Well, well, well...look who it is. It's me Aggie2011 back from a long, long hiatus. I bring to you the final part of the Bouclier Academy High School AU. The culmination of Natasha's whirlwind entry into Clint's barely settled life.

In other news, I plan to start posting Not So Ancient History before summer is out. The story is done, I just need to review my beta's notes and make some tweaks. So there's that!

I know it's been a long while, so you might want to read back through the first parts of this AU so you know what the heck is going on. But enjoy this last piece of a teenage BAMF Clint AU. Remember, this is unbeta'd so go ahead and forgive any mistakes ;)

"His car isn't here," Natasha whispered as they studied the townhouse from a block away.

"Does Madame B have a car?"

"No. She uses a service."

Clint sighed. There was no way to know if anyone was inside without actually going inside.

"Everyone else should be at school. He might still be out looking for me."

"Now or never, then, huh?" Clint suggested.

Natasha nodded, her eyes determined.

Together they jogged across the street and up to the front door. Natasha tried the handle, found it locked, and reached for her key.

"They only lock it if they're gone," she whispered.

That sounded like a good sign if Clint had ever heard one.

They slipped inside quietly and shut the door behind them.

"This way," Natasha said, moving towards a hallway. They passed what looked like a living room, then a set of clear glass doors leading to the dance studio next door. Clint could see balance bars and mirrors and a polished wood floor.

Natasha paused in front of a solid wood door and tested the handle. Locked.

Clint had never favored being seen as a delinquent, but he'd give about anything for some experience breaking and entering right about now.

"So…" Natasha slid a sideways look at him, drawing her lower lip in between her teeth.

"What?" Clint flexed his grip on his bat, rolling his shoulders when the back of his neck tingled oddly.

"I can get this open."

Clint's left eyebrow crept upward and the right quickly joined it when Natasha produced a small lock pick set from somewhere at the small of her back.

"My ex, he – he didn't like being denied things, even entry to a room. He taught me some things before…" She shook her head as if dispelling an unwelcome thought. "I should be able to get into her desk, too, if it's locked."

Clint knew all about having a past one would rather not dwell on, so he just dropped his eyebrows and glanced around.

"What do you need me to do?"

Natasha knelt before the door, brow furrowed in concentration as she studied the lock.

"Just keep an eye on the front door and the entry through the studio. The parking is over there, so if he comes back in his car, he'll come through that door."

Clint nodded and left her to it, drifting silently back towards the front door.

A glance through the sidelight window showed the street to be quiet other than a taxi speeding past and a woman walking with a stroller.

The back of his neck tingled again as if someone were brushing a feather down the skin of his neck. The unnerving feeling had him turning his head, rolling his shoulders again to dispel the feeling. It was only because he shifted that he noticed the double doors to the studio were ajar. He was sure they had been closed when they got here.

Clint turned away from the front door, tightening his grip on the bat as he moved to the glass doors. He looked through the clear panes, searching the dark studio, and then looked back at the handles, clearly ajar.

He opened his mouth to ask Natasha if she remembered whether the doors were shut or not when a shift in the reflection on the glass caught his eye.

He turned, eyes widening as a giant that could only be Dimitri barreled out of the dark living room, straight at him. He lifted the bat but had no time to swing it before Dimitri slammed into him like a linebacker, taking them both through the glass doors in a crash of breaking glass and splintering wood.

Clint heard Natasha scream his name, but he was too busy fighting his way free of Dimitri's bulk to respond. Wrapping his hand around one of the large glass shards, Clint swung it at Dimitri's face, slicing him shallowly across the cheek and nose.

It was enough. The other man flinched back and Clint shoved his way free, scrambling on his hands and knees across the broken glass to where his bat had landed. Blood smeared across the floor in his wake, but he didn't feel the sting of the cuts, not yet. He got one hand around the bat when a hand clamped onto his ankle and yanked him back. His chin hit the floor, sending his teeth into his tongue. Blood filled his mouth and he coughed it out as Dimitri yanked again, pulling Clint across the glass-littered floor.

Clint twisted, rolling to his back and bringing the bat around in a wide arc. It clipped Dimitri's wrist, hard enough for the hulking man to drop his grip on Clint's ankle. He crab-crawled backward until he had the space to scramble to his feet.

Another one-handed arc with the bat and Dimitri stumbled back from his attempted approach. Forcing a deep breath in through his nose, Clint wrapped both his hands around the bat again, tightening his grip with the smooth wood slipped in his bloodied hands.

"You are a child," Dimitri spat in a heavily accented growl. "You cannot win."

"I don't know." Clint shrugged a little. "I like my odds."

Dimitri lunged and Clint swung his bat like it was bottom of the ninth. Dimitri brought his arm up to block the blow.

The bat exploded in a shower of splinters when it hit Dimitri's upper arm. But, the wood wasn't the only thing to break at the impact. Dimitri howled, his upper arm fracturing under the power of the hit. With a shout of rage, he swung his other arm wildly, catching the back of Clint's shoulder as he tried to duck away.

It was like getting hit by a truck. Clint's feet left the ground, though only for the brief time it took him to crash headfirst into the wall of mirrors. Clint collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball and covering his head with his arms as glass rained down around him and the balance bar half detached from the wall.

A hand locked on his ankle again and he slid several feet as Dimitri pulled him again.

Clint kicked at Dimitri's hand with his free foot until the man hissed and released him.

Climbing to his feet was significantly harder this time, but Clint managed, swaying once he got upright. His vision doubled, blurred, and then righted itself and Clint had to clumsily wipe blood out of his eyes as he forced himself to breathe.

Dimitri lumbered over to the broken mirror wall, wrapping his good hand around one of the sections of balance bars. Two mighty yanks and he had a section of bar in his hand.

Clint retreated, wiping more blood out of his eyes.

There was no finesse to it when he ducked Dimitri's first swing, Clint just dropped.

The bar was too long to wield quickly, so by the time Dimitri corrected its momentum, Clint had retreated enough to be out of swinging range.

Dimitri charged towards him and Clint stumbled out of his path, going to his knees next to the remains of his bat. He wrapped both hands around the neck of it and lunged towards Dimitri's next charge, rolling gracelessly under the uncontrolled swing and stabbing the splintered end of his bat into the meat of Dimitri's thigh.

The oaf roared, dropping the balance bar and stumbling backward, clawing at the bat still stuck in his leg.

Clint wrapped his hands around the abandoned balance bar, centering his grip more to the middle so he could control its momentum. Dimitri was still close enough that he only had to take one step and then he threw every last bit of strength he had into swinging the balance bar at the other man's head. He put his whole body into the attack and when the end of the wooden bar hit Dimitri's temple, the giant dropped like a stone.

Clint dropped too, to his knees, letting the bar drop out of his lax grip.

Glass crunched behind him and Clint twisted, a hand coming up defensively as he tried to find his feet.

Natasha held her hands out wide, a folder clutched tightly in one of them.

"It's me," she whispered, coming swiftly closer when Clint dropped his defensive hand and sank back to his knees. "You did it," she stated, voice awed as she knelt in front of him, her eyes straying to Dimitri's still form only briefly.

"Did you find it?" Clint asked, blinking away another blur in his vision.

She lifted the folder a little.

"I found more than just that," she told him, green eyes gleaming with triumph. "I can prove everything."

Phil barely wasted the time to shift his car into park before shoving open the door and climbing out. He took in the street full of flashing lights, heart pounding in his chest. He surveyed the scene, looking for something to indicate which direction he should head.

Phil answered his cell on the second ring.

"Coulson."

"Phil, it's Mason with the PD."

Phil's heart stuttered, fingers tightening around the phone.

"You better get down here, man. This shit is insane."

"What are you talking about? What happened?"

"That boy of yours and some redhead just busted a human trafficking ring wide open."

Phil was already up, headed for the door.

"Is he okay?"

"Medics are sorting him out, but I figured you'd want to be here."

"I'm on my way."

"Phil!"

Phil's head snapped around, starting towards Officer Mason when he spotted him approaching.

"I've never seen anything like this, Phil. This lady's been trafficking girls from Russia for twenty years. The Feds are on their way in to sort it all out."

Phil didn't care about any of that.

"Where's Clint?"

Mason pointed through the row of squad cars to an ambulance.

And Phil finally spotted him.

Clint was sitting in the open doorway, holding one arm up while he watched a medic wrap gauze around his entire forearm. It was hard to see the extent of the damage from here, but the clear red stains all over the gray t-shirt Clint wore, did nothing to soothe Phil's fear.

He started in that direction, but Mason caught his arm.

"Phil, the size of the guy your kid took down…" Mason shook his head, clearly impressed. "I've no doubt he saved that girl's life today…probably saved a lot of girls' lives."

Phil noticed her then, for the first time. Natasha Romanoff was sitting at Clint's side, head on his free shoulder, holding a blanket around both of them. He'd been so focused on Clint, he hadn't even seen her.

"The story I heard was she was about to get sold back to Russia. Has contracts and everything as proof."

Phil swallowed around a dry throat. He should have asked this morning. He should have listened to Clint's explanation. He should have listened.

"Thanks for the call, Mason," Phil forced out, voice strangled.

The officer nodded, patting Phil's shoulder.

A dozen steps and Phil was through the line of squad cars. Half a dozen more and he was close enough to see the stitches across Clint's forehead above his eyebrow, the hastily wiped away smears of blood all over his face. His hands were wrapped in gauze and the medic was currently probing the beginnings of swelling around his right eye.

Natasha spotted Phil first, green eyes sharpening when she noticed him. She lifted her head from Clint's shoulder, immediately drawing the archer's attention over to her. She said something, Phil couldn't hear what, but then Clint's head snapped around and their eyes met.

Phil forced himself not to run, but instead to keep his approach measured and controlled.

Clint said something to the medic and despite the man clearly shaking his head no, Clint slid off the edge of the ambulance and walked to meet Phil. The teen's steps weren't quite steady, but he didn't slow until they were an arm's reach apart.

They both stopped and stared for a moment.

"How did you…"

"An officer friend of mine recognized you, called me."

Clint nodded slowly, accepting the answer.

Phil wanted so badly to reach out, to wrap the boy in a hug. But he wasn't sure the move would be welcome, was even less sure it wouldn't cause pain.

Clint took the choice out of his hands.

One moment the teen was staring at him like he could divine the answers of the universe from Phil's gaze and the next he took two unsteady steps and wrapped his arms around Phil like he never intended to let go.

Phil brought his arms around Clint in return, cupping the back of his neck with one hand and wrapping a careful arm around his shoulders.

"I should have told you," Clint confessed into Phil's sternum where his head was tucked under Phil's chin. "I should have woke you up when she got there last night. I should have told you everything."

Careful of injuries he couldn't see, Phil tightened his hold on the kid.

"I should have listened to you this morning. I should have given you a chance to explain," he whispered fiercely. "We both made mistakes, but's going to be okay. Got it? It's all going to be fine."

Clint nodded against his chest, gauze-wrapped hands tightening in the back of Phil's suit jacket.

"He should really go to the hospital."

Phil looked up, tuning back into their surroundings to stare at the medic who was hovering a few steps away. He tightened the hand on the back of Clint's neck briefly before gently urging the boy to step back.

"Why? How bad is it?" He asked them both, but he was looking Clint over more closely now.

"Not that bad," Clint insisted.

"Pretty bad," the medic countered.

"I've had worse," Clint defended, sending a glare at the medic.

The man looked unaffected.

"That's not something to brag about, kid." The medic looked at Phil. "He has a concussion…"

"A minor one," Clint cut in, but the medic went on as if he hadn't spoken.

"A fairly serious one. He's got cuts and bruises all over his hands, arms, and back and the start of an impressive bruise on one shoulder."

"Nothing's broken, though," Clint added, as if that made the laundry list of injuries somehow less significant.

"Possibly fractured cheekbone," the medic tacked on, arching a challenging eyebrow when Clint glared at him.

"Kid, you're going to the hospital." Phil put an end to the standoff.

"But – "

"For my sake, okay?"

Clint's shoulders sagged, the fight going out of him.

"But I need to wait with Natasha."

Phil looked over at the redhead for the first time, watching her linger near the ambulance, the blanket tight around her shoulders. Her eyes were on Clint but shifted to Phil when she noticed his attention.

"She can come with us," Phil decided. "The police can talk to her at the hospital."

Clint's posture wilted even further.

"Okay, kiddo, I'm pulling rank," the medic stated suddenly, drawing Phil's attention away from Romanoff and back to Clint. The medic stepped up to Clint's side and steered the teen back towards the ambulance. Phil trailed behind them, noticing Clint's face had paled several shades.

"Is he okay?" Natasha demanded, green eyes wide as the medic bodily lifted Clint onto the gurney sitting next to the ambulance, ignoring the teen's half-hearted protest.

"He will be," the medic promised, eyes sincere. Then he turned his full attention to getting Clint strapped down.

Phil watched Romanoff hover nervously, fingers white around the edges of the blanket.

They both watched as the medic loaded the gurney into the ambulance with practiced ease.

Phil gently touched her shoulder.

"How about you stick with us, kiddo," he suggested softly.

Her eyes welled briefly before she blinked and straightened her shoulders with a nod. Phil urged her up into the ambulance and climbed in after her, reaching for Clint's hand as the door shut behind them.

Two weeks later…

"So what kind of clout do you have to have to get an entire tournament rescheduled for you?" Tony wondered as he tossed some popcorn in his mouth and pushed his sunglasses further up his nose.

"Uh, the 'broke up an international human trafficking ring' kind," Bruce replied, brushing chip crumbs off the large purple 'R' on his t-shirt.

"Having a federal agent plead the case probably didn't hurt," Steve added, glancing down at his shirt, checking that the large purple block letter 'B' was still as it should be.

"I think Fury being a sponsor of the event probably helped more," Tony put in, lighting up when Thor climbed the bleacher stairs bearing arms full of various snacks and drinks. "Share the wealth, buddy!"

As Thor cheerfully handed out snacks, the large 'A' became apparent on his t-shirt.

"Stand here," Steve instructed, pulling Thor to stand between him and Bruce.

Tony shrugged out of his Bouclier hoodie and proudly straightened the wrinkles out of his own t-shirt and the 'T' that adorned it.

"Sorry we're late!" Phil greeted as he followed Natasha up the bleacher stairs. "He forgot his favorite arm guard and Nat and I went back for it, then it took forever for me to find a spot to park."

Natasha, bright red hair tied up in a messy ponytail, quickly shed her jacket and straightened her t-shirt, the purple 'O' glinting in the sun.

"Jacket off, Mr. Coulson!" Steve instructed. "Without you, we're just 'Barto!'"

Phil obediently shed his jacket and draped it over the bleachers, revealing the 'N' emblazoned on his shirt.

"Is it inappropriate to do a chant at an archery tournament?" Steve wondered worriedly.

"Who cares!" Tony rolled his eyes, laughing as Thor cupped his hands around his mouth and started yelling in his booming voice.

"Let's go Bar-ton!"

Which he followed with five timed claps.

The rest of the Barton cheering section quickly joined in.

They were quieted a short time later by security, but even the threat of expulsion couldn't keep them silent when Clint took first place in the tournament, breaking his personal, the district's, the county's, and the state's long-range bullseye record all at the same time.

Getting escorted out by security was worth it, even for Phil, when he caught the look on Clint's face across the tournament field when the teen realized what all the screaming was about. He'd get escorted out of every archery tournament for the rest of his life if it meant he got to see the quiet smile hidden beneath an eye-roll again.

And there we have it! At long-last the High School AU is complete!

I'm finally feeling the writing bug again - any AU requests? Hit me with them and let's see if anything strikes my fancy!

Later, gators!