IT WAS QUIET EXCEPT FOR THE MUSIC emitting from the radio in the kitchen, drifting through the small apartment. Weeks passed of the pair adjusting to their new dynamic.
Natasha had slowly grown used to having another person in the apartment who was just as secretive as herself and in a strange way it worked. She accepted that it wasn't going to be easy, but she never questioned the times when she found him standing on the ceiling and breaking the laws of gravity as he sleep-walked, or staring blankly at a wall when he sat on the couch or when he woke up at three in the morning with sweat clinging to his skin and a scream on his lips. Her solution was to make him a hot chocolate and either wait for him to acknowledge her or join him on the couch with a warm blanket and lemon biscuits.
It was going well- better than she expected and Natasha had been expecting bullets and bruises.
Peter was still struggling with coming to terms with the fact that Natasha apparently wanted nothing from him, that whenever she sat with him and ran a hand through his hair it was because she genuinely cared that he'd woken up screaming or was hearing phantom voices. As a show of good faith Peter was trying to let the woman learn more about him, like what made him tick and the things that went on his mind that even scared himself. Every so often Peter would add an extra comment to the discussion, and Natasha knew he was trying to push down the barrier he had built.
So, it was working. Weirdly.
Out of instinct Peter had gathered information on Natasha, mentally noting specific things and brief mentions to add to his knowledge of the woman. He'd learnt that she was a part of the avengers and that she had been working for Shield the past few years and her partner was Clint Barton- but then he committed less important details to memory that Hydra would have frowned at and dismissed, yet Peter felt strangely attached to the observations. Natasha liked old movies and made references that flew over his head until she'd sat him down and revealed a mountain of DVDs; he found it amusing when she mumbled along with the dialogue. More out of habit, Natasha watched Peter too. She knew he was from Hydra and eyed all of the exits the second he entered a room; though he seemed to slowly stop as time went on, his eyes no longer snapping to the window and the front door instinctively. She also knew he sleep-walked and had night terrors that made him look every bit of the kid he was, but Natasha knew the trivial things too. That he preferred his hot chocolate without cream and that he was smart. He'd always mumble the correct answer on the gameshows that she forced him to watch to learn about pop culture- he also developed an interesting fascination to Star Wars.
Eventually Peter revealed some of his less noticeable abilities- the enhanced hearing mostly, and that he could stick to anything- with a bit of prompting.
The hearing ability had come up when he'd switched on the radio and then proceeded to break it on impulse a second later. He'd apologised profusely, curling in on himself as though Natasha was going to strike out and hit him- she shrugged the incident off and made a mental note of his reaction to the offending noise. She bought a new one the next day, always keeping the device at a low volume.
Currently, they were sat in a comfortable silence, cleaning the various guns Natasha had splayed out on the coffee table. The assassin made no comment when Peter had joined her on the couch.
He was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt that she had bought him in their first few days of living together. She had dragged him out of the house that day and it had been a quick trip, Peter having a sensory overload from all of the sudden voices and the dangers his weird sixth sense went off at, (Natasha was dubbing it the "Peter tingle" though Peter himself seemed far from impressed by the name). So, they sat together on the rundown couch in their lounge wear which was a sight all by itself, and Natasha couldn't help but note the way Peter's shoulders seemed to untense as he cleaned the weapon with routine precision that a fifteen-year-old shouldn't possess.
"You clean guns before?" She asked quietly, not wanting to break the cosy atmosphere.
Peter nodded and Natasha wondered if that was all she was going to get as an answer before his face pinched in frustration and he let out a long breath. He wanted their friendship to work; more than he'd care to admit aloud to anyone with ears. "It was one of the only things I could control. And it didn't hurt me when it was in my hands." he admitted, feeling strangely on show.
Another round of silence descended on the duo; Natasha stared down at the gun in her hands.
There was a calm rage simmering just below her skin at the confession. Seeing him in normal clothing with the sleeves of his sweatshirt caught on his fingers and his feet clad in a pair of ridiculous fluffy socks that she had bought for him as a joke made her choke up- because he was still a kid despite the low hum of danger buzzing around him. And to know that he had been hurt so badly?
She handed over a single handgun to Peter. "You can have this one. I'll get you your own cleaning kit as well." Natasha added, watching him stare at the weapon before hesitantly accepting.
"Thanks." He mumbled, mind whirling.
It was the first weapon he had held in the weeks after he had escaped the warehouse. There was a pang of fear at the idea that he'd have to use it, but also comfort that he could defend himself- and that Natasha trusted him enough to hand over a weapon when he knew she had been wary of him. He relaxed back into his seat, only half aware of Natasha watching him from her peripheral vision, when the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up for the first time in a while.
Noticing his sudden shift, Natasha wondered if handing Peter a gun had been the wrong approach to making him feel safe when she heard the vent creak and realisation dawned. "Peter-"
The teen had already climbed over the back of the couch with little effort, heart thrumming in his chest when Barton dropped down from the vent; he frowned at the sight of a random kid suddenly tugging him with down with a surprising ease and holding him in a strong chokehold. "Peter." Natasha called again, approaching the duo- Clint made a mental note to ask who the kid's trainer was if he had time before throwing the kid over his shoulder and pinning him to the floor; he was laughably light. "Clint." Natasha seethed, feeling a prick of panic at the sight of Peter handled so easily. She forced the feeling away as Peter fidgeted- she knew Clint wouldn't hurt him. Not really. But Natasha couldn't say the same about Peter.
"Get. Off." Peter growled before he kicked out.
His foot connected with a questionable place and Clint squeaked before toppling over. Peter slid out from beneath his grip and pulled back his arm, ready to knock the stranger out with a swift punch when Natasha jumped between them. Her eyes flashed warningly as she grabbed Peter's fist, fighting back her instinct to once again get the hell out of his way- his chest heaved up and down, adrenaline pumping through him. Close. Danger. Protect. His sense was going haywire.
"Do you trust me?" Natasha whispered, face overtaking Peter's vision so she blocked the sight of Clint clinging to the counter island and hoisting himself to his feet.
Shakily, Peter nodded after a moment of just breathing and trying to control the trembling in his hands. He lowered his arms back to his sides, albeit slowly, his eyes locked onto the womans in front of him as he steadied himself in the new position. "His name is Clint Barton. He's a pain in my ass but my friend. Let's not kill him just yet." Natasha's voice turned light at the end and she saw the spark of recognition in the teen's eyes at the name.
"I need some air." He announced, sucking a breath in-between his teeth. His eyes were unfocussed.
Despite the urge to wrap him up in a blanket and shove a hot chocolate in his hands, Natasha nodded in understanding and watched as he stalked towards the balcony, letting the door click shut behind him. A breath passed her lips but Natasha didn't know if it was from relief or something else and she was too tired to try and dissect its meaning.
"I leave for two weeks, and you get a kid. You miss me that much?" Clint wheezed out. The assassin turned back to Clint to see his face still slightly red. Natasha smirked as he added, "He can pack a punch- or should I say kick? Either way I don't think I'll ever be having kids."
"That's what you get for crawling through vents." She commented, her stern expression melting into as warm a look she could muster. "Shame to see you in one piece." Her eyes roamed over him, taking stock of the bruising around his eye and that he was curled slightly around his side- but he wasn't bleeding so she took it as a silent win. He'd survive.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Love you too 'Tash."
Natasha scoffed and looked tensely out at the balcony. Peter was hunched over, head in his hands. He was painfully still except for the shuddered rise and fall of his chest.
"Going to tell me about the deal with the kid?"
"Fancy being a dysfunctional family?" Nat commented dryly, half serious. Clint shrugged.
"Why not? Gotta impart my wisdom somewhere."
A/N
So Clint is finally introduced!! What yall think?
I don't know whether to make clintasha a thing, and if I do it's going to be pretty background and probably never explicitly said. Opinions please :)
Also the idea of Clint in a vent always makes me giggle. Don't forget to tell me of any spelling mistakes! xoxo.