Chapter 18: Clint Barton

Clint balanced Nathaniel on his hips, humming a tune as he swayed around the living room. He shelved the children's books Lila left out last night and moving Cooper's basketball bag off to the side. Laura was upstairs, taking a shower. An easy morning before the chaos began once the children wake for school.

Nathaniel clapped, matching to Clint's tune. He babbled along, trying to match the words to his father's song. Clint laughed a little. Sometimes, it's the smallest things that make a father's life.

The phone rang.

Clint stopped singing.

The phone rang again.

Clint paused.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

It was his phone. Clint took it out and read the screen. Unknown number.

He moved to the kitchen. He settled Nathaniel into his highchair. He held the phone in his hand. It was still ringing.

Clint took a breath. He answered. "Who is this?"

"Hi-diddly-ho neighbor!" came a singsong intone that iced over Clint's veins.

All of Clint's muscles reacted, his hand itching to where his bow normally would be. All he got was air. He gripped his fist, nails biting into his palm.

"Wade Wilson," Clint answered like he said a curse. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"Oh! A mutual friend shared it with me," Deadpool informed him. "So—how are you doing? How's your life? Your wife? Your family? And all those typical suburban nosey questions."

Clint clenched his teeth. "How did you get this number?"

"Are you deaf? I told you, silly! From a mutual friend."

"We don't have any mutual friends. So, I'm going to ask again," Clint's voice deepened to a low growl. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"Alright! Alright! Don't need to go all Batman on me," Deadpool said. "The reason for this call is because I honestly don't like those dweeb friends of yours. Any of them. You need to make some better ones."

"Is this why you are calling me?"

"No—I'm calling because I have something the others are probably looking for at this very moment."

Clint raised his brows. "Still listening for the explanation."

"I have Baby Spidey."

Paralysis spread through his body, like frost overcoming a fallen leaf. Jaw tight. His breathing dropped from light and free to a deep and shallow pattern. Boom. Boom. Boom. Each heart beat resounded in his ear, sounding like explosives in his chest. His stomach knotted and his thoughts saw blood red with black and white eyes staring out of the dark.

"If you so much as lay a hand on him—" Clint began to growl.

"Hold your arrows there, Robin Hood," Deadpool's voice mocked him. "He's fine. Really! Wait..." Dreaded silence occupied the long pause. "Yep, he's still alive. You want him?"

Clint's voice thundered, itching to grab his bow. "Leave him alone! He's just a kid!"

"I have eyes! I know he's a kid. And, just to let you know, I saved his baby ass."

"I don't care! Knowing you, you were probably the reason he was in danger in the first place," Clint snapped back. "Now—where is he? What did you do to him?"

"For fuck's sake! You're acting like I'm the bad guy here," Deadpool stated, sounding hurt.

"You typically are."

"Point taken, my good sir!" Deadpool exclaimed. "But in this case, not so much. I really did save the kid's neck." Deadpool's tone lowered, losing its charming façade. "Now, if you want to come and get him, shut up and listen to me."

Clint restrained a predatory growl. "Listening."

"He's at 6423 Morning Time Lane, Clarksville, MD 21029," Deadpool said in rapid cadence. "Better come get him quick. You know… before everyone else in the country wakes up."

Deadpool hung up. And Clint switched to Hawkeye.

He called Tony. Twice. No response. He switched to text messaging. He typed the address and sent. He wrote up a new text to Nat. Call me.

With all his required messages sent, Hawkeye went out to the barn, where his workshop was set up. He took a hammer and smashed his phone into pieces. Once in pieces, he gathered the broken phone and returned to the house. Nathaniel watched his father move from the backdoor to the microwave. He threw the pieces in and timed five seconds. The microwave sparked and smoked. Phone completely destroyed.

Footsteps made their way down the stairs to the kitchen. Laura appeared, dressed and ready for the day. Her eyes questionably narrowed at the microwave and then to Clint. "Do I need to grab the bags?" she asked.

Clint shook his head. "No—not yet," he said. "A thing has come up though. I need to go."

Laura followed her husband to the living room. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing,"

Laura crossed her arms. "Clint—you promised."

Clint sighed. He didn't want to worry her. It was hard on her to watch the news swarm Peter, especially the video of him in the middle of the harbor. Laura fretted, always finding a reason to leave the room whenever the newscaster turned onto the subject of Peter. She confined to Clint one night that feared to wake up one morning to horrible news about Peter.

But he promised to be truthful to her. He told her of his missions, not in great detail, but enough to give her an idea of what he had to do. That way, she wouldn't be wondering for days if he didn't come home right away.

Laura liked to be in the known. "Clint…"

"Deadpool called," Clint said to her as he unlocked his storage. "He has Peter."

He grabbed his prepared duffel bag and pocketed a new phone. He closed the cabinet doors and turned back to Laura. She was stricken. Her arms fell to her side, mouth agape in silence. Dilatorily, she shook her head.

"No… that can't be true. He's with Stark! That's what you said," her voice quivered as she spoke. "He's with Stark…"

"So he was," Clint locked his storage cabinet. "I don't know if he or isn't, but Wade got my number somehow."

Laura trembled, hands rubbing her arms. "Clint—if Deadpool really has him… I-I…"

Clint walked over to his wife. "Nothing will happen to him," he said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I promise."

Laura leaned into his kiss, but he felt her rigid posture. No words comforted a mother when a child was in danger. Only physical proof ever cured their angsts.

"I need the truck," he said to her. "Will you be okay with the car or—"

Laura nodded, arms wrapped around her again. "Yeah, the car can still run. I'll drop it off at the mechanics after dropping the kids off at school," she said, gently patting her hand over Clint's heart. "You go. Take the truck."

He hated to leave his family in the middle like this. He thought being retired meant he never had to walk out on them at the last minute. Apparently, he was wrong. "Tell the kids I'll be home soon," he said, heading to the door. "I'll keep you updated."

Laura rubbed her nose, eyes a bit glossy. "Be careful!" she begged him. "Deadpool isn't sane. Who knows what he will do if you meet him again."

She was thinking about his first and last encounter with Deadpool. "I'll be careful," he promised to her. "I need to go."

Laura gave him a kiss goodbye and watched him walk out the front door. He threw his duffel in the back of the truck, hopping into the driver's seat. He pulled out, backing the truck up to drive down the dirt path when the front door swung open.

"Dad! Dad! Wait!"

Clint stepped on the brake as his son ran to his window. Clint rolled it down as Cooper got to the car. "Coop? What is it?"

"Where're you going?" his son asked.

"It's work related."

Cooper was old enough to know what that meant. "What's going on? Is the world in danger? What do you need me to do?"

Always trying to be supportive. Ever since Peter departed with Stark, Cooper took up the reins of wanting to do more to help his parents, including saving the world if need to be.

"Nothing," Clint said, smiling to his son to hide his worries. He didn't need Cooper to get worked up. "I need to assist on a small matter. Will be back in a couple of days."

Cooper bed-hair fluttered in the morning breeze that swooped down over the farm. He stood in his sleepwear, at full attention and yet slumped in tiredness. His gaze shifted from his father to his feet. "Does it have to do with Peter?"

Clint stayed silent for a few seconds. "It's nothing to worry about."

Cooper chewed the corner of his lip. He wished his son to quit that habit. "Is he all right?"

"He will be."

His son nodded, but without conviction. "Come back home, Dad."

"I will," he swore to him, looking over his son with a sad smile. He needed to go. "Be good to your mother. Study hard."

Cooper agreed with another nod, backing up from the truck as Clint lifted his foot off the brake. He drove away from the farm, driving in the direction to the airport. He glanced back in the rearview mirror and spotted Cooper standing on the porch steps. Laura came out too, pulling Cooper to her as they watched him drive away.

He turned off their driveway and onto the country roads. A phone rang out. Clint reached into his pocket and checked the screen. He answered immediately. "You got my message."

"Stark has men heading straight to the address," responded Nat. "I'll let you know if they find Peter."

"So… it's true then?" Clint said, hand on the wheel. "Peter was kidnapped? By Deadpool?"

"That's what we know," Nat answered. "How did you hear about it? Is it in the news?"

"No," he said. "Let me know when you find him."

He clicked off, knowing that Nat wouldn't take it offensively. He put both hands on the steering wheel and hit the accelerator.

For a top-secret, advanced technological compound with superheroes patrolling and residing inside, Clint slid into the main lobby with relative ease. Not even the guards glanced in his direction. Most were casually patrolling the corridors, talking to one another without a worry in the world. Why would they? The Avengers would take care of any security breach.

Except for Hawkeye.

Duffel in hand, he strolled down the corridor. He didn't miss a beat. He remained invisible to all around him, even in plain sight. He marched through the compound, heading straight to the destination he knew to find his main target.

As he got closer, he heard Stark's voice drifting down the corridor. He was talking to someone, arguing about something or another. Probably in regards to Peter.

Clint received Nat's word about Peter's recovery. Deadpool's word held up. They found Peter, unconscious at the house that belonged to Thaddeus Ross. He had some bruises on his face and body, and a bullet wound. Nothing fatal. That didn't make Clint any happier.

He got to the double doors where he heard Stark's voice loud and clear. He twisted the handle and pushed, the door relenting to his command. Clint found Colonel Rhodes standing on his robotic legs, arms crossed and frown severe. Leaning up against the sofa was Steve Rogers, dressed in dark jeans and navy shirt. Next to him was Sam, grey trousers and black shirt, expression exhausted.

Behind the bar, as he poured himself a drink, was Tony Stark. Frazzled, the genius billionaire looked anything like the composed figure he showed to the public. Anxiety rested below his eyes, his smirk and quick-witted remarks he threw at Captain Rogers. When Tony took a moment to drink, his strained eyes met Clint's, causing him to sputter into his drink.

"What the—how the hell did you get in here?" Stark demanded as everyone turned to see Clint striding into the room.

Clint went across the room. "I walked in."

Stark grumbled to that answer as he discarded his glass. "Great! That's what I want to hear after what happened last night. Lack of security and—"

Clint cut Stark of with a single, hard punch right into the side of his face. Clint's knuckles felt flesh and bone. Stark's head snapped to the side, hand immediately on his injured cheek as he somewhat twirled to stay balanced. All around them, Clint heard sudden intakes of breath with a few swear words.

Clint didn't care. The minute Stark recovered, Clint rang him the riot act. "I told you not to get Deadpool involved!" he reproved. "But what does the great Tony Stark do? He listens to no one and puts a kid in danger!"

Stark bristled. "Damn you—"

Clint yelled over Stark. "I repeatedly told you to stay away from Deadpool! I told you a thousand times!" he said, face red. "Shit, Stark! Now you put Peter on his radar? What the hell were you thinking?"

Someone put a hand on Clint's shoulder and pulled back. "Hey—easy, Barton," came Steve's calm voice. "Let's not—"

Clint shoved Steve's hand off him. "Don't Steve!" he warned. "Don't. I told you guys how crazy Deadpool was. I explicitly said to not get him involved."

"We didn't get him involved," Steve defended the group. "He did this all by himself. We did nothing to support his actions."

"The fact you confronted him and told him about Peter is enough!"

"We never said anything about Peter to him," Stark recovered from his hit. He straightened his back. He wiped his hand underneath his nostril. A trail of blood smeared on the back of his hand as blood trickled down from Stark's nose and dribbled over his chapped lips. "That son of a bitch figured it out on his own. He took matters into his own hands. We did nothing to encourage that megalomaniac."

Maybe not, but a simple interaction was all Deadpool needed to get interested. And once interested, it became a never-ending nightmare. They could have done more. To stop Deadpool. To protect Peter.

"Not good enough," Clint maintained.

"I know it's not good enough!"

Stark's words boomed overhead, reverberating along the walls and bouncing off the ceiling. There was the anger. His face went purple. From rage or from the punch, it was unknown. Anger flared behind those dark eyes, rising straight from his heart.

"I wasn't good enough!" Stark continued hotly. "I didn't do my job. I let him down. Okay? I failed him!"

Stark wordlessly smacked his palm against the counter. Clint saw that Stark's anger was nothing more than a shield. A protection against what really struck Stark to his core. Behind that raw rage was pain. A deep, self-hatred agony of one full of remorse and guilt. It kindled the grief and anger within the billionaire as he fixed his dark gaze onto Clint.

"I can barely look at the kid!" Stark shouted. "Seeing his face. All bruised and… I couldn't…" He stopped talking and turned away from Clint as he wiped his hands down his face. His expression dulled to exhaustion. "I don't need you to tell me that I fucked up."

He went back behind the bar. He pulled out a wet cloth and placed a few ice cubes in the middle. He wrapped it up and placed it on his swelling nose. "If you came all this way to punch me in my face, then you can go now."

If only, Clint thought. It wouldn't go past him to do such a thing. Yet, that was not the case for his appearance at the compound.

"I can't," he scowled. "Someone has to clean up your mess."

"We're working on that," Colonel Rhodes said. "Agent Ross is keeping the investigation quiet. We have guards posted at the hospital. All recordings of the incident have been confiscated."

"That's not what I was referring to."

Clint picked up his duffel from the floor, swinging it over his shoulder. Without further explanation, he marched back to the doors he entered not too long ago. He heard questioning murmurs behind his back and a fluttered of boots chasing after him.

"Clint!" Steve's voice rang out. "I'll come with you."

"No need."

"Clint—it's not a good idea to go after that guy alone," Steve argued. "Let me and Sam come with you."

Clint stopped. He turned and faced Steve and the others. "Don't worry, Cap," he said. "I can handle Deadpool on my own just fine. Besides, this is a one man mission. Any more than that, it becomes a shit show."

He grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. "I'll be back before you will even miss me."

Clint didn't leave right away. He took the elevator and ordered FRIDAY to drop him off at the medical bay. That was where he figured Peter would be. He wasn't wrong.

He found Peter with his aunt in one of the many rooms available. When he tapped on the door, Peter was stoked. He beamed at Clint, acting as if the faded bruises were nothing but face paint. The red haired woman got up from her chair to greet him.

"Hi! Are you—"

"Clint Barton," he introduced himself as he took her hand for a shake. "Also known as Hawkeye. You must be the famous Aunt May."

Aunt May pushed up her round glasses. Her eyelids drooped, hair pulled in a loose ponytail and she wore a baggy sweater that almost acted like a blanket for her. She offered a quick smile to him.

"Heard so much about you as well," Aunt May returned. She quickly looked back to Peter. "Hey… I'm going to go back to the apartment and get you those books. You need anything else?"

Peter shook his head. Aunt May bent down and kissed him on top of the head, whispering a promise to return soon. She thanked Clint as she squeezed passed him, allowing Clint and Peter some privacy to talk.

Once the door closed, Clint took the chair Aunt May occupied moment ago and spun it around to face Peter's bed. Before Clint even sat in the chair, Peter went straight into conversation.

"How are you? How's Laura and the kids? Did Cooper pass his science test?" Peter rattled off, trying to learn of news back home rather than talk about his own experience.

Clint obliged at the moment. "Laura's good. Misses you. As do the kids. Lila especially," he added. "As for Cooper, he wouldn't be on his basketball team if you haven't helped him study."

"He got an A?"

"He got an A," Clint confirmed to which Peter smiled in return. "Thanks to you."

"Nah—Coop is a smart kid. He knew it all," Peter argued. "Just needed a confidence boost."

"Huh-uh," Clint said, knowing perfectly well that Cooper didn't have a scientific mind. No matter how many times he reads his science textbook. "Now that we got all caught up with my life… what about you?"

Peter lightly snorted. "Don't you watch the news? It's all there."

"You know how I feel about the news," Clint said. "They all have some angle. And they don't always know the truth."

Peter nodded along in agreement. "Yeah, my life's been good," he responded. "Not what I expected, but it's good."

"Yeah?" Clint repeated as Peter nodded, but he noticed it wasn't with much conviction. Clint leaned forward, arms rested on his knees. "Seriously, kid, how're you holding up? Your bruises look like they are healing nice."

Peter tenderly touched his bruised cheek. "Yeah. A bit."

"What about the bullet wound?"

Peter lifted his gown up to show the wound. Clint saw nothing. "Dr. Cho used some kind or regeneration tool on it," Peter explained. "Since I have a healing factor, she only did a little small section of grafting in order to avoid having a scar."

"I had that done once too," Clint said. "Got blasted on my side and they had to redo the whole skin. Looked exactly the same. Technology these days, huh?"

Peter smiled as he rolled the gown back down. "It's impressive," he concurred. "But unfortunately, they don't always trust the results. Do you know they're making me stay overnight?"

"Good thinking," Clint agreed with everyone's decision. "You had a concussion. They're looking after you. It's a doctor's thing. Better to be safe than sorry."

Peter shrugged, squirming in his bed. "Yeah, well, I'm tired of people crowding around me and asking the same questions over and over again," he said with a drained sigh. "They're being too overprotective. I'm fine. No harm. No foul.

Clint twitched a dubious eyebrow up. "Uh-huh…" he reexamined the kid, closely. "You know, Deadpool isn't an easy character to be around. In fact, he's quite a handful."

Peter snapped his eyes to Clint, widening. "You know Deadpool?"

Clint nodded. "Oh yeah. Met him years ago while I worked as a SHIELD agent," he said, remembering his encounter with Deadpool at a bar. "He's a hard man to forget."

"You can say that again," Peter agreed, but Clint noticed the smallest goose-bumps on the kid's arms. "I think he's insane."

"That's a nice way of describing it."

Peter shifted in his bed and shrugged. "Yeah. I guess," he said scratching his wrist. "How did you meet him?"

"My director assigned me to him," Clint explained. "I was to analyze his possibility as a candidate for the Avengers' team."

It was Peter's turn to cock his eyebrows in skepticism. "Really? An Avenger?"

Clint shamefully nodded. "Yeah, it took me only three minutes to decide he's not a suitable candidate. Hell, he's not even suitable for his own powers," he remarked. "But, I somehow managed to stay with him for three days tracking down a drug trafficker. Worst three days of my life."

"Really?"

"Oh—yeah," Clint said, remembering those very long days that seemed endless. "There were times I really wanted to shoot him in the head with an arrow, but… that wouldn't have done me any good."

"Why not?"

"Because he can't die unless you blow him up to bits," Clint explained, learning that tidbit in the first ten minutes of meeting him. "He's got this healing factor that makes it impossible for him to die." He watched Peter's eyes flare into understanding. There was a nervous twitch in his face. "I'm guessing you witnessed his ability to come off an injury?"

Peter's mouth tightened, but he gave a curt nod. "Yeah… explains a lot."

Clint noticed Peter's fingers fiddling with the ends of his blanket. Clutched and unclutched. "You know," Clint started again, trying to draw Peter's attention, "It's okay to be afraid."

Peter hid behind a nonchalant expression. "I know."

"I know you know," Clint imagined Peter's heard the phrase before in his life, "but I want you to believe it. No one will think less of you if you're afraid."

Peter slouched in his cot, throwing his head back on the pillow. "Not you too," he whined. "I'm fine! Really. A thousand times fine."

He didn't look fine. Peter looked cold. Shivers appeared on the kid's arms. His ashen face stayed nonchalant, but his eyes were too focused on anything and everything. Even his hands started to shake.

"Peter—"

"I get it! Okay? Stop telling me!" Peter snapped, hands balled in fists. "Stop asking me if I'm fine. Stop telling me everything is going to be okay. Stop telling me that I'm safe! Okay? Just… stop! Can't people just… can't people just leave me alone?!"

Peter yanked up his covers and threw them over himself, abruptly flipping over to his side so that his back faced Clint. His outburst quieted the room. A stifling of tension filtered in the thick, stale air, inhaled deeply by Peter's simmering frustration.

Clint sat quite still. He hardly flinched at Peter's outburst. In fact, he expected it. He waited a little longer, keeping vigilant on Peter as the boy remained silent, but awake. Once Clint deemed it an acceptable time for Peter to regroup, he slid from his seat and sat on the edge of the cot. He looked over Peter. The boy stared straight at the wall. Not blinking.

Peter struggled to breathe, his breaths catching. "Why did he shoot him?"

Clint knew who he referred to. He laid a hand on Peter's shoulder.

Peter trembled. "He just shot off his knees," he continued on, his voice toneless. "Didn't even care. He… laughed."

Sounded exactly like Deadpool.

Peter twisted his neck. He stared up at Clint, eyes haunted and wet. "Why did he shoot him, Clint?" he asked, voice cracked. "Why did he shoot?"

Clint had no answer. Nothing to settle the boy's unwinding nerves. All he could offer was sympathy. Clint took Peter in a hug. The kid didn't resist. Peter kept spluttering, asking the same question over and over until the ripping of sobs drowned out his words and he shook in Clint's arms, crying into his shoulder.

Clint wrapped both arms around Peter. He didn't say a single word. His strong arms secured him in an embrace, holding him in the same way he held Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel whenever they were in distress. Peter's finger clawed into the back of Clint's jacket as if afraid to lose the pillar of support.

He had no need to worry about that. Clint planned to stay as his pillar until Peter no longer needed him. He let his shirt and jacket get covered in tears and snot, all the while thinking of his own revenge plan against Deadpool.

The studio apartment was what Clint pictured. Second-hand furniture cramped in a little room with an old sofa being the boundary line between bedroom and kitchen. Pop art covered up the exposed brick and the blue shelving unit was filled with snacks rather than food like Pop-tarts, popcorn and a little Buddha figurine.

Clint sat in the dark, relaxing with his bow on his lap as he glanced out the dusky and empty street. Monitored, Clint looked to the nightstand, spying a framed picture of Wade Wilson before his tragedy, with his arms wrapped around a black-haired beauty. He knew about Vanessa and figured she must be somewhat troubled herself to be able to live with a man like Deadpool on a daily basis.

The wait lasted about fifteen minutes before Clint recognized the sound of keys jingling and a lock clicking. The knob turned. Door cracking open as a stream of light from the hallway seeped into the kitchen.

Clint leapt to his feet. Bow in hand and arrow at the ready. He did not hesitate. He fired, the arrow whistling its doom. It struck. Hard. It pinned his adversary against the wall, trapped and unable to move.

The lights flickered on and Clint saw his arrow hit true. Right in the heart. And Deadpool, forgoing his costumed identity for a more casual civilian appearance, gaped at the arrow with impressionable awe.

"Ow! Shot through the heart!" Deadpool looked up from the arrow to Clint. "You give love a bad name, Cupid."

The small light emitted from a single bulb glazed the man's burned face in a shine that made Deadpool's face appeared waxed. He looked as ugly as the last time Clint saw him. Scarred and burned. A relative of Freddy Kruger. Only, Deadpool was real.

Deadpool wiggled to get the arrow out of him. But it remained stuck, embedded too deep into the wall behind him to yank out. Deadpool stopped. "What? Does this mean we're soulmates, now?"

Clint shook his head. "Nope. Means you're a pain in the ass."

"And yet you came all this way to see me," Deadpool said, fluttering his eyelashes at him. He stretched his hand out to Clint, trying to cup his cheek. "Sounds like love to me."

"Still living in your own, twisted reality," Clint grunted. "Typical."

"Like your reality is better?" Deadpool retorted, face contorted to one of contempt. "Listen, Legolas! At least I get to be the star of my reality. Not some side character who can't even get their own film."

Clint sighed, shaking his head. Still the same Deadpool he met years ago. Obnoxious and insane. He relaxed his bow, compacting it back to its original formation. "Let's carry on with business, shall we?"

"Oooh! Now you want to team up together, huh? Heard about my partnership with the Avengers and you want to jump on the bandwagon again?"

"No, and never" Clint deadpanned. "The only reason I'm here is because you took something that never belonged to you."

"What's that?"

"For starters," Clint reached his hand inside his jacket's pocket. He grabbed a flimsy paper and held it up to Deadpool to see. "Recognize him?"

Deadpool eyes narrowed on the small evidence presented to him before his mouth puckered into a tight acknowledgment. "Oh… Baby Boy!" he said, an easy smile coming to his face. "He's adorable, isn't he? I mean, if I could, I would carry him in my back pocket all day and night. Feed him little nuts—"

Deadpool's rambles were jolted to a sizzling sound. His body was wracked in tiny electric currents. Each blue lightening that trailed from the impaled arrow to the rest of his body zapped him into silence.

Clint released his thumb from the trigger. "Not so fun being on the other side of things, huh?" he commented, observing Deadpool's twitchy gestures. "You know, I figured you to be a somewhat decent guy. Sure—insane in a psychopathic manner, but still… I thought you had some morals. Like… not hurting children. That sort of thing."

"Is Spidey telling you I beat him up?" Deadpool asked, sounding hurt by the accusation. "I didn't hurt the damn kid! Well, I mean, I tried not to anyway. Kept getting in the way of my mission, which by the way, did you train him? Because I swear that some of his fighting maneuvers were exactly like yours. Anyway… I let him throw me around a bit, but I had to knock him out. I told him I was sorry about the nose!"

Clint frowned. "What about his nose?"

Deadpool paused. "Um… that I made fun of it."

"That's not even a good lie."

"Well, you knew it was going to be a lie anyway!"

True. He knew. "Either way, you should have left him alone."

"And watch him become the next Amber Alert? I don't think so," said Deadpool, wagging his finger. "You know the likely chance for a kid to survive after being missing for twenty-four hours?"

"So, you admit that what you did was wrong," Clint pointed out to him.

"I saved his life!"

"And that justifies kidnapping him?" Clint bellowed, blood rushing to his head. "Forcing him to watch you terrorize another person?"

Deadpool scoffed. "He didn't see a thing."

"Really? So… he didn't watch you pop Ross's kneecaps off?"

Deadpool hesitated again. "Err… no?"

Clint shook his head, disgusted. "Like I said, even though you're a bit mad, I at least believed you to be somewhat decent," he said. "Guess you're too fucked up to know the difference between right and wrong anyway."

Deadpool sagged in his trapped position. Regret settled on his shoulders, heavy enough to make them dip. "Shit… I'll make it up to him," he promised. "I swear. Shit. He's okay though, right? I mean he's not on a deathbed or anything?"

"What does it matter to you?" Clint challenged.

"I don't want the kid dead!"

"Then you shouldn't have dragged him to Maryland," he rebuked as his jaw clenched. "You should have returned him home."

"I called you, didn't I?"

"Too late though," Clint remembered Peter's tears-stained cheeks. The famous archer twirled the trigger in his hand. "Let's get this over with. I got things I need to do."

Clint casually crossed his arms, taking his prepared stance. "Where is the information you stole from Thaddeus Ross?"

Deadpool cocked his head. "Huh?"

"You didn't beat Ross for shit and giggles. Well, maybe you did, but I know you got something," Clint said. "Where is it?"

Deadpool screwed his mouth and eyes into a funny face. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he maintained. "Did I miss a chapter or something? I think I'm behind."

"No—we're not doing this," Clint lowly growled. "No more games. No more puns. No more breaking the fourth wall that only you see. None of that." Clint approached to Deadpool's trapped body. "Tell me where you hid it and I'll be on my way."

Deadpool exasperatedly sighed. "Wow. Lazy much?" he gestured his hand around the apartment. "Why don't you search the place yourself?"

"Because I know you."

"Meaning?"

"I know you rig your stowaways with booby traps," Clint replied. "And I'm not in the mood for attempts on my life."

"Then... why don't you let me handle this one, little birdie?" Deadpool playfully offered. "I'll take care of it all. Not free of charge, of course. I still want some cash for my contribution. Plus, a dinner date with—"

"You don't get to make any demands," Clint cut him off. "Not after the shit you pulled."

Deadpool hummed in thought. "You mean when I saved Spidey's life from Bull's Eye, who you guys didn't even realize existed until I killed him to stop him from taking Baby Boy? You mean that shit?" he proposed to Clint. "Or the fact that I did all the heavy lifting and got the information that you needed, but weren't able to do it because you Avengers can't spare to ruin your noble name in doing what needs to be done? Is it that shit? I mean, which one are you referring to? I'm completely stuck."

"All of it."

Deadpool dramatically tapped the side of his face. "Yeah… that probably sounds right," he agreed and then clapped his hands together. "Well, I would love to help you out. I really do, but… you see… I kind of have my own agenda."

Clint's heart quickened. "No—Wilson—no!" he reproached. "Don't you even think—"

"Too late for that," Deadpool whistled. "You see, Thaddeus and I had a good, long talk. In fact, he did recommend a few good reads. And I gotta say… he's got interesting taste. Now, I'm thoroughly invested."

"Wade—"

"Plus, Spidey and I are best friends forever now. I can't turn my back when he needs me the most!"

"He doesn't need you," Clint's face turned red, his angry eyes upon Deadppol. "He doesn't want you! You terrorized him! Why would he ever want to be around you again after that?"

Another bout of remorse fluttered across Deadpool's face.

Clint drew in a deep breath, cooling off his temper. If there was a chance to reach through Deadpool, it would be now. "Wade—do the right thing," he persuaded. "Where are the documents? What did you do with Ross's files?"

Deadpool pressed his lips together. A furrowed brow caved over his warring eyes. His mind in debate, realities blurred. It was a moment Clint believed to be a confession. But then… "No can do," Deadpool said with finality. "I'm doing the right thing. Tell Spidey that he will have his revenge."

Clint clenched his fists. There goes the idea that Deadpool had a conscious. "If that is your decision…"

His thumb moved over the trigger, ready to push down to invoke a wave of current through Deadpool. He eyed Deadpool, a shared determinism to beat other. Another game. Another fight. Another "dance off" as Deadpool fondly called them.

Before Clint could press down the trigger, a shocked voice rang out between them. They both snapped their attention to the door to see a woman, with long, dark hair, heavy make-up and scandalous attire standing in the middle of the doorway. She had a bag of groceries in one hand and a purse in the other.

"What the fuck is going on here?" she demanded, marching into the apartment. She spotted Deadpool and the arrow gutted in his heart. "Wade!"

"Hi sweetie!" Deadpool waggled his fingers to her. "We were just chatting."

Clint recognized her as the girl in the frame. Vanessa. Wade Wilson's girlfriend. She came home much earlier than anticipated.

Vanessa fretted over the arrow. She tugged on it, trying to yank it out of Deadpool's chest. To no avail, she whisked around, grabbing a saucepan and raising it up like a weapon. Clint only stared, tired and not finding it humorous at all. Brave, but pointless. Clint wasn't going to fight her.

"Put the saucepan down," Clint dismissed her futile attempt to protect Deadpool.

She didn't. Instead, she swung at his head. Clint dodged it, grabbed the handle, twisted it and pulled it out of her hand. He threw the saucepan behind him. He heard it clatter on the floor. "Now that is out of the way—"

Vanessa charged at him, fist flying at his face. Clint stepped aside, blocked her attempts and subdued her quick enough that caused no harm to her.

Clint released her. "Are you done?"

"You fucker!" she screamed. "I will cut off your dick if you touch me again!"

Clint flipped his eyes up from her to Deadpool. "I can see you guys are a match made in heaven."

Deadpool batted his eyelashes to her. "Isn't she the greatest?" he commented with a love-filled sigh.

Vanessa glanced between the two of them. "You fucking know this prick?" she asked Deadpool.

"Yeah, he's my elf friend," Deadpool acknowledged. "Likes to play with bows and arrows."

"I can tell," Vanessa gestured to the arrow sticking in his heart. "You mind telling me what the fuck is going on?"

"Just having a guys' night."

"No, we are not," Clint objected to the statement, "and I'm not his friend."

Deadpool gasped, sounding like he got shot again with an arrow. "You wound me, my old friend!" he exaggerated and he turned back to Vanessa. "We are good friends! Not best friends. Not anymore, at least."

"We were never friends."

"Keep telling yourself that, but we did share a friendship bracelet."

"You mean handcuffs?" Clint recalled the moment Deadpool handcuffed themselves together. A ploy to get Clint to stay with him and finish his mission. Clint shook his head at the blatant delusions. "I don't have time to go down memory lane and argue."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" Vanessa demanded. It seemed she didn't care for his presence in their apartment either.

"Your boyfriend stole classified documents involving a case the Avengers and the CIA are working on," Clint informed her. "And they aren't too happy about his involvement, particularly since it involves a minor." Clint narrowed at Deadpool. "I came in hopes of getting the files in a peaceful manner."

Vanessa's eyebrow arched high up on her forehead. She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the arrow. "You call this peaceful?"

"Better than Iron Man's plan."

Vanessa shook her head and muttered under her breath. "I'm guessing this is about that Parker kid, right?"

"Yes."

Vanessa mumbled a curse before she stomped passed Clint and straight to one of the many side tables around the apartment. She threw off a cloth to the floor and lifted a stack of papers and binders. The wooden floors creaked from the hostile jabs her stilettos made.

"Wait—babe! No!" Deadpool tried to stop her, but Vanessa carried on.

She came right up to Clint and shoved the huge stack into his chest. "You mean these files?"

Clint checked them. They all seem to be related to Thaddeus Ross. "Yeah," he answered, lifting his head up to Deadpool. "You left them lying about?"

Deadpool unflappably shrugged. "What? You made the assumption that I booby-trapped them," he reminded Clint. "I never said I did. And I gave you the option to look around yourself."

Clint wished so much to fire another arrow into Deadpool. "Thanks," he said to Vanessa. "Is that all of them?"

He directed that last questioned to Deadpool. The mercenary crossed his arms over the arrow and pouted. "You always have to go around and steal my things," he muttered, upset. "But, yeah. That's all of it, little buddy."

"Don't call me that," Clint packed the documents in the duffel. He zipped it closed and hoisted the straps on his shoulder. "I'll be on my way, now."

"Good," Vanessa said with a glare. "Because I want you to get the fuck out of our apartment."

Clint wanted to leave too. He had no desire to linger in Deadpool's presence any longer than necessary. Even then that was too much of his time. But first…

He walked up to Deadpool and grabbed hold of the arrow in his chest. Clint snapped it in half. "There," he said. "Now you can slide out and heal."

Deadpool slipped off the arrow, freeing himself from the wall. "Aw… how I miss that constant heartache," he mockingly replied. Then, he sobered up. His monstrous face stricken in a sickly promise. "To be clear, I'm not done. You better be prepared to fucking kill me because I'm not going to stop. I'm not done with this job."

Clint stopped, eyeing Deadpool carefully. "Yes, you are," he said. "If you want to help Peter, like you say you do, then you will stop this. All of it."

"Can't do that. You'll understand too once you learn what I now know."

Clint paused at the door. "What exactly is that?"

Deadpool shook his head. "Why tell you now?" he said with a sly smirk. "It would ruin the mystery of the story. You'll figure out. Just keep reading."

Deadpool always had a way to infuriate everything and everyone. Clint should have known to not fall for such parlor tricks of his. "Good night, Deadpool," he said. "And, just to be clear as well, if you ever come in contact with Peter Parker again, I will kill you."

Clint was done with Deadpool. He gave his regards to Vanessa and hurried out of the apartment, nearly running down the stairs. He needed to get as far away from Deadpool and his sense of madness as possible.

Clint returned to the compound in an hour's worth of time. As like last, he had no problems slipping passed security and entering the main apartment building on the compound. He greeted FRIDAY warmly and requested he be dropped off where the majority of his former teammates were located.

FRIDAY directed him to a level and parted the doors for him. He marched forward, hearing the others' voices carry down the hallway. He turned the corner and found them all in a conference room, surrounded by glass walls. Nat, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Colonel Rhodes and Stark sat around a rectangular table, debating or discussing what Clint assumed was the Parker situation.

Nat spotted him first. She got up from her chair and went to the door. She unlocked it and held it open. "Clint?" she said. "Where were you?"

"Out," Clint answered as he entered the conference room. All eyes were on him.

"How did it go?" Steve curiously asked, eyes scanning him for any signs of trauma. "Are you okay?"

Clint gave Steve a tiny smirk. "Better than last time."

He hoisted the duffel on the table. He pulled the zipper down and reached his hands in to grab the documents and binders. He pulled them out. One handful at a time, he placed them on the table for all to see. Once unloaded, he zipped the duffel back up.

"There it is," Clint said. "It's everything Deadpool stole from Ross."

Stark grabbed one of the binders, his eyebrow cocked in mild disbelief. "Everything?" he questioned. "He's a tricky son of a bitch."

Oh—Clint was well aware of the kind of guy Deadpool is. "Everything that he had and I doubt he had more," Clint countered Stark's doubts. "Ross told him things too, but he refused to share any of it with me. Said we had to find out on our own."

Nat stood beside Clint, arms folded across her chest with a furrowed brow. "This is quite a lot to have in regards to one person."

"Not really," Colonel Rhodes said, flipping through a stack of paper on his own. "I would say this is little compared to what we have on all of you guys individually."

"That's not what I mean," Nat said. She reached for a single sheet of loose paper. "It's a lot of information for a fired government and military employee to have at home. He shouldn't have this. Any of it. It should have been turned over to Agent Ross. The other one." She scrunched her face in confusion as she read the sheet of data. "Why does he have it? And why did he keep it at home? You can't take classified documents off premises at the risk of it being stolen."

Clint frowned, rubbing his chin in thought. Nat made an excellent point. Why did Thaddeus Ross have all these documents on Peter at his private home?

Stark closed his binder with a snap. "Well, only one way to find out," he said and he gestured to everyone in the room. "Grab a stack and start reading. I'll turn on the coffee machine."