VPU that served time in military prison. I wanted that connection. Hopefully this didn't seem too rushed, but I didn't want to drag the story on when i knew exactly where it was headed and I really didn't see PHil tolerating any of this for much longer without doing something. So I had Clint do something first.

Now, there is another arc to this AU storyline. It'll pick up sometime later, after Clint's been living with Phil for a while and they've settled in to their new normal. That arc will cover Natasha coming into the story and shaking things up. So look for that down the line ;)

You all know I love to hear what you think, so drop me a line if you feel so inclined.