Stark, of course, is the first to react, though the good old Captain seems quite tense.
Ah, it was a secret, then.
Stark laughs, light and yet loud, and Clint can tell that he thinks this is a joke. "Hear that, Steve?" Stark turns around to grin at the Captain, "Our hitchhiker thinks that you resemble dear old Captain America."
The Captain's eyes bore into Clint, harsh and dark and accusing and suspicious, and Clint is sure to keep his grin light and posture lax. "Funny," he says in a tight, cool voice, and Stark's eyes narrow beside Clint, like he can tell how tense the air is. From the reports, Clint wouldn't have guessed, but the reports are never quite perfect anyway and Clint has always preferred to make his own assumptions.
"Sore subject?" Clint cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side, grin crooked and wide. The gap where his missing tooth used to be is dark in comparison to the white of the rest of his teeth. "Rather not dredge up old war stories for Stark to hear?"
He, of all people, ought to know not to bring up the past like this, but Clint has never been quite so kind.
The Captain's eyes are cold, though they turn a bit apologetic as he turns to Stark, "I thought this was supposed to be classified."
Clint shrugs, the straps of his backpacks bumping along the form of his shoulders. He turns to Stark, who is wearing a curious stare in the furrow of his brow, and when Stark catches him looking, he shoots him a flirty smile. "Breaking the rules in your secret club?" He asks, chiding but inquisitive.
"Something like that," Clint hums and tilts his head at the Captain, "He seems to want to be normal."
"I don't want to be trapped in the past," the Captain answers, jaw locked and eyes stuck on his hands. They are large, calloused, big enough to wrap around Clint's scrawny neck if he so desires.
"Then don't be," Stark's voice is deceptively light, "The past is in the past."
The Captain turns to look at Stark, though his gaze lingers on Clint's SHIELD badge (a nice little button all pressed up, Clint laughing as Coulson sighs and Fury scolds him but he doesn't burn it like they tell him to). "I can talk to you about it if you want."
Stark's stare is measured, dark and cool in a way that the tabloids could never expect them to be. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, calm, eyes narrowed.
The Captain stares at his hands again, seemingly unable to rip his eyes away, "The past is in the past," he repeats Stark's words, quietly, expecting Stark to just understand somehow.
Perhaps he does, because Stark just closes the doors of the bus and drums his fingers on the wheel. "Take a seat," he says soberly to Clint, as though realizing that the lightness of the ride before Clint came is gone, that the slouch of Clint's shoulders means nothing about how much he knows, and Clint complies, grin falling into a frown as he looks at the Captain.
Interesting.
He's different than the rumors described him to be.
He seems young, around Clint's age, face still a bit boyish despite his wide shoulders. Bright blue eyes that don't disguise his youth, and a stillness (stiffness, Clint's mind supplies, too accustomed to circus freaks who still in odd positions that they find to be comforting) that may be a nervous tick.
Clint takes it all in, and then, laughs, "Wow, this ride is tense. You got any Beyonce to lighten the mood?"
Stark's shoulders relax as the car moves forward, though his shoulder blades are still tight on his back. "At least we know that you have good taste in music," he laughs.
The Captain tilts his head to the side, seeming curious as he relaxes a bit, eyes on Stark instead of Clint (does he make him feel so safe? Stark and Captain America... what a curious match), "Who's Beyonce?"
"Ooh boy," Stark laughs, "Where have you been living?"
"Mid nineteen hundreds," The Captain sighs wistfully, "Not a lot of entertainment with a war."
The bus slows, moving to the side again, and once it's stopped, Stark takes out the keys and turns around, eyebrows furrowing, "What does that mean?" he demands.
The Captain's eyes flicker to Clint and back to Stark, "It's like he said," he gestures at Clint, face pained, "I'm Captain America."
They give Stark the rundown in an old grocery store, Stark pulling up to it before sighing, "If we're going to talk, we'd better do something productive," an oddly logical thought process running through his reasoning and actions.
Stark picks through different piles of fruits, having been gently steered away from the liquid meal supplements by the good ol' Captain (Clint laughed as Stark pouted at the Captain, protesting all the while).
The Captain's words are heavy as he talks about being raised in Brooklyn, lying to join a war that he had thought would kill him (it should have, it could have, but here is an eighteen year old before them, head bowed and shoulders raised as he murmurs, I was saved by the serum, the ice should have killed me but it preserved me instead and Stark laughs, tense and forced, like a fossil?), the ice, talking wistfully of a girl only three years older than him with red lipstick who could beat anyone in a fight.
Stark is slow, still and methodical, and Clint can't quite decipher the expression on his face, angry and sad and accepting (reluctant, perhaps) all the same time.
"So you were alive," is all that Stark says when Steve is done explaining. He laughs, loud and bitter and digs the heels of his hands and swears to himself, soft and harsh and low. "One day... he couldn't stay alive for one more fucking day to find his precious little..."
Stark shakes his head and laughs a bit, a little hysterically, and someone Clint thinks that it wasn't because he was just told that his companion was Captain America. Or it's something beyond simply that.
"Cool," Stark breathes harshly, chest going up and down in sharp, quick little movements. "So you're a fossil. Any other shocking news?"
Clint shrugs, "I'm going to, like, assassinate someone."
Stark stares at him, "Any serious news?"
"I am completely serious!" Clint says, pulling an offended expression and pouting at Stark.
Stark smiles a bit at him, as though thankful for Clint diffusing any leftover tension (which, unfair, Clint is an assassin and he totally looks it! ...okay, maybe the fact that he's sixteen and is missing a tooth... but still. Hmph). "Of course you are," he says, lightly, as though falling into banter.
Somehow, the air is calm again, and they all smile at each other.
"Sorry about not telling you earlier," the Captain repeats, a bit red.
"No, no," Stark waves his hand, and laughs awkwardly, "I mean, there's not exactly an easy way to say 'I'm a fossil from WWII but I haven't aged a day because I'm magical and immune to frostbite'."
"It's not magic, it's science," the Captain pouts.
Stark laughs at him, "Of course, of course," he smiles a bit sadly and repeats to himself, under his breath, "One day."
Clint exchanges glances with the Captain. That clearly wasn't meant to be heard, so they don't question it, but Clint files it in the back of his head.
"I don't know about you, but I'm feeling like watermelon," Stark's grin is back, wild and big and infectious. "Or maybe blueberry! What do you guys think?"
"I have money for both," Clint says, patting his pockets, and Stark makes a face at him.
"Nuh-uh, I'm rich, so I get to sponsor this trip."
"At least let us pitch in!" Clint protests.
"Don't bother," the Captain sighs, "He's immovable on this point."
Stark grins, proud of his stubbornness, and says, "Maybe both? I think both fruits is a good idea. You guys pick out what you want, too, yeah?"
"I want this entire store," Clint deadpans.
Stark sticks his tongue out at Clint, "Obie's in charge of the company, not me, so I can't just buy this franchise."
"Laaame," Clint puffs teasingly.
(Somewhere, in the back of his head, he distantly registers that if he were in charge of the company, Stark might have bought an entire franchise because Clint made a joke about it.)
"I'll take some pizza pockets, then," Clint nods to himself.
Stark blinks, "Pizza pockets?"
Clint's eyes widen, "You haven't had pizza pockets?"
The Captain looks over from where he's examining plums with a wistful smile, "What's a pizza pocket?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing.
Clint presses his hands against his temples, "Oh my god."
He buys five boxes of pizza pockets and they microwave them, Stark and the Captain laughing as Clint says you haven't lived until you've eaten pizza pockets and both conceding that it tastes delicious, Clint grinning victoriously and the two of them smiling at him.
Clint is a deadly assassin, on a mission to kill someone.
(And maybe... just maybe, mind you... Clint has made two new friends who also like pizza pockets.)