Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or anything related to the Marvel universe.
Steve Rogers was really big and really heavy, but that didn't stop Clint from trying to drag him all the way to help by himself.
The guy was coughing up blood. That seriously couldn't be good, and maybe it was adrenaline, but he also seemed to get lighter as they went.
"Umm, British Butler Dude?" Clint shouted up at the ceiling.
"I'm called JARVIS." The computer actually sounded kinda prickly. Which was weird. Computers weren't supposed to have personalities, right? But then, future.
"Yeah. Right. Look. Steve is in trouble. Send help, please?" Clint wasn't sure why he was bothering. Just a few minutes ago, he'd have left the guy and dove out the nearest window to try and find Barney. But Steve Rogers seemed nice enough, and Clint wasn't sure what had happened to little Natasha, and he felt like maybe he should make sure she was okay. It seemed like she was in just as much trouble as he was.
He dragged Steve down a couple more hallways before, suddenly, the coughing fit stopped and the guy dropped to his knees. Clint knelt down beside him, glad to have the weight off his shoulders, but watching just in case something worse happened.
Steve Rogers opened his eyes and looked right at Clint. Studied his face. Then, he pulled back. "Who are you? What is this place?" Steve Rogers looked around the tower. "Where have you taken me?"
Clint held up his hands in a universal gesture of peace, since Steve Rogers maybe looked younger, but only by a couple of years, and he was still big enough to take Clint down. "Umm. Yeah. Hi. I'm Clint. This is . . . a tower. Of some sort. I think you live here. And you just sort of . . . collapsed?" Clint rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wasn't actually helpful.
"Where's Bucky?"
"Who?" Clint wrinkled his nose. "Dude, I only just figured out who you and the science geeks are. Don't go adding more names into the mix."
Steve Rogers pulled himself to his feet and looked around the tower some more. "Are we . . . are we back in America?" His fists clenched and unclenched. "Did something happen to my friends? Did the mission go wrong? Tell me what's going on." He said that last part with almost-fury, but held back, just behind his eyes. A whispered threat that was scarier than if he'd yelled.
Clint backed up and held up his hands. "Clearly, you have a lot of catching up to do," he said, then sighed. "And I am definitely not the person to ask for answers." He looked up at the ceiling, then grinned a sideways grin. "I know who you can ask, though. JARVIS?"
"Yes, Mister Barton?"
Steve Rogers pulled back like he'd been struck across the face. He looked up at the ceiling in something like awe and wonder, then coughed quietly into his elbow again. "How are you doing that?" he asked Clint.
"I dunno," Clint said, shrugging. "It's futuristic technology. You and me, we're behind a few years, I think. Something about being de-aged? I don't understand it. You were explaining it to me before you got affected by whatever it was, so . . . yeah." Clint shrugged again. "Sorry I'm not more help."
"'s okay," Steve Rogers muttered, but it looked more like a pout. His fists clenched and unclenched again, like he was dying to dive into action but didn't have anywhere to go. He looked up at the ceiling again. "So. You up there. Can you tell us what's happening?"
"As far as Doctor Banner has been able to tell, something seems to be affecting your genetic makeup. The toxin would appear to be airborne, as Captain Rogers was not at the original site of infection. Doctor Banner believes it might be related to the dust on Mister Barton and Miss Romanoff's clothes when they were pulled from the wreckage of their latest collapsing building."
Clint grinned recklessly. "Makes it sound like we pull buildings down all the time." Then, the second part of that sentence clicked in, and he said, "Wait. Miss Romanoff?"
"Yes. She is currently in the medical wing with Doctor Banner."
"Can you take me there?" Clint asked, thinking of the little redheaded girl curled up next to him when he first woke up in the strange tower. If she'd been an adult when this whole thing started, then she was de-aging way too fast, and Clint didn't want to know what happened when she reached pre-newborn levels of de-aging.
"I'll come with you," Steve Rogers said quickly. Clint thought it was probably more to give the guy something to do, something that made him feel useful, but he didn't argue.
He could come in handy.
JARVIS directed them through the wings of the tower, and they were only a few turns away from the medical wing when something heavy and metal landed just in front of them.
"Whoa," Steve Rogers said.
"You've got to be kidding me," Clint said.
It was a guy. Well, at least, it sort of looked like a guy. But made out of armor and with a glowing blue heart. And when he held out his hand, the hand glowed, too.
Steve Rogers stepped instinctively in front of Clint, and Clint would have objected if the guy didn't seem to be a trained soldier with a big shiny shield. "Who are you?" Steve Rogers asked. "What do you want?"
"What are you doing in my place?" the armor guy demanded, and his voice sounded sorta familiar, but it was hard to tell when it was all distorted behind that mask.
Clint made a face. "Your place?" he repeated. "And here I thought JARVIS ran the place. Isn't that right, JARVIS?"
"Sir, please stand down. Mister Barton and Captain Rogers are not threats. You invited them to live in this tower years ago—"
"I think I'd remember something like that," the armor guy said. But then something made him pause. It was hard to tell where he was looking with that shiny faceplate, but he seemed to be looking at the big shield Steve Rogers was holding.
"Where'd you get that?" the armor guy asked, this time more quietly.
"This?" Steve Rogers picked up his shield. "A friend of mine made it for me. Howard Stark."
The faceplate popped open.
"Goatee Guy! Tony, right?" Clint sighed in relief, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to him.
Steve Rogers looked closely at the face behind the armor. Tony looked closely at Steve.
"Umm," Clint said.
"There's no way," Tony muttered quietly.
Clint figured they probably both needed some time to figure out . . . whatever it was they were trying to figure out . . . so he slipped around behind Tony and quietly filed into the medical ward.
"Umm, Doctor Banner?" he called out, remembering the name JARVIS had given him.
"Clint!" The curly-headed guy—Bruce—popped up from behind a monitoring table. He had something set up in the corner, but Clint couldn't quite see what it was. "Are you okay?"
"At least someone around here still remembers who I am," Clint muttered. He noticed Bruce reach for an oxygen mask. "JARVIS told me I'd find my friend here?"
Bruce donned the oxygen mask and handed Clint one as well. When Clint eyed it suspiciously (he'd never liked hospitals or anything to do with being in one), Bruce explained, "I don't think it's safe to breathe around you or Natasha. I think the contagion that's de-aging you is airborne. I was just testing my theory with Natasha." He took off his glasses and rubbed them nervously on his shirt, then put them back on. "She seems to have stopped getting younger, at least."
Clint didn't like the look on Bruce's face. He pushed past Bruce toward what he now realized was a makeshift hospital crib.
She was tiny. Less than a year old, with wisps of red hair and chubby legs that kicked even when she was asleep, her thick little fingers reaching out in her dreams—probably for somebody's hair. She'd been fitted with a mask her size and was hooked up to all sorts of monitoring equipment, like the premature babies in hospitals.
"She's not getting younger?" Clint asked. He couldn't look away from her, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was terrified that he'd get that young, too, or if it was because she was the only other person to come out of whatever building they'd collapsed.
"Not in the past hour," Bruce said. "Which is a marked improvement, by the way." He rubbed at his glasses again. "You both inhaled a great deal of the contagion, but she was at the center of the collapse."
Clint sighed and slipped the oxygen mask over his face. "Is it . . . safe for her if I stay here?" he asked.
"I'd prefer it, actually," Bruce said, and his smile very nearly reached his eyes. One part relief and two parts something else. "She's fussy when she's awake and tries to take off the mask if I leave her alone for too long."
"Thanks," Clint said, glad for the excuse to stay there.
A/N: Yeah, you didn't think I'd keep my babies separated for long, did you? I love me some tiny!Clint and tinier!Natasha interacting :)