A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my cousin Marybeth, who I know reads this story. I've spent the last little while with her, and I wish it was under better circumstances. We lost her dad, and during all those hours at the hospital, I came to find a true friend. Marybeth, I hope this helps to cheer you up! Love you.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or Marvel or any of the related rights.

...

Clint could hear a noise that was sort of like thumping outside, but then it stopped. He wondered if maybe the good guys were trying to get in to save them.

Or the pirates. Whoever it was on the other side.

He didn't have long to think about that, though, because a flash of green appeared in front of him, and he just barely had time to throw the handful of spices and peppers he'd collected from the kitchen into Loki's face before he took off running again.

Clint didn't know what those spices did (he was okay at reading, but a lot of the spice names were really weird words), but it sounded like they hurt when they got in Loki's eyes. He wasn't sorry about that.

He tumbled into the next hallway and made a sharp left. He was trying to remember where the conference room was, but he was tired. He hadn't had a nap. He wanted to cry. This was really scary.

But Steve was counting on him, so he kept right on going.

He rounded the corner and was frustrated to find himself in a hallway that he didn't recognize. But at least he was keeping Loki occupied, so he kept right on running.

There was a loud noise behind a really big door, and Clint knew it was probably stupid, but all he could think was that he might be able to cause more trouble if he found something big to break.

He jumped up so he could reach the latch on the door and pushed it open.

Immediately, he gasped.

There was a huge plane thing sitting in the middle of a giant hangar room. It had a weird red octopus thingy painted on the side of the plane, and Clint didn't know what was going on, but he had a weird feeling when he saw it. It felt evil—and Clint always had good instincts.

He watched quietly, ducking behind barrels of what was probably fuel for some of the cooler looking jet things off to the side. Clint had always been good at hiding, and it didn't look like anyone in the Octopus Plane had seen him.

He watched from his corner as a guy in a black, shiny helmet stepped out. Clint didn't like guys in helmets like that, especially because Loki and the other bad guys hadn't tried to stop them from coming in, so that probably meant that they were bad guys, too.

He thought about Steve and the look on Loki's face and wondered if they were coming to take away his friend.

No way was he going to let that happen.

Clint wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He could afford to be tired and cranky later. Right now, he needed to be the Purple Kid. He needed to be a superhero. Because the real heroes were back there in that magic playpen. Time for the sidekick to save the day.

Clint grinned. When he was bigger, he was definitely going to rub it in their faces that he had saved them by himself.

He waited until the guy in the helmet was by out of the big hangar full of planes—just in case there were other bad guys in the plane—before he slipped back through the door.

The hallway was quiet, except for the bad guy's shoes on the floor. Clint was glad that he didn't have any shoes on, because that meant he was really quiet as he followed the guy until he felt like they had gone on long enough that they were far enough away from the other bad guys.

"PURPLE KID TO THE RESCUE!" he shouted. It didn't sound like a very good battle cry, but it was the only thing he could think to say, and besides, he was four.

He launched himself at the knees of the bad guy and wrapped his arm around them, still shouting as they both went toppling sideways.

The bad guy scrambled to try and pry Clint's hands off of his knees, but Clint held on for dear life. He took a deep breath and bit down into the guy's pant leg, trying to take him down from the shins down.

The bad guy shouted in surprise and pain, but he didn't take a handful of Clint's hair or start pushing him like Loki had. Instead, he shouted, "Barton! What are you doing?"

Clint loosened his grip just slightly, mostly because he was surprised at hearing his own name. Secret identities were supposed to be, well, secret when it came to comic book superhero stuff. But maybe the bad guys had figured his out, so he just dug in a little more so he didn't lose his advantage.

He couldn't hang on that much longer, though, and he felt himself hit the ground after the bad guy shook him off.

Clint scrambled back to his feet, balling his fingers into fists and fighting the urge to cry. This wasn't going well. This was scary. He was tired. He needed a nap. He just wanted to curl up and hide somewhere. He wasn't used to taking things head on like this.

The bad guy sort of paused and looked around, like he was checking to make sure no one had seen him get nearly taken down by a little kid. He looked like he was about to kneel down to Clint's level to talk with him when—poof—Loki appeared, looking annoyed.

But his demeanor changed when he saw the scene before him. Clint on the floor, glaring up at the bad guy. The bad guy holding his leg where Clint had bitten him just below his knee. He gave a soft chuckle. "You must keep your eye on the cargo," he said with a grim smile. "Even at this size and age, they can be," he paused, searching for the right word, "surprisingly difficult."

The bad guy cleared his throat and, faster than Clint could react, had Clint's arm in his hand. Clint tried to twist away, but that was a death grip.

"I thought you said they were secure," the bad guy said. His voice sounded gruff, but there was something else about it, like it was trying to be gruff.

Loki paused. He might have picked up on that, too—on the fact that the bad guy was trying to be more intimidating than he actually was. A slow smile spread across his face, and he just nodded at Clint. "They were secure. I regret that this one got away from me. Using the same technique I see he used on you."

The bad guy reached down to his knee to rub it. Yeah, Clint had definitely got him good.

"Still," the bad guy said. "I'd like to see. Just to be sure. Last thing I need is a mini Hulk running around and messing things up for us."

"I assure you—"

"Look," the bad guy said flatly, cutting Loki off. (Loki didn't look too happy about that.) "I know your reputation. I know you're good. But when HYDRA gets a call saying you're going to hand over an Avenger of our very own, you don't expect us to take it on your word, do you?"

Loki sighed and waved his hand as if he was swatting a particularly annoying bug. "As you will," he said.

Clint shouted every curse word he knew, and some that he knew but didn't know the meaning of, as the bad guy picked him up and tucked him carefully under his arm. It didn't hurt, but Clint couldn't move, so he was frustrated.

He pouted for the rest of the journey down the hallway—all the way up until Loki opened the door to the room with the magic playpen . . . and a tiny green blur knocked Loki flat on his back.