Natasha Romanoff didn't know what to think. Sure, they were in an abandoned warehouse, but she had dealt with those many times before.

What she didn't expect was an arrow shooting teen, who only missed because Natasha and Clint were experts at dodging fire.

He was, too, apparently, because none of their shots hit their target.

Natasha hid behind a pile of wood. She had already used up half of her ammo, so she couldn't afford to miss this shot. She reloaded her Glock 26, creeping out from her spot to aim. She positioned herself between two pieces of wood, a small opening allowing her to see.

Suddenly, a wooden arrow hit the piece of wood barely one inch from her face. A second arrow split the first down the middle.

She froze.

oOoOoOo

Clint was mad. Here was this kid, barely fifteen, who could shoot as good as him, maybe even better.

Clint saw two arrows, one splitting the other, appear right next to Nat's face. Her eyes widened with shock.

"I never miss," the boy said. "But apparently, neither do you."

"How about we cease fire, so none of us get killed," Clint suggested. "Then we all come out of our hiding spots, and we talk things through."

The boy sighed, then nodded. He jumped from his perch in the shadows of the warehouse ceiling, and Clint finally got a good look at him.

He was about five and a half feet tall, with sandy blonde hair and wide muscular shoulders. His grey eyes sparkled with mischief, though his face was grim. He wore boots and a jumpsuit much like Clint often wore while on missions, though his had forest green trim, long sleeves, and a hood. He looked like Robin Hood came to the 21st century.

Natasha came out of her hiding spot, and Clint from his. The boy put the arrow in his hand back into his quiver, then sat down and placed his bow next to him. He gestured to them to do the same.

Clint huffed, but sat down, keeping his face partially covered by the warehouse's shadows. He set his bow down and shot Natasha a look. He's fast, so don't tempt him.

Nat looked weary, but she complied. Fine, but it's on your conscience. She holstered her weapons and sat down, making sure to stay in the shadows.

Clint looked at the boy. "We are representatives of-"

The boy cut him off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're with S.H.I.E.L.D., you came to see if I was a threat, yadda, yadda. Well, I'll be leaving now, because I can assure you, I'm no threat."

The boy stood up.

Without warning, Natasha jumped up, grabbed the kid, and slammed him against the wall. "You might not know us kid. We are the Black Widow and Hawkeye. We don't just let people go. Ever."

The boy's eyes widened as he finally recognized them. He then narrowed his eyes in confusion, then gasped in disbelief. "You don't know who I am?"

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Believe me, kid. This is the first time we've met you in our entire lives."

The boy leaned against the wall. "Oh." He blinked. "What year is it?"

Clint gave him a confused look. "2015."

The boy sighed, defeated, and looked down.

"Where were you thinking of going?" Natasha asked softly.

"Home. But I can't go there now."

"Why not?" Natasha let go of him.

"Because home is twenty years into the future."

Vizija was confused. Her head hurt. Her heart pounded. And more than half of her friends had disappeared.

She sat up against the building next to her. Damian and Mila were sprawled on the ground nearby, groaning as they sat up. They had a few scrapes, but they seemed alright.

She looked up, studying her surroundings. No one else was nearby. She closed her eyes threw her magic out to feel her surroundings, but she couldn't sense her friends' presences anywhere. They were definitely farther than a mile of each other.

She opened her eyes to see Mila doing the same. I can't sense anybody, Vizija told her mentally, Can you?

Not our friends, she answered, somebody-no, wait- some bodies else. They seem familiar, but different. I can't read their minds, they're too far away.

Vizija sighed. She looked down at her clothes. Her black tights were ripped at the knee, her grey ankle boots scuffed. Her red skirt was dirty, and her white t-shirt was untucked. She stood up, straightening her black blazer and adjusting her Dracogjen necklace and multiple bracelets.

She smoothed her long black hair down, then walked over to help Mila up.

Her friend looked no worse than her. Her brown hair hung messily around her face in curls, her black jeans were scratched, and her red jacket was ripped at the hem. Her dark eyeliner was starting to smudge, and the red color her mother's magic was known to have was starting to tint her bright hazel-green irises.

Mila tugged nervously on her charm bracelet. It had been a gift from her father, right before one of his more dangerous missions following Captain America around. Her eyes flitted over the area they had appeared at, taking in everything.

Her eyes landed on something behind Vizija. Vizija turned to see Damian, Mila's twin cousin. (They were born on the same day, of the same year, twelve minutes apart. The only thing keeping them from being twins was the fact that Mila's mom and Damian's dad were actual twins, so the cousins couldn't be siblings.)

Damian wore a blue t-shirt, black jeans, and nikes, and had his dad's naturally occurring chocolate colored hair. He had a mischievous smile, dimples, and warm brown eyes. He was always laughing and joking around, and was always on the move.

That is, until now.

Damian lay on the ground, struggling to sit up. He had scratches on his face and his bottom lip was bleeding. His pants were ripped and his t-shirt had a huge gash.

Mila ran over to him, worry clear on her face. "Damian! Are you alright? No, don't sit up!" She eased his head onto her lap, the rest of his body laying on the concrete. "Shh, let me check you out. Where does it hurt?" He gestured to his rib cage.

Mila gently pressed her hands onto his chest, her eyes closed in focus. Damian groaned in pain, but otherwise remained still.

"Oh, no." Mila whispered. She looked at Vizija. "He has two broken ribs, five other fractured ones, a dislocated shoulder and a twisted ankle, not to mention the other numerous scrapes and bruises." She sighed. "He heals fast, but his ribs need to be set if he is to heal correctly. Otherwise he won't heal at all."

"We need to get help, from someone who is experienced in these things." Vizija said.

Mila nodded. Her lips pulled into a slight frown as she thought.

Suddenly, her head snapped up as she looked at something down the small parking lot.

Vizija turned around.

Three people were on the sidewalk. They hadn't noticed the teens yet, because they were partially hidden by a dumpster, along with the fact that they were about 100 yards away.

The first was a man wearing what looked like a jet-pack, along with a pair of safety goggles. He had dark skin and red pants, but Vizija was too far to see details.

The next man was lean and tall. He had blonde hair, a blue long-sleeved shirt, black joggers, and running shoes. He was very fidgety, and kept jogging in place.

The last person was all too familiar to Vizija. He had bright red skin, a grey jumpsuit, and a yellow cape. His head moved back and forth, looking at everything.

A yelp of pain brought her attention back to her friends. Damian clutched his stomach, groaning in pain, while Mila murmured words of comfort to him.

Mila looked up at the teen. "We need help. Soon."

Vizija nodded, and sighed. "We don't have anybody to ask. What are we going to do?"

"Perhaps we could help you kids."

Standing before them were the Vision, Quicksilver, and Falcon.

Hi everybody!

That was a preview of one of my stories, called The Next Avengers: the legacy lives on. If you want to read more, please go to my profile page by simply clicking on my username (mems1223) above to read the rest of the story.

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