Son of the Archer - SevvyForLife - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

Chapter Text

Clint Barton was a simple man of simple desires. He was an archer who wanted a durable and accurate bow and enough arrows for him to shoot. And of those Arrows happened to electrocute, freeze or blow up things, then so be it.

Sure he may have been in the circus and became a government agent under a one eyed pirate but he still considered himself a simple man. He took time outside his missions to enjoy movies, music, and even dating when time allowed.

Though his work seemed to want to hinder that.

His new boss, Fury, had sent him on a mission to England. He never did like England. Too proper and too hard to understand. And way too strange. Especially when he tried to get a new battery for his dying hearing aid.

He grumbled as he somehow got lost in a little village with not a phone or computer, or hell, electric device of any kind in sight. People were dressed in bizarre Renaissance fair clothing that made him feel uncomfortable just staring at them. Itchy plain annoying material.

And he thought living in the circus was weird.

With all the tourist attractions and junk, he wondered why he had never heard of this crazy little place in the first place. Racing brooms, collapsible couldrens, and dragon liver? And what the hell were galleons, knuts, and sickles? Barmy individuals they were.

Especially with their paranoid reactions. He knew they were whispering about him as if he were a fungus. Some in fear, others in disgust, a few in the worst of all, pity. He had a bit of an idea why they were talking, he was carrying a large narrow bag on his back carrying around fifteen arrows and an emergency collapsible bow. That didn't stop the irritation from the whispers his dying hearing aid couldn't pick up.

He grumbled to himself as he made his way down the cobblestone road to find something he could use to contact Fury and get the hell out. The shopping area seemed to grow colder as he made his way through. He would rather be on the roof tops but there was no cover.

Bitterly, he decided he would never step foot in England again, Fury be damned. He was drawn from his internal cursing of England when he heard something interesting.

"We should just kill it. Blood trailer spawn-"

"He has not been tainted by that mudblood loving family. He will grow as a pure blood should."

"Not worth the trouble. The ministry search for the brat. Just let me kill it now. We can send them the body for giggles!"

Clint's body tensed. He wasn't the best at hearing, despite the hearing aid. But he could tell that whoever was talking had someone, five or younger, male, and from the sounds of it, they were either kidnappers or murderers. Or both. Probably both.

He narrowed his eyes and darted between buildings trying to find the speakers. He lightly glided through the alleys. Their voices cut out suddenly. He tapped his hearing aid trying to get the dumb thing to work. Unfortunately, it seemed his battery had just given out on him. He was going in deaf.

He could have left. He could have just found a phone and called Fury for pick up even if he couldn't hear the bald man. He had already completed his mission.

But the words lingered in his mind festering like an infected wound. Someone's life was on the line. And it was someone who not only couldn't defend themselves, but who couldn't hurt anyone.

He wasn't going to stand by and let that happen.

He glanced around searching for any possible witnesses. Seeing none, he scaled the building and effortlessly made his way to the roof. He was actually relieved that the buildings were as close as they were, giving him plenty of room to work from as he jumped from roof to roof avoiding civilian views.

Even if he was almost spotted by some bizarre man who had a broom between his legs. Seriously, what was he going to do? Fly with it? English people really were barmy. But Barmy or not he did look up right when Clint was about to jump. Clint fell on his face just short of actually jumping the roof he was on to hide. The man didn't notice. Clint would have continued if the man would just stop staring up around the roof. Groaning in irritation, he turned his head to look over the other buildings.

His heart fell. About two streets over, the shopping area seemed to stop. Buildings encircling the area to keep people from entering a wooded area. A wooded area where two adults were walking, arguing with each other if their body language was anything to go by, carrying a large blanket that looked suspiciously like a small body. They were moving quickly away from any building and in the opposite direction of where he had been. He was more than certain he had found his target.

He began jumping from roof to roof, away from the broom man and after the blanket holders. It was an effortless journey keeping the two in his sight. At least for a young government trained spy such as himself.

Slipping from roof tops to tree branches. He noticed the odd clothing was even stranger than the other people. Like crazy Halloween costumes. Crazy psycho people. Crazy psycho kidnapper killers. One man, one woman. The woman had thick, dark, and curly hair. The man wore a hood, indistinguishable, and carrying the reached into his bag and pulled out his collapsible bow and an arrow. It would take about ten seconds for him to draw another arrow from his bag. He didn't know anything about these two, but he'd have to be quick.

He could see the two continuing to argue though he couldn't tell what they were saying. He hated not being able to hear what they were saying. But if he had to guess, the woman wanted to kill the child. The man wanted to raise him. Neither seemed to like the other.

If he wanted to save the child...

He aimed his bow and let his arrow fly. Even before impact, he reached back to secure another arrow. The arrow pierced through the woman's back near her spine. She fell over in pain and her companion turned trying to pull something from his pocket, dropping the blanket. Clint released his arrow as the man pulled out a stick. Clint wasn't sure what he was going to do with a stick, but he knew he couldn't do anything with an arrow piercing through his eye and damaging the brain. Well, killing the man. The woman seemed to shriek in pain and rage. Her face turned enough that he could see her mouth move.

"Damn it Yaxley! Couldn't let me just kill the brat!" Clint read her lips as he assumed she screamed. Clint readied another arrow. She stood up clutching the area of her injury, her other hand on a nearby tree. She leaned part of her shoulder on the tree to lessen the weight on her feet. She pulled a similar stick from her sleeve pointing it frantically at the trees. In her rage she reached for the blanket, quite possibly to use the kid as a human shield. Clint fired another arrow.

The arrow pierced her shoulder pinning her to the tree. She screeched in more rage cursing people he didn't know. Cops perhaps. Or were they called bobbies? Whatever.

He jumped between the branched to her tree as she struggled to free herself, tearing muscle all the while no doubt. He jumped from one of the lower branches to the ground. In a swift motion, he hit her neck knocking her out. She fell limp, only held up by Clint's arrow. Her injuries still bleeding, but sluggishly with the arrows holding their positions.

Clint stared at the woman. He could kill her. He killed the other man. And he didn't want to even kill the kid. A whine broke him from his thoughts. He turned his head to the blanket to see it moving. He darted over to the blanket, knowing the woman wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. He gently scooped the body from the ground, unwrapping the head.

Short, fuzzy red hair treated him with droopy blue eyes. Facial baby fat was easily seen in his pale cheeks. Tears filled his eyes as he reached out to Clint.

"Dada," he mumbled. Clint felt his heart warm. Ah, the little guy thought he was his dad...

Wait... He thought he was his dad?

"You can't tell the difference between me and your daddy can you little guy?" he asked knowing he wouldn't get an answer. The little guy just gave a baby smile, with little white teeth starting to peak out of his gums. Clint smiled back at the little guy. He grimaced though as his hearing aid decided to try and flicker back on.

"Well let's go find your-"

"Damn it!"

"They're over here!"

Clint instinctively brought the child close to his chest as the battery died possibly for good. He had a choice. He could kill the woman and risk capture... Or leave her alive and take the young boy to safety. He was running before he could give any more thought. Tearing through the forest, he did not dare slip back into the shopping area. He was sure that whoever the kidnappers were with would search there first. So he traveled through the forest. All the while, the boy grabbed his shirt and repeated dada over and over again. Clint could feel his hand tighten and his breath keep the gentle repetitiveness of the word.

It took hours to reach a familiar location. A safe house purchased under the name Phil Coulson, an agent of SHIELD, on the outskirts of the pain in the butt city of London. He sighed in relief entering the building. Anything and everything was carried in there, including batteries. No more flickering in and out of conversations. He carried the kid over to the couch, before deciding it was better to carry him. How old did a kid have to be before they didn't need cribs?

Not that he was going to keep him of course! The baby had parents somewhere... Probably... No for sure!

But maybe he was all alone...

Oh no. He was getting attached to the little guy.

With this worrying thought, he frantically searched the house for batteries, keeping the kid comfortable sleeping against his chest. He nearly jumped with joy when he found them in a drawer in the kitchen area. Still holding the sleepy child, he removed his hearing aid and began to replace his worn battery. He was able to place the hearing aid back to it's proper place in time to hear whimpering from the baby.

"Aw, what's a matter little guy? Are you hungry?" He asked. The baby whined some more and then smiled. Clint blinked at the sudden change. But he wasn't confused for long and started to gag, much to the delight of the baby. Oh god, and he thought the monkey poop was bad. Well, it still was. And they were throwers. But this little guy had something fierce.

He knew he had to change him, but there was no way that there would be changing supplies in a safe house for super spies. Still, he was a spy. He'd make do.

_°•°•°_

"Do I want to know?" Fury questioned rubbing his good eye. It had taken three days for Clint to return to America. Fury hadn't asked then, but now he wished he had.

"Kid was going to be killed."

"And you couldn't find his parents? Why do I not believe that?"

"Director Fury, I searched for missing children information. Not one looks like him."

"Then you want to keep him?" Fury questioned raising a brow. Clint stiffened.

"I want to find his parents."

"And what if they are missing? If they're dead? He's a British citizen Barton."

"That's just it. I couldn't find anything."

"And you want us to."

"You have connections. And this little fella deserves to grow up with his family."

Fury groaned.

"Fine. We'll have agents look into you little... Fella's family. Until then he needs a name."

"What?"

"You can't expect me to put fella on his birth certificate do you?"

"He can't have an American birth certificate! He's British!"

"It's just so we don't have other agencies breathing down our necks. Besides, as of right now he's an illegal alien. Giving him an identity here will keep him safe as a U.S. citizen."

Clint thought for a moment before answering.

"Jeremy. Jeremy Archer.

"Fine. Jeremy Archer Barton it is."

"Wait!? My last name?!"

"You found him. He looks somewhat like you. And he calls you dad. Either you play dad, or the kid is sent back to England to their government."

Clint didn't argue with Fury. Though a little irked his basic life with basic wants had been completely wrecked, it was all for the little boy who was apparently targeted by killers.

Chapter 2: Chap i

Chapter Text

Clint carried the newly dubbed Jeremy into his small living quarters on the SHEILD Helicarrier. It was dark, minimal light for hiding, a small mini fridge and a microwave along with a bed and television. Essentially, a man cave.

"Well, looks like I need to make some changes Huh Jer?"

"No." The toddler stated with a pout. Clint chuckled at the litte guy. Fury had estimated Jeremy was about a year and half with how he was saying basic words. And seemed to understand them. Perhaps he was in an environment with other loud people who would ignore him? Or maybe Clint was looking to deep into it.

"No Huh? But you need a place to sleep. Thank god Coulson is getting a crib for you."

The blue eyed tot blinked at him in confusion.

"You have no idea what I'm saying do you?"

"No."

"That's what I thought Jerry."

"No-o," the tot whined.

"What?"

Clint awaited an answer before remembering he was talking to a very young toddler. One who had only said dada, no and baby gibberish. Was it normal for kids this young to be talking? He had seen two year olds able to communicate with their parents with a variety of words. But how was he supposed to know how old this kid was?

Was he a small almost two year old? Actually that would make a lot of sense. Especially if he was living near that dingy England area that felt trapped in the past. Heck, if not for the candy and ice cream there, he would assume he traveled back in time.

"Alright, moving on... Kids like movies," he said sitting down with the tot on his lap. Clint didn't hesitate to share a little secret with the kid.

All recorded on the television, were his favorite movies. And they weren't action or horror or all rated R movies. Most were kids movies. Sappy endings and romantic comedies also were peppered through the choices. But he figured there was one that would entertain his young friend.

He pressed play revealing a live action film with a blond haired protagonist living in a small home with his mother and grandparents.

"Willy Wonka is my favorite movie. I think you'll like it too," he said with a grin. Clint grinned seeing little Jeremy staring in awe at the screen. They had just gotten to the part where Charlie had told his family he had gotten a golden ticket when Jeremy started whining.

"Aw, what's a matter bud?" Clint asked. Jeremy scrunched up his face, thick alligator tears threatened to spill over as he began to cry out. Had Clint been a lesser man he would have jumped. That kid had quite the pair of lungs.

"Did you go in your pants again? Are your teeth hurting? Are you tired?" He asked.

"He's probably hungry," a voice interjected. Clint glanced at the door to his room with mild interest as he lightly bounced Jeremy. There stood Agent Maria Hill, holding bags of diapers and small jars. Probably baby food considering the diapers.

And now that Clint thought about it, the baby hadn't really eaten since he had gotten him back to the states. Was that normal? He didn't know. Instead, he focused on giving the little tyke something to eat. Maria, the prepared agent she was, already had pulled a jar and small spoon out for Clint to use. Clint gave a small smile as he began feeding the kid.

"Willy Wonka?"

"Shut it Hill. It's a good movie."

"Never said it wasn't."

"But you were thinking it."

Hill rolled her eyes.

"So what's the kid's alibi?"

"We're calling him Jeremy," Clint answered.

"No!"

"Aw c'mon Jer-"

"No!"

"You need to eat."

The tot didn't say anything and just opened his mouth. Clint blinked in confusion. He spoon fed the tot not understanding what the nos were about.

"You are an odd baby Jeremy."

"No!"

"Jeremy."

"No!"

"Does he always say no when you say Jeremy?" Maria asked with a smirk. Clint and little Jeremy looked at one another.

"Jeremy."

"No."

"Jeremy."

"No."

"Jer."

"No."

"Jerry?"

"No."

"I don't thing he likes Jeremy."

"No," the baby said. Clint groaned.

"Why did I get the kid who can't just take a name?"

"I think it's a good thing."

"Are you kidding? It's hard enough dealing with a baby. Now he can't even just use a name I give him?"

"I think he knows his name."

Clint stared at her and then back at the messy faced baby with mashed peas smeared on his cheeks. Puffing out a sigh he stared the boy in the eye.

"Daniel?"

"No."

"Tobias?"

"No."

"Levi?"

"No."

"Fred?"

"No," the red head moaned rather than stated.

"Stanley?"

"No."

"Arthur?"

"No."

"What about Ronald?" Maria interjected.

"Ron? Really? That's the best you can come up with?"

"The baby's not complaining."

"Ron."

To Clint's surprise, the little red head didn't say no.

"You like Ron?"

The little guy gave a gummy grin with little white pearls peaking out.

"Great. Now what?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I have to meet with Agent May."

With that she left the room leaving the archer agent and the baby favoring the name Ron over the name Clint had given him.

"You know I've got to tell Fury don't you?"

The baby giggled in pure delight clapping his hands. Scooping him into a comfortable hold, he left his room to alert Fury of the recent development.

_°•°•°_

"So let me get this straight, the baby told you it's name was Ron?"

"It was the only name it wouldn't say no to," Clint admitted hiding his embarrassment. Fury glared at Clint.

"You're lucky we haven't given the birth certificate to the Public Health Service."

"Thank you sir."

"Hopefully this will help us locate his family," he said effectively ending the conversation.

_°•°•°_

"You will die! You filthy Mudblood loving whor*! You will suffer like your filthy mud blood loving husband!" Bellatrix laughed pointing her wand at a young woman. The woman stood tall, slightly afraid but very angry. Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared down at the mad woman.

"No. No I won't," she spoke clearly revealing her own wand. Never had she been more thankful that Augusta was watching her son for the weekend. Granted she and her husband were going to be updating the wards, not fighting for their lives when they had made the decision.

It had been a surprise when she and her husband were attacked. Frank was unconscious as it was and Alice was sure she would have suffered the same fate had Bellatrix not been in obvious pain causing her to move more lethargically. A split second was all that saved Alice from being in the same questionable predicament as her husband. And as much as she wanted to rush over to Frank and make sure he was okay, she could not risk turning her back on the mad woman Death Eater.

Bellatrix fired a crucio as Alice summoned her patronus to protect herself. Light filled the room as a bear appeared of magic, protecting Alice from the onslaught of Bellatrix's fury. The bear plowed through Bellatrix's unforgivable curser, fueled by the joyful memory of holding Neville after being born and Frank's unbridled joy and pride on his face even as James Potter grew nervous with his own wife going into labor.

It was a wonderful day.

She watched as her patronus overwhelmed Bellatrix, making her drop her wand. She screeched as she reached for it. But Alice was faster. She grabbed the wand and without thought, snapped it into little pieces. Bellatrix screamed but the words were lost on Alice's ears as she felt grim satisfaction. The woman didn't deserve her magic. Not after what she did to her husband.

"Alice?" a familiar voice grunted. She almost cried in relief hearing a positively familiar voice.

"I-in here," she cried out feeling drained. She didn't have to worry. She held Bellatrix's broken wand in he left hand, and an old friend had come to help with the wards, was more than capable of dealing with her, "I'm in here Alastor."

Chapter 3: Chap ii

Chapter Text

Fury glared at the computer screens before him with bitter disappointment. It had been two weeks since Barton had found little "Ron". Two weeks since he had reported back about some cult group sacrificing children in England.

Two weeks, and he had no new information. Every agent in Europe had reported in and nothing.

Two weeks and Agent Barton was wrapped around the little red head's finger.

Fury scowled. They should not have this kid. But no one would claim him from the UK. And Fury wasn't so sure it was a good idea to return the kid without his family. Even if he didn't have a problem with the lack of family, there had been suspicious activity among members of parliament and the royal family lately that made him wary of what Europe was hiding. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Although it did allow him to find a Natasha Romanoff of the Red Room for recruiting.

But he didn't like that the mission wasn't safe enough to take the kid. And so, by extension, the kid had to stay behind. And of course Coulson and other agents weren't available to watch the kid. Especially since he was in an eye poking phase. He was not a goddamn babysitter.

Even as he held Ron on his hip while Clint was off recruiting Ms. Romanoff, who was repeatedly reaching his hands towards his eye patch and good eye. Bright blue eyes glistening with curiosity as a little dribble of spit bubbled from his mouth.

No, it was not cute. And no form of torture could ever get Fury to say otherwise.

Even as time went by, nothing could ever be proven. Just like no one quite knew how Barton was able to successfully recruit agent Romanoff.

_°•°•°_

Alice mourned silently as she held her young son Neville in her arms. Her hand laced with her husband who lay unconscious in St Mungos. A letter had already been sent to his mother Augusta. Though she was lucky to have escaped with a clean bill of health, she wished she could have done more for Frank.

He wasn't nearly as well. He had taken to muttering to himself, seeing things that weren't there. Not even acknowledging her, his mother or even Neville.

She hoped that he would recover soon. Though the doctor seemed to think otherwise, she could tell Neville was missing his daddy, just like she was missing her husband.

Augusta was especially agitated. Having Frank, her only son in St. Mungos for who knows how long while her daughter in-law had been relatively unharmed... Well, the woman was as cunning as any Slytherin with the verbal tongue lashing she gave under the pretense of grieving.

That woman was practically a viper with her choice of words. Alice was just lucky Neville was too young to even remember such language from his grandmother.

_°•°•°_

"So this is your quarters," Clint stated giving Natasha a tour of where she would be staying until fully enlisted.

"And where will you be?" she questioned rather bluntly taking Clint by surprise.

"What? That was rather blunt Ms. Master Assassin," Clint joked. Natasha held a steely glare. Clint would have rolled his eyes if he knew that she wouldn't kill him. But he didn't know this assassin/spy very well so he wouldn't go all out in aggravating her.

"If we're going to be working together, I'd rather know where you are."

Not partner. Not ally. Her wording made it very clear that she expected only professional relationships here in SHIELD. Well, Clint could live with that.

"I don't think so. I think I'll wait to tell," he responded. Her face gave no indication of her reaction. Instead, she entered her room quietly and shut the door. Clint chuckled to himself, and with a spring in his step, made his way to his own quarters. He was more than certain Fury would be there waiting with little Ronniekins on his lap.

Unless his parents were found of course. Actually, now that he thought about it, with SHIELD's resources, Ron was probably already reunited with his family. No it did not make him teary eyed at the thought. Nor did he think about maybe looking into SHIELD files and learning his address so he could visit.

With less spring in his step he made his way to his room. His footfall echoed throughout the empty halls of the steel enclosure. Ready to walk into his little room with Fury no doubt waiting to get his report on meeting and recruiting the red haired man killer.

Entering his room, he had to fight a smile blooming on his face when he saw Fury sitting on the end of his bed, stoic expression and steely gaze, bouncing a giggly red haired blue eyed baby.

"Director Fury," Clint stated with an amused tone peaking through his voice. Fury's eye narrowed at Clint's amusem*nt. Little Ron laughed at the otherwise would be tense environment. Clint walked over to Fury and took Ron from him and placed him comfortably on his hip. Ron reached his hand out towards Clint's ear poking and grabbing at his hearing aid with wide and curious eyes.

"I expect to have your report thing in the morning," Fury grumbled standing up. Clint had an amused expression.

"Going soft?" Clint joked.

"Giving you time to watch your ward."

"Mine? You didn't find his family?"

"No child with his description and assumed age was reported missing. No family was alerted to the police about suspicious activities that failed into the category of "Ron" missing. No birth records match his foot print."

"So he doesn't exist."

"Not according to the British government."

"So, that makes him a little American now huh?"

"And your responsibility."

Clint couldn't hide his smile even after Fury left the room.

"Looks like we're going to be together for a long time little Archer," he murmured to the overly happy tot.

However Clint didn't know how long. He asumed that Fury would eventually find a relative.

But five years of waiting, and they knew as much as they did when Clint first saved him. As it was, Ron seemed to be a happy six year old boy who just graduated kindergarten in a New York school under his American given name. Though given his lack of prior identity Clint had created a sob story about a belated wife who had passed a year after Ron was born to cancer.

Given he was probably a year and a half when they found him, Agent Romanoff offered to share her birthdate with the younger red head. So he celebrated on April second, alongside the independent woman of an agent. Or Auntie Tasha as he liked to call her. Just like all the other agents he had grown up around, he had called then his Aunt and Uncles.

The best in Clint's opinion was Fury's name. Seeing rookie agents freak out when Ron ran up and latched onto Fury's leg and called him Uncle Nicky. This was one of those days.

"But Uncle Nicky, why can't I go with daddy to see the arch-ree range?"

"You're too young to be shooting things. And too old to be latched onto my leg," Fury stated continuing to walk with a smiling red haired boy on his leg. God only knows how he could look intimidating with the koala like red head on his leg. Or how many times Ron had latched onto him for him to be able to make the walk completely normal.

Life had been as normal as could be considering that he was growing up next within a government agency.

Chapter 4: Chap iii

Chapter Text

A day above in the SHIELD Helicarrier was surprisingly more normal than one would think. Scientists in labs, assistants and agents walking the halls, assassins practicing their techniques and poster leaders creating idealistic illusions and covers to feed to the common minded sheep of the populace. But alas, normalcy was just too boring it seemed.

At least, that's what went through Fury's mind when he saw Fitz and Simmons searching frantically for the wayward ward of the Helicarrier. That in and of itself wouldn't be too strange, the little red head had taken after Clint with his fascination with traveling through the air ducts, as well as Natasha and Coulson with his sneaky little running off habit while being able to convince everyone that they were crazy for thinking he was going to run off before running off all together. Really sneaky little sh*t.

While Fury was being roped into helping find the little British born terror, Ron was looking at some of the jets aboard the ship. Hiding among the equipment, not one agent noticed he was there. He kept glancing at the jets trying to find the one his daddy often used. He missed him a lot.

He knew his daddy was busy working for Uncle Fury protecting people. But he still missed him lots. He wished his daddy was around more. There was just something special about a daddy that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Kind of like when he was with Auntie Tasha, but not like when he was with Uncle Nicky or Uncle Phil.

He hiccuped, holding back tears. He was a big boy. Six years old and raised among the smartest government agents he knew. He would not cry.

He just really wanted his daddy to hug and know he wasn't coming home with boo boos. Pulling himself into a ball, he felt an odd tickle in his tummy. His stomach began to twist and turn uncomfortably and his vision contorted blurring his world. He closed his eyes feeling pressure all over his body. His ears popped and the funny feeling disappeared.

"Holy sh*t!" an all too familiar voice cried out in surprise. Ron's eyes popped open to see he wasn't in the hanger, but in his daddy's quarters. He was sitting on his daddy's bed, and standing in front of him smelling kind of stinky and looking grungy and tired.

"Daddy!" Ron cried out jumping off the bed and tackling Clint, holding him in a hug despite the terrible sweaty smell. Clint stared down at Ron, then wrapped his arms around him.

Clint was baffled, knowing that Ron was not in the room when he entered. And yet appearing out of thin air on his own bed of all places. Thoughts ran rampant in his head both in awe and concern. Awe from the what he had just seen. Concern from what he had seen others react.

He didn't say anything, he just kneeled down pulling his son into a closer hug. He kissed his temple in a rare show of touchy-feely affection.

"Daddy? How'd I get here?" Ron then questioned. Clint didn't say anything at first. He had to pick his words carefully.

"Ron, you know you are my special little boy."

"Yes daddy. You and Uncle Fury say so often."

Clint chuckled at Ron's innocence.

"We do don't we?"

"Uh huh."

"Well it's true. And it's not just that you're on a flying ship either," he stated in a positive tone.

"Is it cause I like to crawl in your air vents?" Ron questioned.

"No. It's not that. Ron, do you remember when I went on a mission a few months ago with Mr. Howlett?"

"Who?"

Clint sighed trying of a way to describe the short, angry, hairy man without giving Ron fuel for bad name making that would bite him in the butt later.

"The man who had the growly voice?"

"Oh! The Wolfy-man!"

Clint held back a laugh.

"That's right. Wolverine."

"What 'bout him?"

"Well he's special too."

"How?"

"Well he... Well he can grow claws."

"Claws?!"

"Uh huh."

"Can I grow claws too?!" he asked excitedly.

"No."

"Oh."

"But, I think you can teleport."

Ron gasped with surprise painted on his face. Confusion blossomed on his face after a moment, "What's teleport?"

"It's when you are one place, and then you appear somewhere completely different."

"Like popping out of vents?"

"Kind of. Except, you don't need the vents-"

"But I like the vents!"

Oh this was going to take a while.

_°•°•°_

Natasha was surprised when she came to alert Clint in which that trained agents had lost his son again, only to find Ron sitting on Clint's bed with a very serious expression on his face.

"Clint. Ron."

Both boys turned to the Black Widow, Ron a little more reserved than his usual exuberant greeting. His brow furrowed in a foreign expression.

"Auntie Tasha? Am I a mutant?"

Natasha glared at Clint. Clint sent her a look back.

"Ronnie here teleported into my room today," he explained in an even tone. Natasha's eyes widened ever so slightly and looked back at Ron.

"I'm surprised too Auntie Tasha. One minute, I was looking for daddy's plane, the next, I'm here with daddy."

"I see," she stated noting in the back of her mind his new found quirk of reading faces. She was going to hurt Coulson for teaching him how to read faces. He should not be reading her face to tell when she was concerned or feeling a threatened emotion.

"We are going to talk to Fury about seeing Professor Xavier this Saturday. To see if he really does have the X-gene."

A silent message was sent between their eyes. After being with SHIELD for a year, she had met Clint's Ward, and a week later she had figured out that despite similarities, Ron was not related to Agent Clint Barton. If he didn't have an X-gene, then it could be a clue as to who his biological parents were.

Chapter 5: Chap iv

Chapter Text

"I'm telling you, there is no one aboard your ship that has the X-gene that we didn't know previously," Professor Charles Xavier restated to Nick Fury.

"Thank you for your time Professor."

"Despite that," Professor Xavier continued, "I hope to meet this youth."

"I'll discuss it with his father," Fury answered diplomatically. Despite having decent relations with the man, the government was not open pro mutant protection. He could not directly be his ally. Nor Xavier his. But Clint was an agent. He could act in the best interest of his Ward.

Xavier nodded in acknowledgement before closing the video connection. Fury was left alone with his thoughts. By his line of work, he should tell the World Security Counsel. But there was something about the way they ran things that made him hold his tongue about the young boy's odd non repeated ability.

It had been three weeks since he had been alerted of the odd occurrence of popping into Clint's quarters and seen the footage of him vanishing from the hanger. Since then, there had been nothing.

_°•°•°_

"Uncle Phil? Why's Auntie Tasha 'ttacking daddy?"

"She's not attacking him Ro-"

"But she kicked him in his no-no spot."

Coulson did his best not to cringe seeing Clint fall to the floor clutching his family jewels while Natasha smirked above him. Ron co*cked his head to the side curiously, half-debating if he should laugh or not.

"Did you really have to do that?! I thought we agreed not below the belt?!" Clint wheezed. Natasha merely smirked at the fallen archer. She held out her hand in what appeared to be a gesture to help him up. He gave her a look and swatted her hand away. She crossed her arms bemused as he slowly stood up, standing with his legs as close together as he could get them without hurting his abused manhood.

He gave Ron a comforting smile as he waddled over to him outside of the sparring room.

"You okay daddy?"

"No Ronnie. Your Aunt Tasha cheats."

Ron's jaw dropped as he stared at his self proclaimed Aunt.

"Auntie Tasha. Why'd you cheat?"

"It's not cheating. It's proving a point," she vaguely explained.

"But you hit his no-no spot."

Natasha smirked at Clint.

"No-no spot?"

"Oh please, like you have a better way to explain it," Clint grumbled. Natasha raised a brow. She walked over to Ron and looked him in his eyes.

"I kicked your daddy between his legs and it hit his private parts. Private parts are sensitive. So when I kicked him it hurt a lot. Never let anyone touch you there. Make sure you strike first. And you strike hard."

Ron's face lit up.

"Okay Auntie Tasha!"

"Stop corrupting my son," Not bothering to tell Rin otherwise.

"I'm not corrupting him. I'm teaching him."

"Yeah, to kick me in the cr- no no spot."

Phil chuckled and gestured toward Ron to come over to his side while Natasha and Clint started to argue about teaching Ron self defense or fighting. Ron watched as they started Sparing again. He didn't like the way they seemed to be right back into fighting after his daddy had already been hurt in his no-no spot. He wanted them to not hurt each other.

When his Aunt Tasha threw a punch to his Clint's face, something spectacularly strange happened. Her leather gloves disappeared and were replaced with large feathery pillows. Upon contact with Clint's face, small feathers burst from the fluffy mass. Both stopped their attacks and starred at the pillows on Natasha's hands.

Everyone stared in confusion. Each questioning where the pillow came from.

"Did it hurt daddy?" Ron finally piped up breaking the silence. The adults turned their focus to him.

"Uh, no. Ron did you... Did you do that?"

"No. I don' know what happened. But you're not hurt so I'm happy."

Clint smiled at his Ward.

"Yeah bud. I'm fine."

_°•°•°_

"Fred and George, it's not going to move. It hasn't moved in months," Charlie softly stated.

"But Charlie-"

"Come on guys. Percy needs to get his school supplies."

"But he's got all summer," Fred whined.

"And we want to be here when it changes," George added.

Charlie turned his head from the twins to a clock in their living that didn't have numbers like a regular clock, but locations. And the hands were faces of the Weasley family. From Arthur and Molly to little Ginny Weasley. All were up to date in appearance except for one silver hand. It was a baby that's hand seemed to be stuck on traveling.

It never seemed to move except for the occasional move to lost or "dentist" whatever that was. Fred and George liked to spend time in the room planning pranks goofing off and imagining what their little brother was off doing. Since he wasn't in mortal peril, Fred and George liked to imagine he was going all over the country finding all the cool hiding places and would come home in their dad's arms, with lots of funny stories of where he had been.

It was better to think of that than to imagine who had kidnapped him raising him as a death eater's child. It wasn't much of a secret considering Moody had been involved with the case from the beginning and never bothered to hide or sugar coat it for them.

_°•°•°_

"What do you mean your gloves turned into pillows?" Fitz questioned.

"Just what I said. My gloves were turned into pillows," she stated showing her once gloves and now pillows. Simmons arched a brow and took a closer look at the pillows.

"You know this is highly unorthodox right?"

"Obviously."

"This is incredible. The footage shows it happened. But there is nothing to contest these pillows were even gloves."

"How did this even happen?"

"We believe that Ron made Agent Romanoff's gloves change with his emotions," Coulson stated. Fitzsimmons both looked at Phil like he had grown another head, "He was concerned that Agent Barton was going to get hurt after a rather aggressive spar between him and Agent Romanoff. When she went to hit him, her gloves were replaced by pillows."

"You know when I learned Clint had gotten himself a kid, I was expecting more sticky surfaces, drawing on the walls and hissy fits. Not teleporting and pillow making," Agent Simmons joked

Chapter 6: Chap v

Chapter Text

"Daddy?"

"Yeah Ron?"

"When can I learn to use your bow?"

Clint glanced down at his charge. He thought he still had a year or two before he asked about learning to use his weapon and God forbid, Natasha's guns.

"Your still a little too small to use my bow bud," Clint answered. Ron pouted clearly not pleased with the answer. Clint ruffled his bright red hair much to Ron's annoyance. Ron's hair wasn't messy though. His hair seemed to lay straight rather than frizz or be unmanageable. A useful little quirk. At least with everyday brushing. That little detail still hadn't brought them any closer to finding Ron's birth family. Not that Ron knew per say... He was just aware that he didn't have a mom. It was practically killing Clint that one day he'd have to tell Ron that he wasn't his dad.

And with that Ron wouldn't call him daddy anymore. And that just didn't sit right in his gut.

The job came first, he had to keep reminding himself. But for years he had been raising the hyper little red head. And he was having a hard time thinking of letting him go. But until then, he'd enjoy raising him every step of the way.

And one of those steps was tickling him senseless. With a toothy grin, he grabbed his pouting boy and began tickling his sides mercilessly making him shriek. His laughter bubbling out from him as he tried to push the archer's hands away. He fell to the floor as he tried kicking in a playful attempt to get Clint to stop. Clint only smirked as he continued to tickle him senseless.

When Ron's face was flushed a deep red, Clint relented smirking as Ron gasped, small bursts of giggles sprang out as his lungs took in air they desperately wanted. He tried to glare at Clint, but his giggles didn't help the glare, nor his youth. In fact Clint chuckled at the pout. He pulled Ron off the ground and ruffled his hair again. Ron groaned but didn't complain. A small smile remained on Ron's face despite wanting to be upset with Clint.

"Aw c'mon Ron. How 'bout we go out tonight and get some fried chicken?"

Ron's grin grew wide at the prospect before turning into a confused frown.

"But won't Auntie Tasha be mad at us?"

Clint scoffed.

"She's your Aunt. Not your mom. So who are you going to listen to? Me? Or Tash?"

"Auntie Tasha. She said that you give me bad ideas."

Clint blinked. An assassin saying that he gave bad ideas. Well that was certainly a first.

"Well, I say we deserve some good ol' fried chicken."

_°•°•°_

Ron frowned when his dad was called away from their greasy dinner. He knew his daddy had work but it didn't mean he liked it. He wanted to at least have dinner with him. He tried not to pout when his dad grabbed his tools and left the room, putting it under lockdown for the night. Like he did every night he had to leave him alone.

With a click of the door Ron was left alone. At least for a little bit. Today was Tuesday so that meant that Uncle Phil would come to the room unless he was busy. If he was busy then Auntie Maria would come in. And if they were both busy Uncle Nicky would come in. And if they were all busy, he'd get Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons. He didn't know why but everyone called them Fitzsimmons so he did too. And it took about, ten minutes for someone to get there.

With this knowledge and youthful curiosity, he made his way to the door. He had seen his dad take down the lockdown before, in the mornings when he woke him up. He said "Archer Barton in the quiver."

Ron wondered if he could do it too. Staring at the door he said the phrase in his own cute voice. When the door did nothing, he kept trying, slowly sounding more and more like his dad. His eyes widened when the door opened and there was no agent waiting on the other side. With an impish grin, he darted from the room, running down the halls to the big screen room his Uncle Nicky liked to use to explain things. He was sure that was where his dad was.

As he made his way through familiar halls, he hid from unfamiliar agents walking through by ducking into his daddy's air vents. He smiled as they walked by, unaware of his presence. He recalled his Auntie Tasha explaining to him that all good spies could detect hiding little boys whenever she played hide and seek with him. Apparently they weren't as good as his Auntie Tasha. He nearly giggled at the thought. No one as good as his Aunt Tasha. Cept maybe his daddy when Auntie didn't hit him in his no-no spot.

Once the agent's passed, he slipped out of the vent, continuing to travel on foot. He skipped past all sorts of people talking in the hall ways. Mostly nonsense until he heard two agents having a very odd conversation.

"You're kidding. There is no way in hell that son of a bitch has a kid."

"It's true. Heard Fitzsimmons talking about the brat 'bout an hour ago. I heard from some of the higher ups he stole him. Course, apparently you need level eight clearance."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Circus bastard probably steals anything he can get his hands on. And Fury's only covering his ass for underground connections."

"Ain't that the truth. Can't trust any of those circus freaks."

Ron may not have understood many of those words, but he was familiar with freak. That was a mean word. It was a mean name. Freaky was fine if it wasn't a person but freak was bad. And what did them mean by a kid? Was there another kid on the ship he didn't know about?

He didn't say anything though. He remembered what his Aunt Tasha told him about talking to strangers. But as he continued through the halls, their words echoed through his mind clearly. Their tone, inflection, and their pitch echoed mercilessly in his head. Even as he tried to push it to the back of his mind, it still seemed to bother him.

It continued to nag even when he slipped into the screen room where his dad stood stiff straight listening to Uncle Fury's orders.

Ron would have snuck up behind his dad and surprised him with a jump on his back, but his impulsive young mind instead blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Can't trust any of those circus freaks," he said, mirroring the tone, pitch and inflection used by the man in the hall. Clint's head whipped toward Ron, a look of shock came and quickly dispersed from his face.

"Ron?"

"Daddy?"

"C'mere. Aren't you supposed to be in the room?"

"Wanted to be with you," he muttered walking over. Clint kneeled down, Fury watched from the screen,mild curiosity apparent in his face.

"I know squirt. But I locked the room. And the vents. How did you get out?"

"I used your password."

"My password?"

"Archer Barton in the quiver," he stated sounding eerily like his father. Fury's eye narrowed.

"Ron, that was really impressive," Clint admitted, "Who taught you how to do it?"

Clint would ask about the circus freak comment later. He had a more pressing matter to figure out who has been teaching his boy spy techniques.

"I don't think anybody. I just wanted to see if I could get out of the room like you could."

"Alright," Clint accepted. Ron wasn't exactly normal anyway, be it raised or natural. And perhaps his mimicry just came from years of being raised with spies. Still, he had never heard a mimic quite as spot on as Ron.

"Now tell me, where did you hear that comment you said earlier."

"About the circus freak?"

"Yeah. About the freak," Clint answered somewhat distantly.

"Two guys were talking 'bout someone from the circus stealing a kid and working here. Daddy? Is it true? Is there another kid?"

Clint was going to murder someone. Oh this wasn't going to be easy.

"Uh, no Ron-"

"So they lied? There is no kid stolen by a circus person?"

"Ron. No one was stolen by a circus person. Someone was rescued by an ex circus person."

"Daddy?"

Clint picked up Ron and looked at Fury.

"The mission is in two days?"

"Yes. I expect you to have your alias memorized by then."

"Good."

"Daddy?" Ron asked again now getting a little nervous. The screen went dark, Uncle Nicky's face vanishing.

"Ron, remember how I promised I'd explain why you didn't have a mommy when you got older?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, the truth is, when you were little," he stalled trying to think of the best way to address the situation. Ron tilted his head curiously to the side, his blue eyes shimmering with curiosity, "When you were little... About a year old, I was off, far away in Great Britain-"

"What's that got to do with me daddy?"

Everything.

"While I was there," he continued, "I saw two people who stole someone from his family."

Ron's eyes grew wide.

"I was able to save him from whatever they were going to do, but I could never find his mom, or dad. So I brought him home with me. And raised him with love. With care. Like he was my own flesh and blood. I kept searching for his mom and dad, so he could meet them. But I haven't found them."

"Daddy-"

"That baby was you-"

"-I still love you."

Clint was silent. What?

"Like I love Auntie Tasha. And Uncle Nicky. And Uncle Phil. And Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons. They aren't your brothers and sisters so they can't really be my Aunt's and Uncles but I still like them like that. So I still love you like a daddy. As my forever daddy!"

"Forever daddy?"

"Uh huh. Cause I wanna stay with you forever."

Clint would deny that his heart melted into a puddle of warm goo with his son's declaration.

Chapter 7: Chap vi

Chapter Text

Despite learning that his daddy wasn't his birth daddy, summer went by slowly for Ron as his family kept being called on missions and he had no school to distract him from the hours they were away. His dad would work hard to make missions short, but there were times he was gone for two whole weeks.

Ron wished that instead of the weird teleporting thing he did once, he could speed up time so he could see everyone sooner. As it was, he was spending a lot of time with his Uncle Nicky. He never seemed to leave the ship for more than a day so he spent a lot of time with him. Ron wasn't quite sure why, since his Uncle Nicky was just as scary as his Auntie Tasha sometimes and loads more scary than Uncle Phil. But it was just how it was.

It was during one of these times that Nick had his first odd occurrence around Ron happen. It started out as a normal day when his daddy wasn't around. Ron received a message from his daddy saying how much he missed him and that he'd be home as soon as he could. His Uncle Nick had come in to his daddy's kitchen just when Ron was climbing on the refrigerator trying to grab a box of cereal. Uncle Nick had pulled him off the refrigerator and told him he needed to stop crawling on top of the furniture, followed by grabbing a box of Cheerios instead of Ron's favored sugary cereal Cocoa Puffs. Ron grumbled about him being a kill joy as Nick made coffee using Clint's stash of Turkish coffee.

After enjoying coffee at Clint's expense, he grabbed a puzzle from Clint's closet for Ron to work on while he did his paper work. A thousand pieces to make an archery range. And as frustrating as it was for the young red head, he wanted to finish the picture to show his daddy. It was about four hours later when he took Ron off the ship to grab lunch out. They grabbed sandwiches at a small stand, BLT for Nick Fury, and a grilled cheese for Ron. That was things went weird.

They had sat in a park on a wooden bench. A few birds had appeared and Ron had taken to feeding them small pieces of his sandwich. He was clearly amused with the birds that had gathered. Fury didn't think anything about it at first, but about a dozen birds later, he spoke up, "You're not going to have any lunch if you keep feeding those birds."

"No I'm not," Ron said defiantly showing his grilled cheese. Fury didn't say anything as he saw the sandwich had not gotten smaller since he last had seen Ron eat it. About half the sandwich remained, just as warm as before, and had been picked apart feeding countless birds. Teleporting, pillows and now grilled sandwiches.

Somehow it was bizarrely underwhelming. That was until he noticed they were being watched.

Men in various forms of clothing were watching Ron with serious, grim and curious expressions on their faces. They all kept glancing back at him and the young Barton. Normally he would brush it off as a black man being with a pale red haired boy odd, but each person held too similar expressions to be coincidence. Two in particular seemed to have a quick debate before returning their attention to them. Fury placed an arm over Ron's shoulder in a familiar fluid motion. Ron looked up at him only to notice his eyes darting over various individuals at the park. Fury stood from the bench confidently, pulling Ron into his arms. Ron wrapped his legs around Fury's waist in a familiar manner, still holding onto what remained of his lunch and taking a bite.

Fury began to walk with the same level intimidation he used when going to interrogate criminals. The people moved quickly their bodies tensing, each one keeping Fury in sight. One man in particular walked up rather casually his face appeared warm and friendly, but Fury had seen the man's exact face on Phil. One that he only used when he had to play nice with someone he didn't like.

"Hello sir. Fine day for an outing isn't it?" he asked innocently.

"I would say so," Nick stated, his eye focusing on the man in front of him while trying also to track the others in his sight. The man continued smiling as his gaze fell to Ron.

"He really enjoys that grilled cheese huh?"

"I would hope so. It's what he wanted for lunch," Fury replied somewhat humoring the man with small talk.

"Step son?"

"I don't see how it concerns you," Fury stated. The man stared into Fury's good eye. Fury felt an odd head ache grow in his head as the man continued to stare.

"So not your son... Then I truly am sorry," he said reaching into his coat for something. Fury's eye widened when he saw something thin and narrow start to appear from his coat. He used his left hand and hit a nerve on the back of his neck. The man, unprepared crumpled to the ground. The others moved quickly, their faces stony and their bodies set to fight. Nick Fury tightened his grip. Ron hid his face in Fury's shoulder. Ron's arms tightened feeling the tenseness in the air. Nick shot forward, using his years of training, he used his left arm and pulled his gun. Most of the men stopped approaching but reached into their own pockets that had a narrow bulge that sent odd alarms in Fury's mind. With the accuracy rivaling a professional marksman, he shot three consecutive bullets hitting three of their hands.

Ron whimpered as Fury pressed on. As much as he wanted to bring them in to interrogate, he didn't need Ron to see the darker side of government work yet. He didn't need to tell his dad about it either. Though he was sure that SHIELD agents would be in the park to take the men into custody.

He heard the men cursing. One of them had muttered something about a muggle? No he heard right. Clearly said muggle. He'd have to look it up later when he wasn't being threatened with one of his top agent's child.

"Locomotor Mortis!" One of the men cried out. Fury glanced back to see a fast moving steam of light traveling uncomfortably similar to a bullet. Reflexively, he jumped to the right narrowly avoiding the odd energy. Another voice cried out, Petrificus Totalus. Light shot past him as he continued running, gaining distance between their attackers. Nonsense words blurred together until he grew close to unaware civilians. Glancing back, the men had disappeared.

Ron was kept under ship arrest until Clint returned from his mission. And two weeks after that. Though it only frustrated SHIELD agents as nothing could be found. There were no video cameras in the area of the park Fury and Ron had their lunch, nor had any street cameras outside the park had footage of the men leaving. Almost like they had vanished into thin air. Just like Ron's little teleporting trick.

SHIELD kept an open file for each time something similar happened as time passed.

While time did pass, strange occurrences from grand to forgettable seemed to happen. Each member of Ron's make shift family all had their stories. Like when Ron learned how bitter coffee was and thought it needed to be sweeter, all the coffee aboard the Helicarrier turned to hot chocolate when he was eight, or when Fitz and Simmons were literally stuck at the hip for ten hours after they had an argument when Ron about two months later.

But the people kept appearing when the oddities happened on the ground. And only then.

"When are we going to find these bastards," Clint growled.

"Clint, calm down. We don't want to scare Ron," Natasha stated with an icy undertone.

"It's been years. I don't want him to get hurt by those psychos."

"Clint. We don't know if they are even connected to the two you saved him from years ago."

"What else could it be? They show up every time something odd happens, doesn't matter who's with him."

"Clint-"

"We've had to pull him out of school! These people showed up at his school! They did something to his teacher's memories remember!? They could have hurt him," he ended quietly.

Natasha didn't say anything. Out of all the sides of Clint she had been able to see over the years, his "Daddy" side. The deadly assassin with only one goal in mind, protect his son. This was side that anyone who knew Ron, knew to avoid. It could be cute when he was being paternal. But the other half, was absolutely terrifying.

Clint punched a wall in rage, "I just don't know what to do anymore."

_°•°•°_

Ron lay across his bed mildly irritated. Most children would be thrilled to be out of school. Ron hated it. He didn't have many friends before the odd things started happening. And with every odd incident, and the odd people who showed up, he was being smothered. Being eight going nine, he felt he was a big boy. Well, big enough to not be watched by a hawk.

He wanted to be able to go outside. And not just in some government sanctioned facility roped off with spies watching him. And not in Xavier's school where some of the students had tried to scare a power out of him after hearing about his teleportation and transformation incidents. He wanted to go somewhere where he wouldn't be watched like he had since he was a tot.

He wanted it more than anything at that moment. A funny feeling twinges in his stomach. His eyes widened as he recalled the last time he had felt it. His stomach gave a violent twist as he felt his body compress. With a sudden lurch, he wasn't in the bed room anymore. Rather, had been sent to a sidewalk, next to a building that was going to be torn down for a Starbucks.

Chapter 8: Chap vii

Chapter Text

Ron stared at the desolate buildings before him. Why was he here? He didn't recognize this place. He remembered places he had been, so far and few in between. Parks, food stands, occasional restaurants, and his elementary school. But never once had he seen buildings in such disarray. From the dark wood and boarded up windows, by appearance, he wanted to leave quickly and find a pay phone.

But there seemed to be something that compelled him not just to stay, but to enter the building. It was a warm buzzing feeling in his chest. Like bees making honey. He glanced around, not seeing any number of SHIELD agents watching him for once. He looked back at the worn and ragged door.

With caution, he walked up to the door, like his he had seen his Uncle Phil do when working in the practice room. With each step, the buzzing grew more excited. He almost turned around and ran, but he knew his Auntie Tasha wouldn't run away from anything weird. No, she'd investigate. When he was a mere two feet from the building, something amazing happened. The building before him seemed to fix itself.

Gone were the boards and broken glass. In were new windows with thick curtains. Out was the worn door, in was a well kept painted door with a fancy golden colored knocker. He looked around the front for any machines or projectors that would hides it's appearance. He didn't see anything. Self preservation and curiosity warred within his being, speaking in his Aunt Tasha and His daddy's voice.

Listening to his Aunt Tasha, he touched the door knob, only for the door to open for him. He jumped back in surprise as a man of Asian decent stood before him with a warm smile and shaved head.

"Hello young one, decided to come in now?"

Ron blinked in confusion. The urge to flee grew in his gut despite the warm buzzing that still existed.

"I just wanted to see if you had a phone."

The man continued to smile.

"I believe we have one inside-"

"You either do or you don't."

The man's smile didn't waver.

"We have many ways of communicating in here. It's a little hard to keep track of them all."

Ron, still wary, glanced back at the street. Few people passed, none looked very safe. Scratch that two of them were carrying knives and were not SHIELD agents or humble collectors if the bandanas on their arms were any indication. Yeah, looks a lot like one of the undercover agents who went to destroy an extremist organization.

Ron decided that he would take his chances inside. Besides, he was sure that it wasn't that big inside. And he was sure their air vents would be big enough to venture through for him to escape.

Stepping inside, he felt the man place his hand on his shoulder. Ron looked back up at him.

"I am Wong. You are?"

"Uh. Ron."

He couldn't say anything more. His eyes widened with pure shock as he saw a grand hall way filled with numerous doors that should not have been able to fit inside either the run down, or the revealed beauty of the buildings he had seen.

"A bit surprising isn't it?" Wong stated more than inquired with his smile still in place. Ron nodded, quickly noting that there wasn't any large vents like in the Helicarrier or in his old school. The walls seemed to be saturated in something incredibly foreign, and yet so welcome as his body felt a content buzz circulate as he stood.

A light pressure on his back from Wong's hand had him moving forward into the halls. He took note of each turn they made, more confused as to how something so large fit into something so small.

Left, left, right, forward, left, forward, right, and into a room with a deep blue colored door. He speechless when he entered the room to find it possibly larger than the hallways he had just been led through. Candles lit the room as one man sat with his legs crossed in the center. His face contorted with intense concentration. He wore a blue suit, and a flowing red cape. His hair neatly combed, mainly black, but with white hairs appearing in his bangs.

"A new friend Wong?" the man asked with mirth.

"He appeared to be lost. I brought him in so he could call his family."

"I see," he said standing up, "I am Doctor Strange."

"Ron. I'm-uh... Ron."

"Pleasure to meet you child."

_°•°•°_

"Ronnie? Ronnie? Look bud, I know you're mad at me. But you can't just stay in your room all day," Clint spoke through the door. He listened for any sound from the room. Ron didn't acknowledge him. No movement or scoff or sniffle. Clint leaned his head against the metal door.

"You know why we can't let you go back to school. But you've still got us. And I've talked to Tash. She agreed to start training you in self defense. How's that sound bud?"

More silence.

"Ronnie?"

Still nothing.

"Ronald? I'm coming in."

He grabbed the handle and twisted only to find it locked. Leave it to his son to not want a high tech voice- oh wait that was him. Yeah, not after the last time...

And he actually locked the door.

"Ronald Archer Barton, you open this door right now or I'm breaking it down," Clint stated with slight irritation and worry. Still no response. In a fluid motion that took about a year of practice and many more years of performing and perfecting, he kicked the door down. There was still no sound beyond the door echoing off the walls from it's violent fall to the floor. Clint glanced around the room. The bed wasn't made, but the blankets were too flat for him to be under. The closet door was open and mostly vacant from pushing most of his clothes in his dresser. The under part of his bed was filled with sliding storage units for his toys and books. And the vent screws were still in place, much too tight than if he snuck out. He wasn't in his room.

His heart began to pick up in speed. He knew Ron had gone to his room after a disagreement on if he could return to school or not. And he hadn't left according to SHIELD monitors.

"Oh sh*t."

Clint darted from the room, preparing to leave through the hanger. He tapped his watch to pull up a disgruntled Phil Coulson.

"Agent Barton? What is going on? I am in the middle of training-"

"Real life experience. Ron's missing."

"Are you sure? He is good at hiding-"

"He entered his room and unless someone taught him how to hack into the SHIELD mainframe and alter footage then he's missing," he growled. Phil arched a brow and told the new recruits something. He then turned his attention back to Clint.

"I'm guessing you're going to the hanger to use his tracker?"

"No sh*t. If Ron's teleported again, who knows where he could be. Or what trouble he could be in. Or if those men have taken him!"

_°•°•°_

"Didn't we just pass that door?" Ron asked seeing what seemed to be a duplicate door down to the soot marks on the outer edges. Strange chuckled.

"Why yes. The doors do like to move around so I'd keep close."

"How can they do that?"

"Why, the same way you found the Sanctum Sanctorum. Magic."

"There's no such thing."

"So young not to believe. Did your father tell you that?"

"No. I've seen how science looks. And it looks like magic but it isn't. I've seen people do what looks like magic. But it's just tricks. I've also seen people who have powers and they really look magical. But they just aren't."

Strange hummed in amusem*nt. He gestured his hand and a box came flying toward him. He plucked it out of the air confidently.

"And what would you classify as magic?" Strange asked. Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know."

"And how can you say it doesn't exist if you don't know what it is?"

"Because... Because..."

"Let me ask you, before you entered, did you have a strange buzzing feeling in your stomach?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because most who come here either have problems, or were born with magic."

"But how can I have magic? Wouldn't someone have noticed?"

"Ron, let me ask you something. Have something ever happened to you that science couldn't explain?"

Ron was going to say no. But then his teleporting moments, the grilled cheese, the pillow gloves, the raining raisin incident at school years ago... None of those could be explained.

"Yes," Ron admitted.

"It's that same magic that brought you here."

"Then... Then why has no one helped my dad or I?"

"Me or my dad," Strange corrected.

"Whatever!"

Strange placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"It is harder to grow up as an American magic user. With so many cultures mixing, there are many groups designed to help young minds. From voodoo, to enchanters, witches, and even sorcerers like myself."

Ron crinkled his nose in confusion.

"Why so many names?"

"We are the country of the melting pot. Each country views the training and learning of magic. And with America accepting everyone it was inevitable."

Ron blinked but accepted the man's words.

"So you are?"

"A sorcerer."

"And I would be? If I had magic that is?"

"Well, anything you want to be."

"What?"

"Your magic is young. And highly versatile. You still have time for your magic to be molded."

"I don't like the sound of that," Ron dead panned. He really hoped they'd get to a phone soon, and that he wasn't just taken in to be this psychotic's apprentice.

"Perhaps not. Aha! Here we are," Strange smiled as he opened a door. Ron blinked in more confusion as both he and Strange walked out of a building deep with in the buildings of New York at a small deli. Just outside of it was a pay phone. Ron recognized that he was nowhere near where he had teleported to. The buildings were vastly different, the buzzing in his body died out and there was a Starbucks across the street.

"You know your father's number I assume?" Ron nodded and turned to Strange. He nearly jumped when he saw the man had taken off his cape and looked much more like a business man. When had he taken off the cape?

"Magic Ron. Now, here are some quarters. Go give your father a call. Mustn't give him unneeded grey hairs hm?"

Ron nodded but kept his eyes on Strange. He took the quarters and slipped the first two into the pay phone. He punched in a number he knew too well but seldom used. He listened to the dull tone for two whole rings before the phone was picked up.

"You've gone too far you son of bitches. You're going to pay for taking my son," his dad growled quickly before his son could talk. Ron balked slightly at the words, never hearing his dad use such crude language in front of him.

"Daddy? It's me. Ron."

There was silence on the line.

"Oh god Ron. What happened? Who are you with?"

"I'm at A Street Deli. I'm with a Doctor Strange. And I had a bit of an... Incident."

"Oh goodness Ronnie. Stay right there. I'm on my way. And don't go off with this Doctor Strange anywhere."

"Okay daddy," Ron answered. He hung up the phone and walked out of the phone booth when his stomach growled. Strange chuckled as he led Ron inside the deli.

"Doctor Strange?"

"You're a growing boy. Go pick something off the menu."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Strange chuckled.

"Does a person have a reason to be nice?"

"Does a person have a reason to be mean?" Ron questioned back.

"I'm afraid not," Strange admitted.

_°•°•°_

Clint didn't know how to feel when he saw his son sitting in a booth with a dark haired man in a suit, eating a turkey sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. Forcing himself to calm down, he entered the establishment and walked over to Ron.

"Hey Ronnie," he said in a quiet and fatherly voice. Ron turned his dad with a mouthful of soup. He quickly swallowed and gave his dad a smile.

"Hey daddy."

"How are you? Were you good for Doctor Strange?" Ron read his dad's act and played along. Though it wouldn't be too hard considering that nothing bad had happened.

"He was stellar. Very curious young lad."

"I see. Thank you for your time. I am sorry to have you watch him on such short notice."

"Not a problem. I hope to see him again in the near future. He has quite a lot of potential."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"Excuse me?" he practically whispered. Strange looked Clint in the eye.

"Your son has a gift. One he has had for years, and has caused a bit of grief and amusem*nt?"

"Ron-"

"He didn't have to tell me. I can feel it roll off him in waves."

"Excuse me?"

Strange smiled at Clint before mumbling some words under his breath. Ron looked around as the voices around them sounded muddled. Clint looked around also taking note of the hearing issue. He tapped his hearing aid trying to make it work.

"Don't be alarmed. It's just easier to listen when the background noise is faded. Most of the people know people are sitting here, but do not know who is here nor what we are saying and are compelled to sit elsewhere and pay us no mind."

"More magic?" Ron asked.

"Indeed," Strange indulged Ron's inquiry.

"Magic?" Clint questioned.

"Yes. A sceptic?"

"Pft. Hardly."

"You believe in magic daddy?"

"When you grow up in a circus, you learn there is a lot more to life than science."

"I hope you don't mean alcohol."

"I mean straight up voodoo. I still remember that crazy old coot jabbing me with needles and feeling it at the worst times."

"Ah. I see. Well then it looks like I don't have to convince you that your son is very capable of learning the arts and needs a mentor."

"I'll stop you right there. My son is coming back with me Strange. I appreciate what you have done for my son today. But he is too young for any kind of that training."

"I assure you that he wouldn't be selling his soul to anyone," Strange answered calmly. Clint blanched.

"How-?"

"As well as your mind is guarded, a master magician or a sorcerer supreme such as myself has little trouble telling what is on your mind."

"Another reason not to trust you," he stated putting his hand on his son's shoulder. Ron stopped pretending to eat and solely focused on the men talking.

"I do not make a habit of entering other's minds. Only when lives are at stake. Though what you have told me of your youth encounter with magic only cemented what I assumed you thought. Many who use "voodoo" as their version of magic, attempt to persuade people outside family from learning the art by proclaiming a connection to demons."

"So you're saying magic is real and demons are not?"

"Hardly. You just don't need demons to be able to perform magic."

"Demons are real. Magic is real. My son is a magnet for all the strange events."

"Just like you daddy."

"Yeah... Just like me."

Strange pulled a small card out of his inner jacket pocket. He handed it to Clint. The world suddenly popped with sound as every other person's voice became clearer. Clint glanced around as Strange stood up.

"Enjoy the rest of your day boys," he finished as he walked away and left the diner.

Clint took Strange's seat, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Daddy, I'm fine. He was really nice and brought me here when I was lost. He also gave me money for the phone booth."

Clint smiled as he brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"That's good. Let's get back to the carrier huh? No more running off."

"Kay daddy."

"Done eating?"

"Uh huh."

"Alright," Clint stood up and Ron followed. They were about out the door when they were stopped by a young employee. Apparently they had left a small white box at their table. Ron identified it as Strange's only for the worker to say they couldn't hold onto it. Clint was mildly annoyed but took the box. When they had reached the ship, safe and sound, Clint deemed it secure enough to open the box. After putting it in a bomb shelter room but who would notice?

He was a little relieved to see that inside there was no bomb, or chemicals or poison. Rather a pair of white gloves. Gloves that he used to see on magicians who worked shows in circus performances or street performances. They were soft in texture, but they weren't a familiar material. They were small in size. Just a size or two smaller than Tasha's hands if he had to guess. Maybe three. Heck, they looked like they'd fit Ron.

Clint froze. He didn't believe in coincidences. From his life in the circus and now in the government, and even when he saved Ron. Though that was a little out there, he was sure Strange left the gloves for Ron.

Clint felt slightly more paranoid than normal, wondering if Strange had been watching them.

He felt an odd need to go find that odd man he met in Georgia voodoo items to keep the strange man out.

Chapter 9: Chap viii

Chapter Text

Ron didn't sleep. Not with Strange's words echoing in his head. He had magic. Since he was small. And it scared him a little. He always told his daddy how much he loved him. And he knew it was true even if he wasn't his birth daddy. But the magic, did his birth father have it? His birth mother? Were they like him?

For the first time in a long time, he pondered what they were like. He was sure that one of them was magical. It might be wrong, but he just had a feeling that he wasn't the first magical person with his birth family. But did they have red hair like he did? Blue eyes too? Were they really skinny like he was? Or were they bigger than he was? Did they have freckles like he did?

Did they like mysteries like he did? Or fantasy? Did they not like corned beef? Did they like playing checkers and chess? Or did they prefer cards? Did they like to read fantasy books? Did they like animals?

Ron closed his eyes and tried to remove such thoughts. But a quick image of a red headed blur came to mind. A frantic woman. Ron opened his eyes. Was his mother a red head?

Suddenly he felt very alone. No mother. No other. He felt somewhat cold. Very different from when he had entered the Sanctum Sanctorum.

He slipped out of his bed and made his way to his daddy who was lightly snoring half covered in his blankets. Ron crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around his daddy, hearing the soothing heartbeat he had grown accustomed to listening to when he was scared or lonely. His daddy's warm arm wrapped around his back, not drawing him closer, but encircling him in warmth.

That was all he needed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, knowing that whoever he could have been, didn't really matter so long as his daddy was around.

Even waking up to his daddy not being in bed was comforting. The room held small personal items that made Ron feel at home. Even the note hastily written on the fridge saying sorry for not being able to have breakfast with him because he got tricked by Uncle Phil into training a few new recruits. So long as he could return with his daddy, somehow he knew everything would be alright.

With a knock on the door he pulled himself out of bed and eagerly greeted his Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons and prepared some toast for breakfast as they raided Clint's coffee and tea.

And there was the argument of the morning. Coffee or tea. Which tasted better. His daddy was more of a coffee man, but Ron enjoyed drinking hot tea or hot chocolate. Earl Grey was currently his favorite much to his daddy's surprise.

"Jeez, looks like Hawky forgot to give Ron a souvenir," Fitz joked finding a small white box. Simmons rolled her eyes.

"Considering the heart attack Ron gave him I'm not surprised."

"Hey Ron! Come over here for a second."

Ron jumped off his seat and walked over to Fitzsimmons.

"Look what your dad got for you," Fitz said handing Ron the box. Ron furrowed his brow.

"My daddy didn't get that for me."

"Sure he did! Who else would hide a box in your guy's room?"

"Daddy was given it cause Doctor Strange forgot it during lunch," Ron stated intelligently.

"Clint doesn't have meals with strangers."

"What about Budape-"

"Outside of painfully obscure missions."

"..."

"..."

"Well it can't be that bad if he brought it into the room."

Ron opened the box, knowing his daddy would never bring something too dangerous into the room. Inside were two, somewhat shoved in carelessly, white gloves. Ron pulled them out and gave them a once over, like he had seen his daddy, Aunt Tasha and Uncle Phil do.

Seeing nothing wrong with them, he slipped them on. They were a little big on his hands but still comfortable. The fingers were longer than his, comically longer with his pinkies. His thumb almost fit but was still too short for the pair.

"Bit too big."

"We could through them in a washing machine. Make them shrink."

"No. I like them. 'Sides, Auntie Tasha says things that are too big are just what I need when I get older."

"You sure?"

"Uh huh. And they're really soft. So I wanna use them for a long time."

"Okay. Whatever you want little red."

The day went on fairly normal despite Ron's wearing of the gloves, all up until the night hit. He said good night to Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons and slipped into his dad's bed for the night. He rolled himself into a blanket burrito and fell into a deep slumber.

Unlike normals nights where dreams didn't come or play memories or wishes of things to do with his family, he was instead inside of a rainbow. He was standing on a floor that didn't seem to exist.

Ron looked around for anything that made sense. He felt the same buzz he felt at Strange's house. But more subdued. It felt... Older. Aged.

He reached out to touch the rainbow when it seemed to shimmer. The buzz exploded from his fingertips to his feet. His chest burned with energy, his breath became slightly labored. He jerked his hand back, the buzzing quieted down to a lull. He breathed a little easier. His eyes wandered but all he could see was the shimmering colors. He began to walk around. Constantly moving yet not going anywhere. It seemed to last forever, but also just a moment. He didn't know what kind of dream it was but he didn't dislike it.

After some time, a ripple appeared throughout the rainbow. A figure traveled quickly through the colors, a sharp contrast to the otherwise soft and welcoming hues. A man. A little taller than his daddy perhaps. Short black hair combed back wearing dark green. His face was clearly aristocratic despite the distress, anger and pain etched in his eyes and mouth.

He stopped for a moment and looked over to Ron. Green eyes stared at Ron's blues for a moment. His eyes looked up and down, and then left to right. Ron blinked. He couldn't see him. The dark haired man couldn't see him. But it didn't stop Ron from feeling a bizarre combination of sorry and slightly fearful.

He turned his head and continued down the rainbow back towards where Ron came from, until he disappeared from sight. Another ripple made the rainbow quiver. And he was alone. He sighed and sat down. A slight jolt went up his back as his night shirt brushed against the edge of the rainbow. Another ripple, coming from the opposite direction passed through the rainbow and the dark haired man returned, both somber and smug. When he disappeared, another ripple ran through the rainbow, this time, with him falling out.

His heart sped up and his eyes snapped open. His arms were tangled and his feet were stuck as he began to flail. He stopped when he rolled off his dad's bed and onto the floor.

"Ow."

Chapter 10: Chap ix

Chapter Text

Ron yawned as he walked down the ship's corridors. Rainbow colors were still swirling in his mind. The man in black and green. The haunted poison green eyes.

He blamed the bomb dropped on him from Strange stating that his gift was actual magic.

With his dad gone and the day young, he took advantage of the empty halls in the ship and just wandered. As much as he liked hanging around in the vents, he also enjoyed stretching his legs and giving people a different kind of shock seeing a young boy in such a high tech military facility. Their faces really did brighten his day.

Besides, he had to take the halls today. After the last time his dad had tried to take the vents to the infirmary, they had been upgraded to prevent enemies from entering the room.

Killjoys.

Once he reached the infirmary, he entered it with an irritated look matching his dad's disgruntled features after being manhandled in for a check up after a particularly challenging mission.

"Nice pout Ron."

Ron's face flushed with embarrassment.

"Hello Uncle Phil."

"Hello Ron. Glad to see you showed up for your checkup."

"I'd rather not be dragged here by Auntie Tasha with a sore bum."

Phil smirked as he ushered in the doctor of the day. Funny how they never seemed to have the same doctor give him a check up. Though considering how they never passed the Clint test, it wasn't all that surprising. In fact, that was why they were giving him an appointment while Clint was out doing his job. This time, it was a young man, Caucasian. Blond hair, green eyes. Really short hair.

"Hello Ronald. I'm Doctor Jones. I'm going to be giving you your check up today. Are you ready?"

"How professional," Ron joked with Phil.

"Mind your manners Ron."

"Yes Uncle Phil," Ron said bowing his head. He heard Jones chuckling.

"No need for that. Why don't we start with your blood pressure?"

"Sure."

Jones smiled at Ron's nonchalance. Ron noted a small gap between his front teeth. Reaching into his bag and pulled out a sphygmomanometer. Ron stiffened knowing how the tool felt. Jones lightly touched his arm.

"Don't worry. It won't take long."

"I know," Ron defended, "I just wish I didn't need to do it. I'm fine."

"You sound like your dad," Phil muttered with good humor. Ron stuck out his tongue in retaliation.

"Please roll up your sleeve Ron."

Ron complied, his hand rolling his long sleeves up. He felt the familiar wrap and the soft clinging sound of Velcro when he closed his eyes. He kept his breathing even like his Aunt Tasha told him to do when he felt uncomfortable. He felt the material tighten around his pale arm making him feel pins and needles. His arm felt the cool touch of a stethoscope on his arm.

"Have you had breakfast this morning Ron?"

"Uh. I did."

"What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

Ron opened his eyes as the pressure lessened on his arm.

"Honey nut Cheerios."

"And how much did you have?"

"A whole bowl. Like I always do," Ron answered somewhat cautiously. Doctor Jones glanced over at Coulson.

"Agent Coulson, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to take another blood pressure check before, and right after his lunch."

Ron scrunched up his nose in displeasure. Coulson nodded.

"Now Ronald, do you get headaches? Or double vision?"

"Sometimes I get headaches. But they aren't to bad. I can sleep them off and eat something and I feel better."

Doctor Jones hummed with interest.

"Have you been feeling anything odd? Maybe a little moody and you don't know why?"

"Are you telling me I'm turning into a teenager?" Ron half joked. Coulson raised his brow at the doctor, "Cause I'm not even twelve yet."

"Well it's possible your hormones are starting early. But rather unlikely. I'd need a blood draw to be certain."

"Doctor Jones?"

"What's wrong with me?" Ron questioned.

"Hopefully nothing," Coulson stated glaring at the doctor.

"Just low blood pressure Ronald. Nothing too strange with a growing young lad such as yourself. But it is a bit lower than what is considered normal. Even through a growth spurt. Did you eat dinner last night?"

"Yes."

Ron was asked a few more questions about his diet. Coulson remained tense as each question was asked. Ron had a feeling he wasn't going to see this doctor again with Coulson mirroring his father's pure look of displeasure.

_°•°•°_

"Why didn't you tell me you scheduled an appointment for Ron? I'm his dad!"

"You are terrible at scheduling appointments. You don't like the doctors and in turn don't make Ron go to them. It was better to do it while you were gone," Natasha stated. Clint gave her a mild glare.

"I would have taken him. Eventually."

"When? When he fainted?"

"Excuse me? Natasha what are you talking about? What's wrong with Ron? Is he hurt? Is he sick?"

"Funny how desperate you are with your son."

"No games Tasha. What's wrong with Ron?"

"He's hypoglycemic. Naturally lower blood pressure."

"So, low blood sugar. That's not so bad."

"Not if we keep him to his diet."

"Diet? Oh great. What can't I get him in the store anymore?"

"Start buying an extra box of cereal while your out."

"Start buying an extra- Excuse me?"

"He needs to eat more carbs. And with puberty in a few years... You're lucky you work for SHIELD."

"Damn."

_°•°•°_

"Dad? Why is my bowl bigger?"

"Because you're a growing boy."

"Daddy?"

"Ronnie."

"Dad... Is it because I'm sick?"

"No. You're not sick Ron. You're just different. Your body just a little more food than most."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks for clearing it up. Uncle Phil was a little confusing earlier."

"No problem bud. Phil is usually confusing."

"So that's why you put more potatoes on my plate."

Chapter 11: Chap x

Chapter Text

It had been one year since the rainbow dream. He didn't have one like it since. But it remained as clear in his mind as the night it appeared in his dream. His diet greatly altered to adjust to his greater need of carbs making him feel perkier than before.

He had been walking through the ship as usual, dodging agents he wasn't familiar with feeling just a little suspicious. He blamed his dad a little for that, the slight paranoia about everyone. His dad had left for his longest mission since Ron had been aboard the ship, over a month had gone by and he still had no answer to when he'd return. He couldn't even ask his Aunt Tasha since she had been gone for two months on her own assignment. His Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmons weren't told anything regarding their missions. And his Uncle Phil and Uncle Nick were tight-lipped about everything.

He had been passing his Uncle Nick's office when he heard his Uncle Phil.

"You're at 114 Solenski Plaza, third floor. We have an F-22 exactly eight miles out. Put the woman on the phone or I will blow up the block before you can make it to the lobby."

Woman? Ron stopped curiously and placed his ear to the door. They didn't seem too concerned with this getting out, but a closed door meant they didn't want particular attention drawn to it. At least, that's how his dad explained it. If he could hear his Uncle's so easily then it was their fault, not his.

"We need you to come in."

Ron waited patiently but could not hear the other speaker, must've been the phone woman he had mentioned.

"This takes precedence."

There was an extended pause slightly annoying Ron. Never one to be patient when he had to be, he was debating going to Aunt-Uncle Fitzsimmon's office when he heard his Uncle Phil speak once more.

"Natasha, Barton's been compromised."

Ron went cold. His Aunt was on the phone, being called off a mission because his dad was in trouble. He wasn't stupid. He knew compromised meant he was found on the job. He also knew that his dad could be killed by whoever caught him. He had heard of people being killed from sneaking around. His dad couldn't be- he just couldn't be. He didn't know how long he stood their when Phil spoke again.

"We don't know." A brief pause, "We think so. I'll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big guy."

Another pause, a little longer than the previous. Ron felt himself start to go clammy and a little nauseous. His breathing a little shallower and his eyes burning with tears.

"Oh, I've got Stark. You get the big guy."

Ron collapsed to the floor. He didn't know what was going on. His body shook with little tremors as tears leaked down his face trying to figure out what it all meant. If his dad was okay. His heart ached and his head was pounding. Not one word was said. When he cried it was bizarrely quiet. Just soft gasps and sniffles. Such in contrast to his anger, which would sit and stew and then explode later with minor poking and prodding. He sat there for a few minutes when Nick Fury opened the door. His face remained stony, but his eyes sparked with melancholy.

In keeping the silence he kneeled down and pulled the lanky boy into his arms. He let Ron cry into his shoulder for a little while, well aware of Phil watching and needing to leave. Probably feeling levels of Onism that he couldn't stay to help with Ron who had clearly overheard the conversation.

But his responsibility made him leave, passing with a soft squeeze on Ron's shoulder before walking away his own face grim.

"We were going to tell you."

"When?" Ron whispered into his shoulder, his tears having stopped leaving his eyes red and nose runny.

"Today. We were going to take you to Knox for the week."

"What's going on Uncle Nick?"

"Nothing you should be concerned about."

"No. That's a lie. You don't even know where my dad is. I want to know what's going on," he grumbled, his sadness turning quickly into rage.

"Ron. For you and your father's sake, just trust me."

"Why? He's my dad. He could be- He could be безжизненный."

"Now now. Don't you be thinking that. Your father is a strong man. He'll pull through."

"Then why are you calling Auntie Tasha? And this Stark man?" Ron questioned.

"Because even the strongest people need help sometimes. Now let's get you to Skye to get you to Fort Knox."

_°•°•°_

Clint stared blankly in front of him as Loki prepared... Something. He wasn't quite sure. It wasn't his job to know though. Just to do what he was told. Still, a small spark of red nagged in the back of his mind that he shouldn't listen. Well, two little sparks of red. But for the life of him he couldn't see them clearly. At least he figured one of them from Loki. Natasha. Apparently Loki wanted some information on her and left that image a little clearer. That didn't sit well with him but he said nothing.

He just wanted to know who the other spark of red was.

_°•°•°_

"Ready Ron?"

"I guess so."

"Well let's get going then."

Ron sat in the seat behind Skye as they took off for what they were told would be a week. Ron didn't like it. He wanted stay close. Where his dad could find him. He closed his eyes and kept thinking about his dad.

Wherever he was, it was dangerous. His dad could handle everything Ron couldn't. And now his dad couldn't handle something, he was scared.

But he didn't want his dad to come home and he wasn't there.

He barely noticed the plane taking off while he thought. Not until they were soaring out of the city.

That was when he recalled Doctor Strange. The man was nice, and he had a safe place near where his dad could find him. He could stay there. Couldn't he?

Even if he could, it wasn't like he could get there. Unless...

He closed his eyes. If he got there once with his magic, then why not again now? He was in the sky each time he did it. Even if it was only twice.

He tried to imagine the place. The front door, the illusion down, his dad coming to get him. Eventually he did feel the pinch in his stomach as his body was squished and popped back out, but he gasped in pain. The ends of his fingers were painful and wet. He looked down to see his fingernails were gone. He cried out in pain, tears poring out, not knowing what to do.

"Goodness child. Come inside. That looks rather painful."

Ron turned his head, and through his tears he saw Doctor Strange's housemate, Mr. Wong.

Chapter 12: Chap xi

Chapter Text

Ron whimpered as he made his way down the hall with Wong by his side guiding him into the unknown passages of the house.

"Don't be afraid. You will be safe here."

"Safe from what? Street thugs? Gangs?"

"I fear far worse," he stated ominously. Ron didn't know what to say, even as anger built up in him. Why wasn't anyone telling him anything? He may be young but he wasn't stupid.

"What worse? Terrorists?"

"War."

Ron fell silent unsure what to say. He usually had to weed it out of adults and by then he had some idea of what was going on. He held his hands gingerly together to avoid his aching fingers from hitting one of the moving objects in the house.

"Do you still have those gloves?"

"Gloves?" Ron asked. He thought for a moment before remembering the pair of white gloves that were given to him the and left in his room by his dad the last time he ran into Strange. Reaching into his pocket and cringing as he felt fabric rub against his bare skin where his finger nails were, he pulled out a small box.

Wong gingerly took the box from Ron's hand and opened it. He carefully removed the white fabric and held it towards Ron. His face set in a warm smile.

"Do you know that these gloves are very special?"

"Special how?"

"These gloves are made from a special thread. Silk from an Agromantula."

"Agromunla- Argomo- Agromunt-"

"Agromantula. It's a special magical spider that creates incredibly strong silk. Silk that can numb your aching fingers."

"No. That's a place-Bo effect isn't it? You say that so I think it won't hurt."

"It is not a placebo effect I assure you. Give them a try."

Ron gave him a look and then gave his hands a look. The ends were red and irritated. A real eyesore to look at. He sighed and took the gloves, if only to hide the hideous lack of nails. Sliding the gloves on, his fingers felt tingly. Almost pleasantly as the glove slid on rather snugly, matching as perfectly as a glove could fit.

He looked at Wong with shock showing perfectly on his face. Wong didn't say anything and continued leading Ron throughout the house.

Wong had led Ron to one of the many doors and opened it. Ron's eyes bugged as he saw a large community of people gathered. Mothers were holding children close and fathers were giving kisses to them before leaving toward a growing crowd of individuals. Ron grabbed Wong's sleeve nervously.

"It will be all right Ron. Strange has brought them all here to keep them safe, just as we have let you in."

"Who are they?"

"Magical American Government Intelligence Coven."

"What?"

"One of the Magic sanctioned government here in America. Staying until it's safe to go back home."

"So, they're like me?"

"Mainly wizards and witches. Though a few shamans and mages are present as well."

"Shamans? Mages?"

"Yes."

Ron clung tighter onto Wong's sleeve. Throw him in a room with SHIELD agents and stony faces and he would thrive. But after years of not interacting with other kids and missing mother child interactions when he was younger made him feel uncomfortable.

"Mr. Wong!" A woman's voice cried out. Wong turned his head slightly to the left as a woman came running up to him with a boy, larger than he was, with dark brown hair and matching eyes. He had a warm yet homely appearance. Looked similar to the woman despite her dirty blond hair.

"Ma'am, if you could wait a moment."

"I tried. American government won't allow a port key. We need to get home." Her voice wasn't American, any version of the accents he had heard over time. It was British.

"Ma'am. Take a deep breath."

The woman took a shuttering breath.

"I am sure your family is fine. But you and your son are safer here."

"Alright," she stated. The boy grabbed his mother's hand in a comforting gesture. His eyes looked up to her as she smiled at her son, somewhat forced but also relieved.

"Ma'am, I know it's hard for you. But it's hard for everyone. Great and small," Wong comforted. It was then the woman's eyes met Ron's, her jaw grew slightly slack. It clicked shut quickly enough. Her eyes looked him over, carefully logging and seemingly questioning every detail.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I'm Alice, and this is my son Neville."

"Uh, hi. I'm... Archer."

Ron didn't know why he used his middle name. But hearing the accent... After what his dad had told him about being found in Britian... He didn't want to be taken away from his dad.

He knew he had been Ron as a baby, according to his baby self. So the safest way to hide was to give a made up name. Even if there was nothing to hide from. And though Wong knew his name, he didn't give him up, just merely raised a brow curiously before dropping it and entering his stoic face mode.

"Well... Archer, where is your mum?"

"I don't have one," he stated.

"Then where's your dad?" Neville asked, not at all put off that Ron didn't have mom.

"I-I don't know," he sniffled, tears started to pour out of his eyes and roll down his cheeks. It finally hit him how bad it was. His dad was missing. And he... He would be an orphan. The woman kneeled down her face melting from curious scrutiny to soft and inviting.

"Oh sweetie. Everything is going to be fine. You can stay with me and Neville until we find your dad alright?"

Alice wiped the tears from his cheeks as he continued crying.

"Don't be sad. We'll find your dad. Mum always follows her word. And you won't be alone anymore."

Ron sniffled, his tears slowing and gave Neville a watery smile.

_°•°•°_

"I don't like this anymore than you do. But he's safer there than here."

"He should have his family with him."

"You don't send a child overseas with their parents to fight in a war Romanoff. And Barton is still missing. Knox is much safer right now."

"You better be right Fury."

_°•°•°_

"So what do we do now?" Ron asked as they sat near now of the corners of the room.

"We could play exploding snap," Neville offered.

"Exploding what?"

"It's a card game sweetie."

"Like go fish? Or poker?"

"Hasn't your dad ever played exploding snap?"

"My dad... My dad's non magic."

"So your dad's a muggle?"

"Muggle? Is that some kind of insult?"

"No, not at all Archer. Muggle is our word for a non magical human."

"Oh."

"Everything all right over here? Everyone accounted for?" a new voice asked. Ron looked up to see a familiar man. He saw him when he was in the park when he was with his Uncle Fury years ago. And he was there when he teacher turned forgetful.

"My son and I are fine. But Archer here is missing his father."

The man looked at Ron curiously.

"Hey there little man. I haven't seen you running around in a while."

"You know each other?"

"Not personally. But he caused quite a stir with the Improper use of Magic Division. You were never easy to clean up after either."

"You attacked me and Uncle Nicky," he stated. Yeah man chuckled and looked downward.

"Just doing my job. Was supposed to make him forget about your little spout of magic. I didn't realize he was your uncle. Besides, your Uncle knocked me out and got away anyway."

"You're not mad?"

"Nah, better he was fearful for you than afraid of you. Shows you're in good hands."

Chapter 13: Chap xii

Chapter Text

Dazed blue eyes blankly stared forward at his master. Clint Barton was ready for any command that his lord should give. His body relaxed and ready for the upcoming attack. He felt he could die for his lord.

An odd sting pierced his chest at the thought. Why would he have such a reaction? To die serving his master would be a noble death for one with such a short life as he did. But why did he feel uncomfortable with the very thought? A flash of red appeared in his mind. Someone different than the feared seductress he informed his lord of early in his servitude. Someone younger. Someone, dare he think it, innocent?

"Come. We have work to do," Lord Loki commanded. Clint followed without hesitation. It would do well not to disobey his master over silly notions and stray emotions. After all, how could he lead the mortal soldiers if he wasn't following his master without hesitation?

_°•°•°_

"So, this old maid thing-?"

"It's simple. We split the cards between us. Match all the pairs we have, and then take turns taking one card from the person to the right of us. If it's a match with a card you have, you put them in the pile. If not, you let the person to your left take a card. Well, you do that either way, but if you get a match you play it. The goal is to not be the person holding the last card in the end of the game."

"That's very…"

"That's very interesting Archer," Alice finished for her son. She smiled at her boy trying to be polite given the odd circ*mstances. It wasn't like the rare times she spent with Molly and Arthur's children. Always loud and full of energy. So unlike this young boy who just wanted his dad and yet so ready to be distracted. Poor little guy.

"Well, it's a game me and my- A game I play."

Alice felt her face fall hearing Archer stop himself. He was far too young to be thinking like that.

"Hey, cheer up. I'm sure your dad's going to be fine. Now why don't we give this game a shot okay? It sounds like a lot of fun," the young man from MAGIC encouraged.

Archer's eyes sparked brightly, rivaling an old headmaster she knew. But rather than a knowing twinkle in a light blue sky, it was a curious spark that seemed to hold a burning need for companionship drifting out on a ship at sea.

Archer smiled as he dealt the cards with great precision, the hands dealt were as equal as he could make them before they began. Despite the lack of magic and usual parlor that Alice and Neville were used to in games, both found that they were enjoying the card game trying to be sneaky and giving each other the old maid.

Round after round was played between the four of them, losing track of time, as the games grew more and more silly between the boys. Each time Neville lost, Archer would playfully mock him while when Archer lost, he would grumble about "when he was a lad" with a remarkably sounding older person's voice. She dared to think it almost reminded her of Dumbledore. The member of MAGIC smiled at the boys with great amusem*nt.

It was like this for an hour or so before he was called away to stand in the line of duty. Alice wished him the best of luck knowing that if she cast any spell on him, it may act as an interference for any spell they needed to cast out in the field. Shame really. She yearned to be out in the field again. Alas, she still had her son to think about. And when two were compared, fieldwork as an Auror was nothing compared to being there for her son.

_°•°•°_

Hours had passed and still not one word indicating Ron's arrival at Knox. While Natasha would have been worried, she had other things on her mind. Like how many people Barton had killed.

Looking down at the unconscious archer, she resisted the urge to groan at the aches and pain she was experiencing. Not all were physical.

Hell, if not for the information she had received from Coulson earlier, she may have actually killed him. But that wasn't important. Right now, securing him was. If there were any chance that he would attack them again, he would need to be secured. Not only for SHEILD's sake, but also for his son's.

She grabbed his arms and tossed him over her shoulder. God, why couldn't he be a tiny guy? No, he just had to be a heavy archer. She wasn't weak or anything, but she had better things to do than carrying his fat ass to a cell like infirmary. Correction. Just to a cell. She didn't hit him that hard. And if she did, well… there was a doctor on standby. Serves him right for trying to bite her.

She'd have to hit extra hard next time they sparred. Preferably in his "no-no spot".

_°•°•°_

Chaos and tension were running rampart within the walls of the Burrow as Arthur and Molly held their children from Percy to Ginny close, worried for their brothers who weren't there in a maddening time. Of course they had heard of the attack on muggles. A young wizard attacking people in Germany and hauled off to who knows where. It had only been ten years since the war. And witches and wizards were frantic trying to protect themselves from this menace that had taken the name Loki. Odd, yet fitting. He yearned for power like a mad god. And Loki was know not for his kindness, but his magic and tricks.

So far there was little for them to worry about. There had been no news since the recent attack on Germany. However, that was mere days ago. Not all that long really. The only comforts they had were the letters from Bill and Charlie letting her know that they were okay, and that Xenophilius Lovegood had been over with Luna, giving Ginny someone to talk to without worrying her in this ordeal. The last thing they needed was panic.

"Think Ron's okay?" Ginny asked. Molly cringed. After all this time, they never lost hope that they would find him. But with the chaos, there was a touch of fear that they may not find him alive.

Her eyes darted to the clock. Still as dusty as ever and the hand firmly stuck on traveling. He was safe. Somewhere.

"I'm sure of it Ginny. Look at the clock. His hand is on traveling. That means he's fine. Just a little lost."

"Then why doesn't it say lost?" Luna asked startling her Molly and Arthur. No one outside the family had ever asked about the clock in reference to Ron before. Not unless it involved the twins and their "downtime" staring at it. They had discussed this with different adults who had to watch the boys on different occasions, but that was different. They were older and had known about Ron's disappearance. They remembered the frantic search when they first lost him. They took in the rushed explanation when asked to watch the clock in case it changed when Fred and George were little so they wouldn't run off unknowingly teaching Fred and George.

"Well… that's because-"

"Because he knows where he is Luna. He just doesn't know where we are," Fred stated in a surprisingly mellow tone considering the tension in his body. George grabbed his hand and a quick squeeze. Neither of them had liked to talk about the clock since they started to go to Hogwarts. It made the idea of Ron coming home seem less likely. And yet, they both could recall something that his mum and dad had told both the twins when they were little. Something they had heard and repeated so often they wouldn't forget.

"Oh. Alright," Luna replied in a whimsical tone. Molly nodded to Fred for the explanation. Fred averted his eyes over to the clock along with George's.

"It's getting pretty late," Percy muttered.

"You're right. Luna and I will have to be going in a moment. I need to get the Quibbler ready to print."

"Oh no Xeno, you and Luna should stay for the night I insist!" Molly proclaimed. She stood up and rushed to the closet, grabbing blankets and pillows her boys had stashed for forts when they were younger, "I'll go get dinner ready. And I expect to see you at the table with us when I'm done."

She left for the kitchen and began preparing wait would undoubtedly be a large meal. Arthur looked over at the Lovegoods.

"I'd stay. Molly is sure to make sure you make sure you stay and eat even if you walk out the door. Besides, I'm sure Luna would like to spend the night."

"Ah, yes. But I must finish the latest edition to the Quibbler. That Loki fellow had numerous whackspurts straight from Asgard around him. And I must alert my readers."

Arthur smiled at the eccentric man. He couldn't say a lot about his hobbies when his were looked down upon in the wizarding world. It was as if the very mention of anything muggle would blemish society.

_°•°•°_

Clint groaned, grabbing his head that seemed to be stuck in a pounding headache. He sucked in air through his teeth in a hiss as he tried to recall what had happened. He opened his eyes slowly only for them to fly open, recognizing that he was in one of SHIELD's holding cells.

He sat up, trying to ignore the vertigo that struck him as he was confused. Why was he in a cell? What was going on? Where was Ron?

He nearly jumped when the door opened. He almost instantly relaxed when he saw it was Natasha walking in. Her eyes hardened, almost as if she was trying to dissect him. He gave her a weak, yet co*cky smile.

"Hello Nat. Trapped anyone in your web yet?" he joked. Her eyes softened ever so slightly.

"You."

"Look, if this is about your Girl Scout cookies- I swear I didn't eat them! It was all Coulson's idea!"

"You're an idiot," she smirked briefly before she went back to frowning, "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone took a bat to my head. God this headache is bad."

"Try piping."

"Piping? Who's the bastard who hit me?"

"I was."

Clint was silent for a moment. His face-hardened and he looked Natasha dead in the eyes.

"Tell me what happened."

"You weren't you."

"And I'm guessing I still might not be?"

"Hence the cell. What do you remember?"

A huff of annoyance came from Clint as he closed his eyes.

"I remember… I was out. I was on a mission and someone… in green came to me. We were fighting and then… his staff touched my chest. Then-" Clint gasped as glimpses of memories hit him. An army, dead bodies, dead agents, "I started attacking," he finished with a whisper.

Chapter 14: Chap xiii

Chapter Text

Everything seemed to happen so fast. As soon as he was cleared from the medical staff, he was back to fighting with SHIELD. And the only person he really knew was Natasha. So far he had recalled Tony the Snark, Freezer pop Captain America, Drape model Thoreal, and the micro raging Hulk Bruce. Humanity was doomed.

No, not doomed. Not while there were people still fighting. Not while he needed to protect his son. He'd be damned if he died before knowing his son would be safe.

He knew the others didn't trust him after his attack on the Helicarrier. He knew that he was most likely to be accused if something went wrong. It didn't matter. He was on a mission. Save the world. Don't let anything leave New York. Protect his son. Die doing it if necessary.

"You okay soldier?" a voice cut in breaking his train of thought. Clint turned his head slightly to see the spangled hero himself, Captain America. Clint grunted.

"Sure. I am always great after being a meat puppet."

"Sarcasm is for the weak," the blue clad Captain commented. Clint rolled his eyes hiding the slightest twitch of lips turning upward.

"Sarcasm is for the witty to use against those who haven't trained their minds Oh Captain my Captain," Clint joked grabbing his favored bow and set of arrows. He'd need his very best to tangle with these bastards. He even grabbed an old green and gold arrow from his days at the circus. Almost as if made to match Loki's clothes. The perfect arrow to shoot up his royal Asgardian ass.

"Just be ready," Captain America interrupted with an unmistakable leading and annoyed tone. Just like Nick Fury after Ron first snuck onto the archery range when Clint was out on a mission and nearly got shot by some newbie agent.

"We don't know what all we'll be facing." Captain America marched toward the door, his shoes clicking on the floor.

"Please. I was born ready Captain."

The blond rolled his eyes in annoyance leaving the room. Clint grinned. Some things never changed. Old men still tried to take control of the situation.

_°•°•°_

Alice smiled softly at the two sleeping boys. Ron and Neville had tuckered themselves out from their playing and the worrying. Alice transfigured a box of tissues into blankets and pillows for the boys to sleep on. So far they had rolled each other into large blanket burritos and slept side by side, taking comfort in another's presence.

She glanced over at other parents who were transfiguring blankets, pillows and even beds from those who had plenty of energy. Casually, she slipped out a small mirror, making sure to keep it hidden from the others. She knew it was illegal here in the states for a few reasons, but it was the one sure-fire way for her to communicate with anyone in England right now.

"Molly?"

The mirror changed from her own reflection to that of a plump red haired witch matriarch.

"Alice? Alice how are you? Are you all alright? I heard you were off traveling with Neville. And then this Loki fellow appears and starts attacking-!"

"I'm fine Molly. I'm in America with a lovely group of witches and wizards. Neville is sleeping with a new friend he made here in a blanket fort and we're fine."

"Oh thank goodness. Things have been so dreadfully tense here. Arthur was just called in by the ministry. Apparently there is quite the stir with this Loki running amuck."

Alice didn't bother hiding her worry. She had heard Loki first appeared in Europe. And with the members of MAGIC gathering and leaving, there was little doubt the mad man was in New York.

"I'm just glad to hear that you and your family is safe," Alice smiled.

"Likewise Alice. How is America?"

"Very busy. I have never seen so much commotion among people like it is here. It's rather different."

"Oh no doubt. But they never did have much sense ignoring old wizarding traditions."

Alice chuckled softly at her friend's eccentricities. Oh how she wanted to be back in England where she knew who she could rely on. Back where she had family.

Her eyes flitted over to Neville and Archer sleeping on the floor and blankets.

"Alice? Is everything alright?" Molly asked with a touch of worry. Alice blinked and stared back at her friend.

"Everything is fi-" Alice stopped and sighed, "No. Molly. Everything is not fine. That man in Germany is now here in the States," Alice whispered with a hint of desperation. Molly's eyes widened.

"Are you sure? Alice, he was in Germany not even a week ago. How would he be in America? What is happening Alice? Are you and Neville unharmed?"

"Calm down Molly. You don't want to scare the kids do you?" Alice commented more than asked. Molly took a few deep breaths before Alice continued, "Neville and I are unharmed. We were brought to a safe place to hold out until this man is brought to justice."

It didn't seem to calm her down. She still seemed rather flustered and nervous. Alice couldn't imagine what was going on in her head right now. Actually, she could. Relief that Arthur wouldn't be running into this madman, but fear that her friend from school was so close to that same man. Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Alice, explain," Molly stated bridling her anger and fear in a no nonsense motherly tone she had often used back when they were in Hogwarts on the younger students. God she was a terrifying seventh year. Alice found herself telling Molly about her and Neville's time in the states being hijacked into hiding, even mentioning young Archer and his missing father drawing sympathy from Molly.

"Molly, are you okay?" Alice asked after she explained the situation. Molly's eyes were hardened from all she had heard.

"You shouldn't be asking if I'm alright. You're the one near that Loki fellow."

"Molly. I am fine. We will be fine."

_°•°•°_

Time seemed to stand still as everyone waited with ambivalence and fear with war just over the horizon. Just held the calm before the storm before the sky exploded, ripping the very fabric of the space and reality the world had known.

People were running, screaming, fighting, and dying. Beasts poured from the sky, flooding the earth with teeth and claws polluting the sky and air of New York. The creatures were much larger than the city's narrow streets they attempted to move, they destroyed buildings and shattered glass creating sharp shards of glistening rain like fragments stabbing and cutting the individuals that were unable to escape the onslaught.

Chaos ensnared the city. Guns were fired at the large beasts from cops and the civilians who had them. Not one beast seemed to fall as more appeared from the portal. All seemed to be hopeless.

However, everything changed with a crackle of thunder, fire from planes, a volley of arrows and blasts of energy seemed to appear within the city attacking the beasts. People were baffled, searching for answers, from the military, the police, anyone. It was then that a man from American legend appeared before them, living. Breathing and as strong as he had been in his legends.

He spoke clearly. Told the police to hold a perimeter. That no beast was to leave the area. That they were to make a stand here and now.

The police relayed the order from the living legend.

_°•°•°_

Ron squirmed in an unfamiliar pocket of warmth. It didn't feel like his bed. But it was too soft to be on the metal floor of the carrier, and too firm to be any of the couches he had slept on in the Helicarrier. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light without blinding himself. When his eyes were fully opened, he came face to sleeping face with another kid. He nearly jumped when he remembered what happened. He had been on his way to Ft Knox, teleported to Strange's house where Wong greeted him and brought him to the safe room with other magical people.

He turned his head to look around, only to discover that he gotten himself tangled within gold and red colored blankets. A lion clearly stitched into the fabric. He didn't know why, but it felt incredibly safe. Spending his life surrounded by black and silver with occasional splashes of color were his norm. And yet there was something so comforting about the bright blanket.

Perhaps because it was different, and came from a kind stranger he could trust. Maybe, just maybe.

Feeling somewhat satisfied with the thought, he wiggled his way out of the blanket burrito, relishing in the cool air as it hit his overly warm body. Though his hands remained oddly warm. He lifted them towards his face to see his gloved hands. He blinked recalling the pain he had felt the day before.

He grew curious of his hands with the lack of pain and removed the glove on his left hand slowly. He grimaced, anticipating the pain. To his surprise the pain was nonexistent. He glanced down at his hand with slight fear of what he might see. The fear melted away when he saw strong and healthy finger nails grown back fully where before lay angry raw skin.

"Archer?"

Ron jumped, his head whipping around to see the woman from the day before. Ms. Alice. He glanced her over, still in the same clothes she wore yesterday. Well of course she would be. Why would she have anything else? She didn't exactly have a suitcase with her.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You took your glove off, like you were expecting something horrid."

"I uh… I was missing my fingernails," he answered honestly, not seeing a reason to hide it from a magical person. Her eyes softened slightly.

"How did you lose your fingernails?"

" I teleported. And then they were gone."

Alice's face contorted into one of confusion. Ron blushed a little, his freckles blending into his face. Maybe it was a bit strange for even a magical person.

"You know, when one person is in one spot and then appears somewhere else?" he more asked than stated. She seemed to understand what he was saying because her face shed the confusion for understanding to take its place.

"Oh, dear. You spliched. That happens sometimes when apparating."

Ron furrowed his brow in confusion. Before he could ask, he heard a yawn. He gazed over to the newly awake Neville.

"Mum? Archer?" he asked with little coherency. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his right hand. Ron was impressed that he remembered Ron whereas Ron didn't remember when he had first woken up.

"Good morning Neville. Sleep well dear?"

"Uh huh," Neville yawned. His brown eyes opened as he sat up from the blanket pile. He gave a shy smile to Ron as he made his way out of the blankets.

Alice nodded with a terse smile, "Are you two hungry?"

"Yes mum."

"Yes ma'am," Ron added as his stomach began to rumble at the prospect of food. Neville chuckled, trying to hide his laughter from Ron. Ron snorted making Neville laugh harder. Soon both boys were laughing at Ron's noisy stomach. Alice hid her worry behind their happiness. She would keep them happy as long as she could while the fighting ensued beyond the walls of their protection. Their ignorance would help them in this trying time. She silently prayed that the members of MAGIC were able to subdue Loki. She didn't want to imagine the alternative.

_°•°•°_

It was surreal. Stark lay in the debris filled streets, his heart pounding and his arc reactor glowing faintly. Smoke and ash filled his nose. As well as some seriously bad breath. He looked up at Captain America who stared at the sky in awe.

"What happened?" Tony asked.

"We won," Captain America gasped in awe covered in dirt and grime.

_°•°•°_

Strange sighed as he let his access barriers fall. Truly this was chaos at it's finest. So many innocents' dead. So many he had saved, even more he had failed. He was one man, and he knew that. That did not stop the mourning he felt for those who were needlessly slaughtered. All he could do now was help those heal. The physical, the mental, and even the spiritual pain would take time.

Concentrating his magic, he created a corporal form to alert the ones that had sought sanctuary that they were no longer under attack by the green eyed fallen prince.

"Wong, my friend. Would you assist me with the injured?" Strange asked. Wong gave Strange a rare smile.

"As if you even need to ask. Even you cannot protect everyone Steven."

_°•°•°_

"What do you mean Ron is missing?" Fury hissed. Skye flinched at his tone.

"One minute he was in the plane. The next, he was gone. All that was there were nails. Human nails."

Fury cursed under his breath. He just could not catch a break today. The attack, the near nuking of Manhattan, the death of many agents including Phil Coulson (who was currently undergoing intense surgery to see if they could save the man. After all, it took about three minutes for rigamortis to set in and they had temporarily revived him still in critical condition) and now after all this, he had misplaced a child with inner knowledge of SHIELD that many enemies would covet.

"Find him. And don't tell Barton," he growled. The last thing they needed was an angry overprotective archer on the loose.

Chapter 15: Chap xiv

Chapter Text

It was impossible to deny it. It was all over. It was finally all over. Clint smiled like a madman. They did it. The fighting, this war, it was all over. He couldn't wait to see Ron and hold him close. Reassuring him that he was okay. That they were both fine.

Even if not everyone made it out alive. His heart ached thinking of the corpse of Phil Coulson lying on the floor of the Helicarrier. A trusted man, heck a friend even. And an even better Uncle for Ron. And now he was… well he'd cross that bridge after assuring Ron he was okay.

And assuring himself Ron was alright. His heart sped up with worry and anticipation. Oh god what if hewasn'tfine? He hadn't seen him since Loki had taken control of his body! He tensed and made his way toward Natasha. She would know where he was. Somewhere safe. Preferably far away from the burning rubble and chaotic scene of New York.

Perhaps making new friends with some of the agents. Anything but being hurt or near this chaos (he didn't even want to think about the possibility of him beingdead).

"Hey Nat," he called out as he approached. She gave him what appeared to be a glare. Clint smirked back knowing that it was a default spy thing.

"What?"

"Ron's out of the city right?"

"Agent Skye took him to Knox just before you attacked the carrier," she stated with a level of indifference that was deeply ingrained in her. Clint's smirk grew into a full-fledged smile.

"Well then, better give him a call to let him know we're okay."

_°•°•°_

"Everyone stick together! No need to cause another panic," a young agent from MAGIC directed. Alice held both Neville's hand and Archer's as they were directed towards one of the exits in Doctor Strange's abode. Alice listened for an exit that led to the muggle side of New York, hopefully where Archer's father would be. Alive.

"So what's your dad look like?" Neville asked with more confidence than Alice had seen from him in a long time. Or at least, more confidence than she had seen when he spent time with Molly's kids or Frank's mother. She may have the best intentions but that woman could scare Mad Eye.

"Well, he's taller than me. He has short brown hair, kind of spiky. And he likes to wear dark clothes. Oh, and he also," Archer paused for a moment, his brows furrowed and it almost looked like he was trying to swallow with the flexing of muscle in his neck and bobbing of his Adam's apple.

"Also what?"

"Sounds like this," he stated speaking in a completely different voice. One of a grown man, not of a young boy. Alice just about jumped in shock. This was something she hadn't seen before. She knew people who would try and match others in a mocking manner, but to sound so completely different without aid of a potion or spell was truly baffling.

"Whoa. How did you do that?" Neville gasped. Archer gave a small smirk.

"It's a gift," he commented back in his usual voice before erupting into laughter. Neville chuckled at the young red head's playful attitude.

"Alright boys that's enough. We do need to find Archer's father. Do you know his name?"

"Uh huh. Clint. His name is Clint. Though Uncle Nick sometimes calls him a, well… Uncle Phil said I'm not supposed to repeat that. Especially in front of others."

Alice furrowed her brows but didn't ask. If he wasn't supposed to say it, then it was probably something she didn't want Neville to repeat either. Though she felt like she should have a word with this Uncle Nick of his and give him a piece of her mind for saying something that shouldn't be repeated. Whatever it was anyway. Thankfully, before Neville could even think of asking, the small group was interrupted.

"North Main Street, Queens!"

"That's near the park my dad and I go to! There's an old pay phone that still works near there I can call Uncle Nick!"

"Pay phone?" Neville questioned. Alice herself was baffled. Was this something like the "felly tone" Arthur Weasley talked about? Something muggle or other probably.

She led the boys to the opening that let them out onto the abandoned Queens Street. Branches lay strewn from trees all around. Glass shards sprinkled the ground. Cars were damaged and flipped in some cases as blood and oil trickled into the drains on the edge of the street. Neville's grip on his mother's hand tightened as Ron took a few steps forward. His head turned his head around to survey the area. His face seemed almost void of any emotion.

His face paled as he saw the blood and destruction. He swallowed what little spit was in his mouth and began searching for what Alice assumed was the "pay phone". He turned back to say something when a soft smile came to his face. He closed his eyes and dropped his face as he began to chuckle.

"Strange has a great sense of humor," he laughed darkly. His blue eyes stared passed Neville and Alice sparkling with humor. Neville and Alice stared back in confusion. Archer covered his mouth with his hand trying to hide his laughter. His other hand pointed behind them. They turned around quickly to find a large blue booth, similar to ones they had seen periodically in muggle London. But rather than saying Police Box, it said "Phone Booth".

The two looked at Archer like he was a bit mad before he attempted to explain what was so funny.

"Sorry. It's just… It's so much bigger on the inside you know?" he continued to giggle.

"Not really. Lots of things are bigger on the inside with magic," Neville stated. Archer stared at Neville.

"Does that make the Doctor magic?"

"Doctor? Who?"

"Exactly!"

"Mum, I'm confused."

"Archer, I can honestly say we have no idea what you're talking about."

"Doctor Who? British Television program that has existed for the past few decades about a time lord who travels in a police box that is actually an alien space ship with a companion to go on zany adventures through time and space?"

Their faces remained blank for a moment.

"Oh," Neville finally broke the silence, "Donovan Walt. He enchanted a few police boxes years ago, that when muggles stepped inside they would hallucinate."

"That man was the reason we have so many of our laws pertaining to muggles today," Alice groaned remembering on particular time when Lily Potter nee Evans accidently entered one and insisted that she had seen Godric Gryffindor drinking tea with Salazar Slytherin wearing a pink bonnet.

"Wait, he's real?"

"Was. Died about fifteen years ago," Alice stated. Truly an odd man he was.

_°•°•°_

"Come on Hawkass, Nobody's eaten and I'm paying. So c'mon and eat some Shawarma!"

Clint was tempted. He was rather hungry. But the thought of his son not eating because he was worried he might not be alive… that overcame any feeling of hunger he had. He needed to talk to his son.

"Sorry Tin Can. I got better things to do than to eat with your fat ass."

"I doubt your nest will miss you while you're eating," Steve joked. Tony stared bewilderedly at Steve.

"I swear, I have never would have thought you were a joking man," Tony stated.

"Howard knew. Granted, he enjoyed embarrassing me more than anything," Steve admitted trailing off near the end making Tony grin.

"Oh I know. That's why I for dessert, I'm thinking fondue."

Steve choked on his spit making Tony laugh, gasping slightly as his chest clenched with a slight ache.

"You have got to be kidding. What's so bad about fondue?" Bruce asked. Steve's face flushed slightly before sending a mild glare towards Tony who was grinning like the mad man he was.

"Oh Steve has more than fondue on his-"

"Tony!" Steve reprimanded before he could finish. Clint shook his head. As funny as this interaction looked like it was going to be, he needed to get ahold of Ron.

"As fun as all this sounds. I really need to get back home," Clint restated. Natasha gave him a quick glance.

"No can do Legalus! It's dinner time!"

Clint's jaw set firm. He did not have time for this.

"I need to see my son," he snapped at the group. The men of the group turned to stare at him in bewilderment while Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"You have a son? What poor blind woman did you get- Oh man. Is that what happened in Budapest?" Tony questioned pointing at both Natasha and Clint with a dirty smirk.

"Oh no. We did not do that in Budapest or anywhere else for that matter. We have never done that Tin Can."

"Ron is Clint's son that he adopted years ago. Back before I was involve with SHEILD," Natasha commented vaguely.

"Well, can't blame him. I wouldn't want to be the woman who ended up with that," Tony snarked. Clint glared at the philanthropist in armor.

"You're not one to talk. My fridge looks better than you. Maybe you should try wearing it next time."

"Please. I can make anything look good," Tony replied quickly. Clint snorted imagining Tony in trying to wear his fridge.

"Don't. Your dad already tried that," Steve groaned with a touch of amusem*nt. Everyone stared at Steve.

"Your father was many things Tony, but he was not a model, nor could he handle Vodka all that well."

"Duly noted," Tony feigned disinterest.

_°•°•°_

Alice wasn't quite sure what happened. Not two minutes after Archer had stepped back into the faded blue booth and placed the odd "telephone" by his ears did a gruff man with a one eyed glare march up through the rubble and destruction as if it were perfectly normal. Archer grinned and ran out of Alice's reach as she tried to pull the boys behind her to keep them safe. She was even more surprised when the boy flung himself on the rather stern looking man without worry. The man didn't even so much as flinch. In fact, he put one arm around the Archer.

"Hey Uncle Nick!" Archer laughed. The man narrowed his one eye.

"Hello Ron."

"Ron? But your name's Archer isn't it?" Neville asked. Alice was confused as well. Why was this man calling Archer Ron? The man looked down at Archer with an odd look.

"Oh, so now you decide you like your middle name," the man joked.

"Oh come on Uncle Nick. Please keep it down."

Nick nodded and walked up to Neville and Alice, the former holding the latter close to her side. The man held out his hand.

"Director Nick Fury of SHIELD. I need you to come with me."

Alice tightened her grip on her son's shirt and discretely reached for her wand.

"Uncle Nick. She watched me when you sent me away. She's special. Like me," he said with an odd inflection. Nick glanced back down at Archer, now dubbed Ron.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh. She was in Strange's house with a bunch of other people who were… also special."

Director Nick Fury closed his eye, his brow furrowed and he muttered something about not having time.

"Still. Ms-"

"Alice!"

Nick glared at Ron who only smiled impishly back at him.

"Ms. Alice. I appreciate what you have done and the effort it has taken you to get Ron back in contact with us. However, for security reasons, I need you to come with me."

"Who are you exactly? And why do I need to come with you?"

"So we're clear as to why you can't tell anyone about what has happened in the past forty eight hours."

His voice didn't hold any room for debate. Still, Alice held a firm grasp on her son and wand, ready for a fight if needed. She just hoped Ron would forgive her if it came to kidnapping him for all of their safety.

"Don't even try it," Director Nick Fury commanded, "The area is secure and surrounded. We don't want to hurt you but we will do what is necessary for our nation's security."

With heavy heart, she went with Director Nick Fury, keeping her son by her side. She knew she couldn't perform magic in front of muggles she couldn't wipe the memories of. She'd have to play diplomat. Or this could get messy.

_°•°•°_

Clint didn't think twice. He saw the small familiar flash of red and he sprinted forward, leaving the angry flying refrigerator man and the frozen flag behind to argue as the unjolly, no longer green giant and assassin watched. His arms opened when he was four feet away. Not two seconds later he wrapped his arms around the body, pulling him close.

"Oh god. Ron," he whispered.

"Dad!" Ron yelped, a grin breaking through his features. He squirmed in his dad's hold until he could hug him back. Clint was huddled over, his cheek touching Ron's before Ron buried his nose in Clint's shoulder. Tears started to leak out of Ron's eyes but Clint didn't care. They were happy tears.

"See. He's back with his father," he heard Fury grunt. Clint chuckled.

"One hell of a bring back. I didn't realize they could get him here this fast from Knox," Clint commented looking upward from his crouched position. Though he looked on with confusion. The woman with Fury was heavily guarded. She wasn't dressed in any sanctioned SHIELD or government-regulated uniform. And, oh Christ, what was another kid doing here?

"They can't," Fury stated, "Ms. Alice here was watching him while she was vacationing here with her son."

"Vacationing? Fury-?!"

"Your son teleported out of one of our ships," Fury stated. Clint's eyes went back to Ron who was still clinging onto him. He nodded his head slowly. Of course Ron would do that. He wasn't one to back out of a challenge. And he also visited the medical ward often to see agents who had been hurt. He didn't like being left out. He didn't like anyone being left behind. Why wouldn't he teleport?

"Well, thank you ma'am," he said picking Ron up. Ron wrapped his legs around his father's waist in a comical fashion with his long limbs but still able to stay up.

"It wasn't a problem Arch-Ron was a fine boy," she stated. Clint's gaze hardened.

"How do you know his middle name?"

"He told us it was his name," the boy stated somewhat fearfully. Clint's gaze softened. Of course he did. Living with spies was really wearing off on Ron.

"Alright. So what now?" Clint asked as Ron's breathing slowed. Poor guy was all tuckered out. Emotionally anyway.

"Take your son out for a bit Barton. Ms. Alice and her son still need to be made aware of a few things."

"What? You going to make them agents or something?"

Fury glowered at Clint.

"Now Barton. Or do you want to help with the paperwork?"

"I'm gone!" he called out heading back towards the other "Avengers".

Fury turned back to Alice and Neville.

"Are we all clear?"

"We wouldn't tell a soul. Children should be with their parents," Alice began, "We understand that what we could say might jeopardize their safety. We won't breath a word."

"We can visit him sometime right?"

"No," Fury began, "However, there may come a time when he is on your side of the pond. We will alert you if this is the case."

"How will you contact us? From what we've seen, there is no similar mean of communication," Alice questioned. A small smirk appeared on Fury's face.

"That's between me and my agents. You'll know."

Alice nearly shivered at the ominous tone.

"Until then I'd say you want to head back home. Correct?"

"Yes. We would. If you would just allow us to get our port key we'll be on our way."

"We will. If you tell us who is in charge of these "port keys"."

Oh this wasn't going to end well.

_°•°•°_

"Someone looks tired," Bruce commented as he saw Clint returning to the other Avengers, Steve and Tony now arguing about modern slang. Natasha glanced in Clint's direction but her eyes ultimately fell on Ron. Her lips twitched slightly upward before returning to a neutral set. Steve turned to address Bruce's comment while Tony stared bewilderedly at the child in Clint's arms.

"Damn. I thought you were kidding about a kid. I thought you just didn't like me," Tony joked. Clint gave a halfhearted glare as the others gathered around.

"No one likes you Tin Can," Clint responded. Tony ignored Clint as he looked over the now sleeping kid.

"You sure he isn't yours and Nat-"

"For god sake! He is not what happened in Budapest!"

"He's a bit older than I thought he would be. You sure you didn't kidnap him?" Steve joked. Clint's jaw tightened slightly. It was still a sore subject that people would question if he took Ron from his family. Calling him a circus thief.

"No I didn't steal him," he grumbled. Ron groaned and moved his head. His eyes opened with slight irritation. He blushed however when he realized he was about to fall into a deep sleep while being carried in his dad's arms like he was a baby. And he jumped into it! It didn't take long for his face to match his hair as he unwrapped his legs from his dad's waist and his arms from his neck. He moved his left arm under his dad's right arm to at least keep some contact.

Blue eyes gazed over three men he had never met before and his Aunt Tasha.

"Dad? Who are they?" Ron asked. They were not SHIELD operatives. Well, his Aunt was but that was not who he was referring to.

"Who? These guys? Mr. America, Trash can, and Anger Management here?" he asked pointing at the three men, from the blond, to the bearded man, and then to the small man with curly hair.

"Steve, Tony and Bruce," Natasha translated.

"Really Hawkass? Trash can?"

"Don't call my dad that!" Ron snapped. Clint chuckled and ruffled Ron's hair.

"You heard him Stark."

"Keep it PG," Bruce sighed. Obviously Clint was one of those parents that kids just were really proud of. It was going to be an absolute nightmare when he hit that teenage rebellious stage. At least for Clint, considering how proud the kid seemed to be of him.

"Fine. So what's the kids name Legalus?"

"Ron. My name is Ron," the blue-eyed kid answered.

"Well Ron," Tony began, "I'm hungry. We're all hungry. I kind of want Shawarma. Don't know what it is but there is a place that sells it nearby. You wanna come?"

"We're surrounded by debris and chaos."

"So?"

"I don't see why not," Ron shrugged. Tony grinned like a maniac.

"I like this kid Hawky. Mind if I borrow him?"

"You are not borrowing my son Bolts for Brains."

_°•°•°_

Chaos was not limited to New York. Reunions weren't happening everywhere. Not all vacations had a happy ending. A young girl was learning this the hard way as she watched her parents be placed in a local cemetery back in her home country England. Tears poured from sorrel brown eyes, red rimmed from crying. Her hair a wild mess of frizzy curls, and her clothes, the bleakest of black. Her grandparents, old and withered could not care for her in their age, she cried not only in misery, but also in fear. Fear from being alone, and fear from witnessing her parent's death before her eyes in Germany.

She was to be sent to live with her Godfather, if he would have her. She was to fly to America to see if he would take her in, or if she was doomed to be lost to the system. Her tears poured faster as the last bit of dirt was placed over the two caskets. The tombstone was plain with two carved hearts reading: Here lies Thomas Jacob Granger and Jane Ellen Granger. May these two rest in peace as eternal as their love.

The poor girl was led away in tears, her bags already packed, and leaving within the week to meet her godfather. Whether he knew it then or not.