Fic: No Magic Would Save Me 1/3 (MCU, R)
Title: No Magic Would Save Me
Author:
arsenicjade
Pairings: Tony/Pepper
Rating: R
Warnings: allusions/references to prior child abuse of all forms
Summary: Once upon a time, an angel with the unlikely name of Pepper came to the circus, and took Clint away.
Thanks: To my alpha,
egelantier, who helped me find a conclusion, and my beta
forsweatervests who's pretty much responsible for the world building and other good stuff. My fanartist,
kymericl for being enthusiastic, and on top of everything and creating lovely art which can be found here, please go let her know what an excellent job she did. Last but not least, both mods of
marvel_bang, who made this year and last a joy and delight.
AN: Being used for "dungeons" square on my first
hc_bingo card.
(ohman, my heart just diiiies over bb!clint):
The ghost walks into the tent on two feet, like any normal human being, but Clint knows better. Its hair is a special gold-red color and it looks soft. Clint bets his hand would go through it. He's not going to try. He's not very brave, really.
When he heard someone coming in, he was sure it was Lyndon. Lyndon likes finding Clint during the stage show, likes that Clint can scream then and nobody will come. Clint's not sure why someone would come if he screamed. Maybe because it was bothering them? He's never asked, though. He only uses words when he has to. They get confused on his tongue. He's a very stupid boy, everyone says.
The ghost turns. It might be an angel. Caleb, the barker, says they don't exist, but Clint wonders if maybe he just hasn't seen any. Looking around, Angel-ghost asks, "Tony?"
Clint frowns. He can't remember anyone named Tony working for the circus. There'd been an Italian roustabout a few months back, but he'd gone by Antonio, and had been left behind when he hadn't made it back to the train by the departure time. Roustabouts were like that, coming and going.
"Tony, this is not-" Angel-ghost stops as Blue, one of the performing monkeys, manages to reach out from the bars of her cage far enough to get hold of a strand of hair and yank.
The hair goes where it's pulled, and the maybe-just-a-person makes a sharp noise in her throat. Clint doesn't really think before jumping down from the rigging, holding his hand up to give Blue something else to play with. Blue isn't mean; she just likes shiny things.
The woman, who's touching her head lightly says, "Oh. Thank you."
Clint shrugs. He wants to ask her not to tell, because Victor, the animal trainer, will take it out on Blue, but he learned a long time ago not to ask for things. Asking only makes the eventual punishment worse.
She crouches down in front of him and Clint backs up hastily, wishing Blue weren't holding on so tightly, that he could scramble up to relative safety. She says, "It's-it's okay. I won't hurt you."
Blue is now tugging at Clint's hair, which hurts, but Clint doesn't mind. Blue doesn't mean it, the way people always do. The woman looks over at Blue, then back at Clint. She smiles a little. "Is he a friend?"
Even if she looks nice, like maybe she could be somebody's big sister, Clint isn't telling her anything. He made that mistake with the Doskocils, the first tumbling family he remembers.
Clint doesn't know if he was born in the circus or not, but he can't remember anything before it. He's heard rumors that he was born to a star rider, who died in childbirth, leaving Carson with a useless baby. Or there's the one about how the circus bought a group of orphans for jobs the adults were too big to do, and didn't realize they'd been given one orphan too little to do any good until they were on their way. There's also the one about Clint being the bastard of one of the clowns who'd gotten stuck with him. He's not sure any of them are true, but they do all explain why nobody's ever seemed to like him much.
The Doskocils had loved their kids, and hadn't hit Clint or tied him outside the tent at night or anything like that. Clint had thought maybe they could like him, like their kids, if he was good.
Instead, after he'd eaten with him a few times, they'd told Carson he was stealing their food. Clint understands that he was an extra mouth to feed. He also imagines they thought he wanted a cot or maybe some new clothes. He hadn't, but they hadn't asked, so he couldn't tell them that. Clint doesn't think about what happened when Carson found him after being ratted out by the Doskocils. His hand tightens unconsciously in Blue's fur.
Blue chitters at him before swinging away, out of his grasp. Clint's almost up the bars, atop the cage when the woman puts her fingers to one of the inflamed blisters on his foot and Clint curls up instinctively, his hands coming to his head. He falls all the way back down. He can still fit under the cage, where most people can't get to him. He's getting himself to move when she says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-I'm sorry."
Clint's never heard an apology. Well, no, he's heard them, those just weren't for him. It's nice, but also really scary. Clint likes to understand things, to see what's coming.
The woman is frowning, but she doesn't look mad, at least not the way Clint's always witnessing it. She says, softly, "I just wanted to see if you know where my husband is. He gets distracted by machines and other curiosities. Do you know where he might have wandered off to?"
Clint wonders if she'd let him get away this time. He could try again. He almost does, but…she said she was sorry, and she hadn't even hurt him, not much. Clint chews on his cheek while he considers, and after a few seconds, he nods tightly. She smiles at him, gentle and clean and Clint is maybe having a dream. He likes it though. She asks, "Take me there?"
Clint tries to smile back. He's not used to it, and his jaw aches from the last beating, but it feels nice all the same. He reaches up to her before realizing just how filthy his palm is. Clint didn't know he was smelly and dirty until the older kids started making fun of him for it. The circus is rarely near a creek, though.
He's about to pull his hand back, but she is too quick: fitting hers around it and holding on.
*
Clint is unsurprised to find an unfamiliar man atop the new engine. The old one gave out a few months earlier, and the only thing available in the region had been the newest of hybrid engines. None of the roustabouts had been paid since its purchase. And nearly everyone with even a vague interest in machinery seems drawn to it, as if by magic.
The woman sighs. "Tony."
It's time for Clint to go. He's helped, but last time he got caught in the near vicinity of the new engine-he'd just wanted to see it-Carson's security had dangled him outside the train while it was moving and laughed when he couldn't help screaming. He starts to slip his hand out of hers, but she looks over the moment he does it, bends down to where they're eye to eye.
She opens her mouth, but before she's able to say anything, the figure from the engine jumps down to land beside them. Now that Clint can see something more than an outline, he notices just how nice the man's suit is. Well, the parts that aren't covered in grease and soot. Much more strangely, his heart is evidently very loud, with whirs and clicks that Clint can hear and a bit of light that peeks through his shirt. The woman looks up at him indulgently. "Having a good time, dear?"
Tony makes a face and rubs and hand through his already-funny hair. "Got distracted."
"Is the train now going to fly?" she asks.
Tony blinks. "No, but, now that you mention it-"
"Tony," she says again, just as he's about to reclimb the engine.
He gives her a small smile. "Pepp?"
"I want you to meet someone first."
Tony looks over at Clint and Clint's pretty sure he hasn't even noticed his presence till now. It makes Clint want to run, but "Pepp" is still holding his hand and hers is soft and gentle and Clint can't seem to make himself.
"Making friends?" Tony asks.
Pepp's smile is small, a bare flicker of her lips. "He hasn't told me his name, but he saved me from a monkey and found you for me."
Tony's eyes are dark, and there's never just one expression in them. Clint doesn't like it. Not knowing what's coming is the worst. He asks Clint, "Doing my job?"
"Tony." Pepp's tone is a warning. Clint knows all about warnings, for all that he's rarely granted them.
There's a beat and then Tony smiles. It's a sharp smile but not mean, at least not in the way Clint knows mean. Tony says, "Fair enough, I wasn't doing it."
Clint doesn't really know what that means, except he thinks he's safe for the moment. Still, he has to go. Even from this far away, one glance over at the big top and he knows exactly where the show is, and that if he's not where he's supposed to be in minutes, he's going to regret it for days. Clint shrugs and tries, once more, to pull away, this time a little more forcefully, panic lending him strength.
Pepp's grip tightens, not quite enough to hurt, but close. Clint gasps out the one word that he trusts not to make things worse. It might not make things better, but Clint is used to taking what he can get. He whines, "Please," then, for good measure, "Please, miss."
"Missus," Tony says, even though he doesn't seem to be paying much attention anymore, his thoughts back on the engine.
"Tony," Pepp repeats, sounding fond, but also tired. Then she says, "Brave little boys deserve rewards. I'm not letting go until I see about getting you one."
Clint isn't sure what happens, then, only that his mind gets stuck in the last time a townie tried to help him out. He'd lived on water and whatever he could dig out of the animal troughs for over a week, and his hip was still sore from how long it had been before one of the clowns sneaked him to a "healer" in backwoods Alabama to fix it. His breaths feel sharp in his chest and everything is too bright, despite it still being night and he can't find his voice to beg some more. Too used to running only delaying things, he instinctively goes deathly-still.
Vaguely, Clint hears Tony say, "Hell, boy-o."
He's too entrenched in his own fear to respond until he feels a gentle, warm hand against his face, a large palm lying lightly on one of his shoulders. Clint can hear a sound like when one of the horses is giving birth, or one of the cats needs a wound treated, but doesn't realize he's making it, not fully.
Pepp, for her part, just says, "All will be well, little one. You'll see. Everything will work out."
*
As soon as the two adults get distracted just enough by thinking of who, exactly, they need to find to "help" Clint, he twists free and runs for all he's worth, thinking frantically. He needs a good hiding space. They'll find him up high, now that Jacques and Carson have figured out to look. The lion cages keep him safe from people, but not from the lions. He'd learned that the hard way.
Praying he gets lucky, Clint heads to the car reserved for the pretty flame thrower, "Miss Blaize," who almost always spends her evenings with the horse-trainer. Nobody will think to look in one of her trunks. Clint just has to stay quiet and tucked up until the worst of it blows over.
Once he's inside, he almost reconsiders. The dark doesn't bother him so much-darkness usually indicates safety-but he's trapped inside. If they find him here, there will be nowhere to go. Then again, having somewhere to go has never really saved him. He knows better than to run from the circus. He's seen townie kids without parents begging on the streets, their skin hanging on bones, almost see-through. Scraps are better than nothing.
It's a while before he hears voices calling for him. That's…unusual. It's general knowledge that Clint's not one to give up his hiding place until he's been dragged from it. He doesn't know what to make of the change. His stomach cramps in fear, but he ignores it. They won't find him, they won't.
The one thing Clint hasn't planned on is everyone-Miss Blaize included-being drafted into finding him. She is the one who opens her trunk, probably not even to find him, probably to grab something, and screams, "Get out! Get out, you filthy animal."
Clint is fast, but not quite fast enough to scramble away before she's pulling him out by his hair. He chokes off the sound of pain in his throat. It is easily swallowed by the sheer amount of terror he's feeling. Blaize says, "Stupid carnie-spawn," like she's any better for not having been born to the life. She pushes him out of her car, "Carson wants you."
Clint is all set to hide again, but one of the roustabouts catches him and drags him to the main tent by his ear. Clint doesn't whine, it will only make the man pull harder. He's tossed into the tent, catching himself on his hands. He doesn't bother to get off his knees. He thinks about things he likes: the smell of rain, the softness of the horses' noses, the funny sounds the monkeys make. Sometimes he can hold onto these thoughts, stay in them, and it hurts a little less.
Then something happens Clint cannot understand. A woman's voice-Pepp's voice, he realizes-bites off the words, "Thank you for your…cooperation in this matter," and someone, oh, Tony, squats down and tucks his hands under Clint's underarms, saying, "Up you go," before putting him on his feet and dusting him off, or, well, trying.
Pepp takes his hand again and says, "Come now, Clint."
Clint has no idea what to do. Has he been thrown out? Is that the punishment for helping these people? Should he beg? Should he go with them? They haven't hurt him so far. Clint chances looking at Carson, but Carson just sneers and makes a dismissive gesture. Pepp starts walking, and Clint could dig his feet in, but he'll stumble sooner or later. Instead, he follows.
*
Clint is brought to a carriage drawn by machines. He's not certain if he should be terrified of the way they seem to mimic horses, or if he should offer them treats. He doesn't have any at the moment, but when he does, he might have to try.
Tony says, "Show you how One and Two work later, for now, let's be gone from here."
Clint's lifted inside, where he discovers the nicest space he's ever seen. It's even prettier and softer than Carson's car, and that's the best one. This, though, has seats that feel like Clint's always thought clouds would if he could reach them. It's warmer than the chilled outside, but not hot and stuffy. It's clean, too, and Clint doesn't want to find out what happens to things that get the car dirty.
Pepp, though, says, "On the seats, Clint. It's too dangerous for you to stand."
Clint is still healing from a severe switching two nights earlier. He hasn't been sitting, just perching, but he knows he can't do that. He resigns himself to the discomfort, and to the likelihood that he will get another beating for making things muddy and stained, and sits gingerly on one of the seats. Despite biting his cheek, he can't quite help the sharp breath it knocks from him.
Tony's eyes narrow and Pepp frowns. Clint hastens to tell them, "I falled." Then, because they look doubtful, "I climb and do stupid things and fall. All the time."
"Most words the kid's said all night and it's to cover for people who just sold him off," Tony comments.
Clint doesn't understand. "Sold? Like…" Like an animal?
Pepp glares at Tony. "Some people, Clint, money is all they understand. And if you want something, you have to speak the language of the person you want it from. Does that make sense?"
Not really, but Clint is too busy thinking about how the horses are sold to the glue factories if they even make it that long. He blinks back tears. He may be stupid, but he's not a cry-baby. "Are…are you gonna make something with me?"
Pepp tilts her head and Tony says in a tone that manages to be both flat and sharp, "You're not high enough grade machinery, kid."
Pepp closes her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. When she opens them, she asks, "What do you mean, make something?"
Clint grips the tatters of his pants with his hands so that they won't shake. "The horses are turned into glue."
For a moment, both adults are silent, wearing expressions Clint doesn't understand, their cheeks a bit green. It is Tony who says, "You're not a horse."
Clint actually knows that. Still, "I got sold."
"But not bought," Tony says. His lips are twisted in threatening way, but he's not looking at Clint, instead staring out the window of the coach, back in the direction of the circus.
Clint doesn't know a lot, but he's pretty sure that doesn't make any sense. Pepp sighs. "Give us a chance, Clint? Things will make more sense if you just give us some time."
Clint's used to not being told anything, so he nods and works on not falling asleep. The carriage is so soft that even the bumps in the road don't bother him, and he hasn't had any real rest in days, not since they came to town and Jacques started using him as a way to make some quick money on the side from the townies. Even the pain from the beating and from the men isn't quite enough to keep him from drifting.
He does everything he can think of, including digging a finger into one of the scabbed spots, but in the end, just like always, he loses the fight.
*
Clint wakes to the feeling of hands on him and immediately goes limp. He has found he won't win any fight, but he can make things hard for the other person. A male voice says, "I'm not carrying deadweight. Since you're up, you can walk."
Clint blinks his eyes open and it takes a second, but then he remembers. Tony. Tony and Pepp and being sold. Clint slides off the carriage seat and follows Tony out of it. Pepper is already standing in front of the carriage, speaking quietly to a man with dark skin, the kind Clint has only seen when the circus traveled southwards, and then only behind fences. Clint wants to touch, to see if it feels any different than his skin, but he knows better.
The man has a holster holding a pistol at each of his hips, the metalwork extremely detailed and pretty. Clint's never seen beautiful weapons. He knows he should be scared-he is-but he also wishes he could touch them. Their owner turns to him and smiles. "Clint, yes? I'm James, but friends call me Rhodey."
The man holds his hand out and Clint isn't entirely sure what to do. Is this man going to be in charge of him? His curiosity overcomes his wariness-a flaw that has landed Clint with more scars than not-and he reaches up to take the hand. It closes gently around his and shakes twice before letting go. Clint blinks. Disappointingly, his skin feels the same as everyone else's, but with calluses that reminded Clint of the roustabouts more than the performers.
"Welcome," Rhodey says.
"Th-thank you?" Clint knows it shouldn't be a question, but he doesn't feel assertive enough to state anything just then.
"Rhodey," Pepp says softly, and Rhodey nods.
"Of course. I'll return shortly." He walks off toward a stallion, a real, breathing one.
Now that Rhodey is gone, Clint has nothing to distract him from the house in front of him. House is a bad word. Clint has seen houses when the performers have taken him into towns for one reason or another. This is, well, maybe it's a castle. Clint's never seen a castle, so it could be. It's taller than any home Clint has ever seen, maybe three stories, and has statues at the top, and actual lights gracing the front. There are windows bigger than Clint knew windows could be. It's not exactly pretty, but it is impressive.
"You're welcome to sleep in our driving way, but I, for one, am going inside," Tony announces.
Pepp shakes her head and looks down at Clint. "Ready to see your new home?"
Suddenly, things shift into place. This house probably needs little hands to clean in places adults can't get. There are lots of kids in need of jobs, so Clint doesn't know why these two wanted him from the circus, but he's not really too bothered. He'll miss the animals, but maybe he can do better here, not be naughty, and he won't be beaten as much. It's a new start.
Clint nods and offers Pepp a small smile before following her in her trek toward the house.
*
Inside the house is more beautiful than anything Clint has ever seen. He's used to the cheap glamour of the circus, its riotous colors and the fake sparkle of glass. There are plenty of colors here, too, but they fit together, neither so bright nor loud as those of the big top, but rich and wonderful. What glass there is does not sparkle, but shows him the night sky, the dark quiet surrounding the house.
There is a wonderful clock ticking steadily in one of the nearby rooms. Clint can just see the slow movement of gears painted to fit with the rest of the décor. He cannot tell time with a clock, but he likes to watch them, all the same.
Clint cannot help but be a little distracted by how many hiding places this house might have, where he could tuck himself in and not come out until a pursuer lost interest. Of course, he'll try to be good, but Clint knows he'll mess it up. He always has before.
A tall, distinguished-looking man with the neatest eyeglass Clint has ever seen, with lenses that rotate at the click of a brass dial just to the right of the frame, greets Tony and Pepp as "master" and "mistress." The lenses click and whir into place as he peers curiously at Clint. Clint makes himself stop staring, distracting himself with the question of whether Pepp's a queen, or something. Queens probably seem like angels from far away. Pepp says, "Evening, Jarvis. This is Clint. He's going to be staying with us."
Jarvis gets to one knee in front of Clint and Clint has to keep himself from bolting, the movement is so strange. Despite his clipped, clean tones, Jarvis has a soft gaze, and when he says, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Clint," it does not sound like a joke. Then again, maybe Clint just doesn't get the joke. This is all very confusing.
Clint wants to ask questions, but he knows it's better to wait and be told what to do. He doesn't want to get this wrong, not so soon. He dips his head and whispers, "Nice to be meeting you, sir."
"Jarvis," Pepp says, "could you have one of the maids draw up a bath? And see about getting Clint something clean to wear, at least for tonight?"
"Of course, mistress." Jarvis stands fluidly and walks further into the house, turning a corner so Clint can no longer see him.
"Pepp," Tony says. It sounds like what Clint would call a whine, but he daren't think that, not even in the questionable safety of his own mind.
"Go," she says, laughing a bit, and waving her hand. "You've done your duty by me."
"Yes, well, seeing as my manly feats have been…feted, I'll just-" he leans in to kiss Pepp quickly and then disappears in a different direction from Jarvis.
Pepp looks down at Clint. "Don't mind him. He gets ideas, and then he must get to his workshop."
Clint thinks it's weird she feels the need to explain. It's not Clint's place to mind.
She smiles at him, but even Clint can tell there's something odd about the smile, just a bit off. All she says, though, is, "No doubt that bath is already in progress. Let's go see if we can find where they've chosen to draw it, shall we?"
Because she seems to be waiting for some type of response, Clint nods his head once.
*
The water in the large shiny copper basin Pepp shows Clint to is warm. Clint's never felt anything like it before. In the summer the streams he finds to wash in are nice, a relief from the heat, but in the winter they are painful, and washing a torment he is occasionally made to endure by others in the circus. He fully expects something of the kind, but finds himself wanting to stay inside the water, the way it laps at his skin gently and seems to make him warm even inside his stomach, which never feels that way in the winter.
She instructs him to scrub behind his ears and under his fingernails. The tub, which has a machine that heats and pours the water into it, spilling over a turning gear with a waterflow space carved into the surface, has to be emptied and filled three times before she seems content, but Clint can't find it in himself to mind. Even the way it stings his open blisters and welts can't bother him. The overall feeling is wonderful.
The nightshirt Clint is put in once dry is much too large for him, but so, so soft. Clint wonders if it belongs to a big kid, or one of the adults. Clint's not sure how old he is, maybe seven or eight or nine, judging by the performing kids he's always been around. He's small, though, smaller even than some of the kids he's definitely older than. He trips over the nightshirt walking down the hall with Pepp, and instead of scolding, she does nothing more than pick him up and carry him the rest of the way. Clint is too surprised to even startle. She doesn't hold him so tightly it hurts anywhere besides where his back is still healing, and when they reach where they are going, she is gentle about setting him down. He finds himself missing the feel of her arms and wraps his own around him. It's not the same.
The room where they have stopped is huge, as big as one of the side-tents. It has a bed as big as half a train-car and is decorated with a red so dark it's nearly purple, accented with a creamy white. It's beautiful, if mostly empty. It has places to hide and the biggest window Clint has ever seen in his life.
Pepp says, "This is where we'll start you out. It's very near to where Tony and I sleep, and Rhodey and his wife are just down the hall. We can move you if need be, but for now, I think this is best."
Clint nods. He thinks he'll like working on this room, even if there are a lot of things that will be hard to reach. He can be careful. He asks, "Can I, uh, where're the rags and mops an' stuffs? Missus?"
Pepp frowns. "Is something dirty?"
Clint blinks. He doesn't understand the question. "Whats you wants cleaned?"
The frown does not go away. "Why would I want you to clean?"
Clint chews his lip. "Oh. Did you buyed me for the animals?"
That makes some sense. Clint really is very good with all kinds of animals and a large house like this might keep quite a few. Of course they wouldn't want someone as dirty as Clint had been to clean their things. He'd been stupid to even think it.
Pepp folds to her knees with a grace Clint is only used to seeing from the acrobats. She tilts her head and says, "We have plenty of people working for us, Clint. We don't need any help."
"Oh," Clint says again, feeling even more stupid. He should have known better. "Is it…am I just for Rhodey, or is there more?"
"For?" Pepp asks, and there is something Clint doesn't understand in her voice, something that scares him.
He doesn't know how to make her happy. He uses Swordsman's word, because the others he's heard he's pretty sure he isn't supposed to say to ladies. "En'ertainment?"
Clint doesn't know what he's done wrong, but Pepp's eyes get watery, the rest of her face drawing tight. She says, "You're not for any of that. For cleaning or animals or entertainment or whatever else you did before. None of that, never again."
Her voice sounds weird. Clint says, "I'm sorry?"
It's frightening, not knowing what's expected of him, what he's supposed to do, but he hates the way he's made Pepp look and sound, so he won't ask anymore. If he gets punished for not knowing, it won't be any worse than Pepp crying.
She shakes her head, draws in a few breaths and says, "Nothing to be sorry for. Let's just…you must be hungry."
Clint is, but he can't tell if that was a question, so he just tries out a little smile. It seems to work.
*
"Some people find our cook to be unusual, but he really is a genius in the kitchen," Pepp says as she guides Clint along endless hallways, her hand wrapped warmly over his. Clint can't remember a time when someone touched him the way she does. He thinks he could live without food or water, if he could keep holding her hand.
The kitchen is huge. Clint is starting to think his whole life has maybe been small, everything seems so big. There are lots of copper pots and pans hanging about, as well as whirring timers and machines Clint has never seen, but at least one of them seems to be making coffee. A smell Clint cannot recognize, but very much wants to be familiar with, floats in the air. Pepp calls, "Bruce, you here?"
A man with unkempt curly hair and a shirt covered in flour and other, darker powders emerges from a room off to the side. He is holding a dead fish in his hands. "Oh, Pepper. Weren't you planning on staying out later?"
"I was with Tony," she says.
Bruce nods, as if this explains the universe and all its secrets. "I'm experimenting with the five-star anise he bought for me."
Pepper smiles. "Every once in a while, he can actually be thoughtful."
Bruce snorts. "If he wants something in return," but the words aren't bitter. Clint thinks Bruce likes Tony.
Pepper says, "Bruce, this is Clint. He's going to be staying with us."
"Oh." Bruce blinks. "You really think he should be around me?"
Softly, she says, "The medications Jane has given you have stopped any incidents for two years now. I think you'll both be fine."
Clint isn't sure what any of that means, but he makes a note to be quiet and invisible around Bruce. Bruce immediately makes this hard by saying, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Clint. Did you want something to eat?"
Clint is one hundred percent sure there's never been a time when he wasn't hungry. That said, he doesn't know the rules here, like how at the circus, certain people got fed first and others last, if there was any left. He's wondering if he should ask when Bruce says, "Of course you're hungry, you're a boy."
He disappears, then, around a corner, fish still in hand. Clint looks up at Pepper, "I don't need nothing to eat."
"Mm," she says, and steers him toward one of the chairs at a table that's little more than a place to rest a few teacups. Bruce returns with a slightly less than half a bowl of something that is sending steam curling up from the rim, carrying with it the rich smell of meat and spices.
He puts it in front of Clint and hands him a spoon. He hesitates, then says, "Eat slowly, all right?"
It's disappointing, because it probably means the food will be taken from him after only a few bites, but he's not going to mess up the first order he's really been given. "Yes, sir."
Bruce's face scrunches uncomfortably. "Bruce."
Instead of trying out the name, Clint takes a spoonful. He can't help the noise he makes as his tongue comes in contact with the food. Clint has grown up on food made for large crowds, and scraps of that food, at that. This is…this isn’t food, this is a reward. Clint doesn't know what he did, but he will do it forever if it means only a few bites of something like this.
He goes slowly, as requested, but they never even try to take the bowl away from him, not even when he rests for minutes upon beginning to feel full. Instead, Bruce talks about something he needs from Tony, and hide-row-ponick thing, that Clint thinks is another machine. Pepper nibbles on what seem to be flower petals with sugar on them, occasionally telling Clint he's doing well, or responding to Bruce.
When Clint has finally finished, Bruce asks, "Was that good? I was experimenting with caraway seeds, it might have been a mistake."
Clint, despite having a hard time imagining why it matters, tells him solemnly, "It was the bestest food I'm ever tasting."
*
Rhodey returns as Clint is looking around to see if anyone is watching, or if he can lick his bowl. Next to Rhodey is a woman whose hair is in a messy bun and who is tiny, even next to Pepper. She's carrying a black bag. She smiles at everyone when she walks in, a broad, sweet smile and Clint finds his own lips curling.
She says, "You must be Clint. I'm Jane. Rhodey says you need a bit of patching."
Clint blinks slowly, sending a questioning glance at Pepper, who says, "She's a doctor, Clint. I want her to take a look at you, all right?"
"I'm healthy, missus." Doctors are expensive. He's heard it yelled, whispered and everything in between when circus performers have been hurt. And the circus docs…Clint forces himself not to think of the injection machinery that left scars wherever it pierced, or the cheap tin limb replacements that almost always turned green, the skin around them turning angry red and having to be cut away, further and further.
"Then it won't hurt to let her confirm that, will it?" Pepper asks.
Clint shoves his real fears away. Letting on to being scared has always been a path to other people learning how best to punish him. He goes the safe route, and mimics what he's heard. "Docs is expensive."
Pepper blinks then. After a moment, she says, "Tony and I have the money to spend, and want to spend it on you."
Clint can't help asking, "Why?" He knows better than to ask that question, has been hit at least eight or nine times before learning that lesson, but it literally just tumbles out of his mouth. He opens his mouth to take it back, to apologize, but Pepper is too quick.
"Because-because I always wanted a fairy godmother growing up."
Clint is too distracted by his own curiosity to notice himself digging the hole deeper by asking, "What's a fairy godmother?"
Pepper hesitates for a second, then answers, truthfully, as far as Clint can tell, "Someone with the desire and ability to take care of someone else who needs it."
Clint still doesn't really understand, but he does know that Pepper, for whatever reason, wants him to let the doctor poke at him. He says, "Oh."
"I will be very gentle," Jane tells him. Clint shrugs. The idea seems kind of strange, but if she wants to try, he won't argue.
*
Jane starts with his feet. She makes a hissing noise upon seeing them. Clint bites his lip and mumbles, "I cleaned'em best I could, miss doctor."
"Jane," she says softly, as she begins to take bright and unusual gadgets out of her bag. "I like being called Jane. And you did a very good job of cleaning them, but…they probably hurt to walk on, right?"
Clint supposes they do. He can't remember a time when they haven't, though. Some days it hurts less, but then he'll accidentally step on something again, or be given a job involving some task his feet aren't used to, and it will start all over. "They'll gets better."
"Mm," Jane murmurs. "What I'm about to do, Clint? It's going to hurt a lot. But it's going to help, too. Okay?"
Clint still doesn't understand why people keep asking him things. Jane sighs and tousles his hair. "Poor thing. We're going to get you fixed right up."
It does hurt, what she does to his feet. It burns and pinches and Clint finds himself biting his wrist to stop himself from whimpering. Jane carefully moves his arm away from his mouth and says, "You can make all the noise you want to."
Clint can't think of any reason she'd lie, but he's had noisiness beaten out of him too thoroughly to believe her. When she's finished, she wraps his feet in soft, clean bandages, and then puts a pair of socks on them. Clint flexes his toes. He's never worn socks. They feel weird, not in a bad way, but new all the same.
Jane continues to look him over, tapping and listening to different parts of him with little machines from her bag, frowning at all sorts of things, and occasionally asking how he got a scar. Clint remembers a few of the worse ones. He just says, "I'm clumsy," again and again and again, like he was trained. Eventually she gives up. She doesn't get angry or rough with him. He waits and waits for it, but it never happens. She's even careful when she discovers the irritated welts on his back from his latest strapping.
When she's finished, Clint is exhausted. He tries to get to his feet and nearly pitches face-first to the floor. Jane catches him and says, "Just rest for a moment," holding him up and steady.
*
Tony bursts into the room where Rhodey and Pepper are reading to Clint aloud and in voices about a wolf and a little girl and her grandmother. It's kind of scary, but Clint wants to know what happens. He's seen books-Simon, the animal doctor who patched people up in the circus when they needed it, had always had one somewhere-but the insides are all gibberish to him. It's amazing, the way they make up a story.
At first he was nervous, when they started reading, that maybe they had better things to be doing, but he's since become too involved in the plot to notice that thrum of concern. It resurfaces immediately when Tony appears, looking bedraggled and announcing, "I am a genius."
Pepper glances up from the book, and Clint thinks she's a little annoyed, but he's not sure at whom the emotion is directed. She asks, "Why don't you come back when you have something newsworthy to share? We're having story time."
"And you can go back to having it as soon as I show you what I did," Tony says, evidently unbothered by Pepper's reaction.
Pepper opens her mouth, but Rhodey cuts her off, saying, "All right, show us."
The piece of machinery Tony is carrying, which looks like a cross between a cat and one of the electric lanterns Clint has seen throughout the mansion, moves, then, and Tony places it on the floor. It stalks toward Clint, who fights his desire to run. He'll only be caught. Better to figure out what the machine-creature is supposed to do.
It stops just before it gets to him, tilting its "head" back and forth before purring, "Mine. Miiiiine."
Tony winces. "Ah, the programming necessary to make her protective also makes her a little possessive."
Clint doesn't understand. He doesn't think he can hurt the people here, but he wouldn't, in any case. "I-I won't cause troubles, sir."
He knows he won't be believed, but it's worth a try. Tony frowns. "You probably should think about it, being a kid and all. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"You don't hafta make her watch me. I won't-"
"She's not to watch you, Clint," Pepper says from behind him. He whips his gaze to her. She smiles. "Tony is wonderful at making things and terrible at explaining their uses, but he made her to keep you safe." She looks past him, at Tony, "I presume she has some type of alert protocol, should it be necessary?"
"Why are you always underestimating me?" Tony asks. "It wounds me. In my soul. In the deepest-"
"Does she have a name?" Rhodey interrupts.
Tony says, "Uh," but Rhodey shakes his head, "Not you, you're terrible at naming things. I was asking Clint."
Clint has never named anything in his life. He's probably worse than Tony. He stares at Pepper's hands, where she's still holding the book in her lap. He doesn't even realize he's going to speak when he says, "Story."
"That's-" Tony starts and Clint hunches in on himself, waiting to be kicked or hit or spit on or anything before the laughter comes, the mocking. Instead, Tony says, "That's good. I like that. Story. Huh."
For her part, Story makes her strange electric rumble-purr sound, walks in a circle three times, and settles herself between Clint and everyone else in the room. Carefully, Clint reaches out to run a finger over the shiny arch of her back. She whistles, "Miiiine."
*
Clint has never slept in a bed before. A couple of times, when he was younger and stupider, he would try sneaking into the cots of performers who didn't spend their nights in their own, but after the beating with the handle of the riding crop, he'd gotten the message that it didn't matter whether those cots were empty or not, they weren't for the likes of him. The bed he's led to by Pepper isn't a cot. He can only clamber up through years of climbing skills and when he gets to the top he doesn't even realize he's speaking before asking, "Is this made of clouds?"
Pepper smiles. Clint wonders if maybe she's made of sunshine. Maybe everything in the mansion is made of magic and the best parts of the world around them. She says, "Close. It's called down. It's made from the feathers of ducklings and very soft."
Clint wants to swim in it, but Story somehow clears the height of the bed with a very mechanical-sounding pounce and starts nosing him into lying down. He doesn't know if it's appropriate, but he can't help giggling. Story's nose is cold and the bed catches him and there are warm covers waiting and everything is too perfect. This is probably a dream. Maybe like the time one of the people from the town hurt him bad enough that he had to sleep for a few days. He hadn't dreamed anything this good then, but he could be now.
He's just happy his mind can come up with this fantasy. It's so different from everything he's known. He turns to tell Pepper thank you, to tell her he can earn his place. He's little but he can carry big things and get in small places and other useful stuff. She quiets him by tucking the covers over his body, just at his shoulders, and brushing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Clint startles at that, wanting more, but having no idea what has just happened.
Pepper brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Rest, Clint. Dream well."
Clint nods. "You too, missus. And…and tell sir goodnight, please?"
Softly, she says, "I will. Now sleep."
Clint is too tired to do anything else.
*
He wakes from a nightmare in the middle of the night to darkness and no sense of where he is, in a cocoon like he's never felt. He scrambles to the side, trying to get his bearings, and tumbles off the edge of the surface, meeting the floor with hands frantically thrown out and one knee. It hurts, but Clint knows better than to cry out. That will only mean more pain.
He's always been able to see well in the dark given a little bit of adjustment time. Now he sees that the thing he just fell from has a space underneath that he can just fit into if he makes himself control his breathing. That isn't a big sacrifice for the safety the spot offers. It will be hard for grown-ups to get to him. They will, eventually, they always do, but for the moment, he'll have some time before he's caught.
Story half-wheels, half-toddles in right next to him. She makes whirring and chiming noises, her gears reflecting off what little light the lantern in the window is still giving off. Her eyes are pure black, but so shiny they glint as well. Clint imagines it should make him more scared, being watched. It doesn't. Instead it helps a little. It's not enough to make him come out, but when she rumbles, "Mine," it at least makes him feel less alone.
*
Clint must fall asleep underneath the bed, because he wakes to the sound of spurs clinking softly and Rhodey calling his name. Clint bites his lip and tries to decide if it will make punishment worse if he hides longer, makes them find him. It usually does, so Clint takes a breath and slips out from his hiding spot. Softly, he says, "Sorry, sir."
Rhodey turns around from where he is checking out the window, and says, "Oh. There you are. Didn't like the bed?"
Clint wants to duck away. "It's very nice, the nicest thing."
Rhodey takes a step toward him and Clint flinches away. He doesn't mean to, it just happens. Rhodey stops, stills for a second, then sits down on the ground so that he and Clint are roughly the same height. Rhodey says, "But it's not a very good hiding place, huh? Anyone could get to you."
Clint stays silent. He doesn't understand what's happening. Rhodey asks, "Has Natasha allowed you to see her, yet?"
Clint can't think of any Natasha, so he shakes his head. Rhodey nods. "I'm not surprised. My wife Natasha and I run security for the Starks. The mansion is my domain, anywhere else is hers. She was with them yesterday at the circus. Probably rode atop the carriage to get back. She feels safer and more effective when she can hide."
Clint doesn't think it's the same thing. She's not afraid, she's sneaky. He doesn't argue.
Rhodey continues, "She was raised by a mercenary organization. She doesn't know if she was kidnapped or sold or born into it. They taught her that to be seen was to be hurt. I hired her on as a contract worker when Tony was changing the focus of his business and had a lot of people who wished to harm him. After the interview, I didn't see her for eight months, but she saved Tony's life three times.
"The first time she allowed me to see her again, I asked her out." Rhodey's smile widens. "She said no."
Clint must show his surprise, because Rhodey laughs. "I just kept asking. She eventually took pity on me."
Clint smiles a little, not sure if he should, but it's a good story. Clint likes happy endings. Rhodey carefully lifts one hand, slowly, and where Clint can see. He reaches out and gently squeezes one of Clint's arms. "We understand the need to hide, Clint. But nobody here is going to hurt you, or let you get hurt. I know you don't believe it yet, and that's all right. Pepper, Tasha and I are all very patient people, and nobody listens to Tony."
Rhodey slowly stands, his hand coming up to ruffle Clint's hair lightly. Clint thinks of the way the big cats arch into being petted when they're in the mood. He's starting to understand why. "Come on, Clint. Let's go get some breakfast, before Pepper sends in reinforcements."
part two
part three
Author:
arsenicjade
Pairings: Tony/Pepper
Rating: R
Warnings: allusions/references to prior child abuse of all forms
Summary: Once upon a time, an angel with the unlikely name of Pepper came to the circus, and took Clint away.
Thanks: To my alpha,
egelantier, who helped me find a conclusion, and my beta
forsweatervests who's pretty much responsible for the world building and other good stuff. My fanartist,
kymericl for being enthusiastic, and on top of everything and creating lovely art which can be found here, please go let her know what an excellent job she did. Last but not least, both mods of
marvel_bang, who made this year and last a joy and delight.
AN: Being used for "dungeons" square on my first
hc_bingo card.
(ohman, my heart just diiiies over bb!clint):
The ghost walks into the tent on two feet, like any normal human being, but Clint knows better. Its hair is a special gold-red color and it looks soft. Clint bets his hand would go through it. He's not going to try. He's not very brave, really.
When he heard someone coming in, he was sure it was Lyndon. Lyndon likes finding Clint during the stage show, likes that Clint can scream then and nobody will come. Clint's not sure why someone would come if he screamed. Maybe because it was bothering them? He's never asked, though. He only uses words when he has to. They get confused on his tongue. He's a very stupid boy, everyone says.
The ghost turns. It might be an angel. Caleb, the barker, says they don't exist, but Clint wonders if maybe he just hasn't seen any. Looking around, Angel-ghost asks, "Tony?"
Clint frowns. He can't remember anyone named Tony working for the circus. There'd been an Italian roustabout a few months back, but he'd gone by Antonio, and had been left behind when he hadn't made it back to the train by the departure time. Roustabouts were like that, coming and going.
"Tony, this is not-" Angel-ghost stops as Blue, one of the performing monkeys, manages to reach out from the bars of her cage far enough to get hold of a strand of hair and yank.
The hair goes where it's pulled, and the maybe-just-a-person makes a sharp noise in her throat. Clint doesn't really think before jumping down from the rigging, holding his hand up to give Blue something else to play with. Blue isn't mean; she just likes shiny things.
The woman, who's touching her head lightly says, "Oh. Thank you."
Clint shrugs. He wants to ask her not to tell, because Victor, the animal trainer, will take it out on Blue, but he learned a long time ago not to ask for things. Asking only makes the eventual punishment worse.
She crouches down in front of him and Clint backs up hastily, wishing Blue weren't holding on so tightly, that he could scramble up to relative safety. She says, "It's-it's okay. I won't hurt you."
Blue is now tugging at Clint's hair, which hurts, but Clint doesn't mind. Blue doesn't mean it, the way people always do. The woman looks over at Blue, then back at Clint. She smiles a little. "Is he a friend?"
Even if she looks nice, like maybe she could be somebody's big sister, Clint isn't telling her anything. He made that mistake with the Doskocils, the first tumbling family he remembers.
Clint doesn't know if he was born in the circus or not, but he can't remember anything before it. He's heard rumors that he was born to a star rider, who died in childbirth, leaving Carson with a useless baby. Or there's the one about how the circus bought a group of orphans for jobs the adults were too big to do, and didn't realize they'd been given one orphan too little to do any good until they were on their way. There's also the one about Clint being the bastard of one of the clowns who'd gotten stuck with him. He's not sure any of them are true, but they do all explain why nobody's ever seemed to like him much.
The Doskocils had loved their kids, and hadn't hit Clint or tied him outside the tent at night or anything like that. Clint had thought maybe they could like him, like their kids, if he was good.
Instead, after he'd eaten with him a few times, they'd told Carson he was stealing their food. Clint understands that he was an extra mouth to feed. He also imagines they thought he wanted a cot or maybe some new clothes. He hadn't, but they hadn't asked, so he couldn't tell them that. Clint doesn't think about what happened when Carson found him after being ratted out by the Doskocils. His hand tightens unconsciously in Blue's fur.
Blue chitters at him before swinging away, out of his grasp. Clint's almost up the bars, atop the cage when the woman puts her fingers to one of the inflamed blisters on his foot and Clint curls up instinctively, his hands coming to his head. He falls all the way back down. He can still fit under the cage, where most people can't get to him. He's getting himself to move when she says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-I'm sorry."
Clint's never heard an apology. Well, no, he's heard them, those just weren't for him. It's nice, but also really scary. Clint likes to understand things, to see what's coming.
The woman is frowning, but she doesn't look mad, at least not the way Clint's always witnessing it. She says, softly, "I just wanted to see if you know where my husband is. He gets distracted by machines and other curiosities. Do you know where he might have wandered off to?"
Clint wonders if she'd let him get away this time. He could try again. He almost does, but…she said she was sorry, and she hadn't even hurt him, not much. Clint chews on his cheek while he considers, and after a few seconds, he nods tightly. She smiles at him, gentle and clean and Clint is maybe having a dream. He likes it though. She asks, "Take me there?"
Clint tries to smile back. He's not used to it, and his jaw aches from the last beating, but it feels nice all the same. He reaches up to her before realizing just how filthy his palm is. Clint didn't know he was smelly and dirty until the older kids started making fun of him for it. The circus is rarely near a creek, though.
He's about to pull his hand back, but she is too quick: fitting hers around it and holding on.
*
Clint is unsurprised to find an unfamiliar man atop the new engine. The old one gave out a few months earlier, and the only thing available in the region had been the newest of hybrid engines. None of the roustabouts had been paid since its purchase. And nearly everyone with even a vague interest in machinery seems drawn to it, as if by magic.
The woman sighs. "Tony."
It's time for Clint to go. He's helped, but last time he got caught in the near vicinity of the new engine-he'd just wanted to see it-Carson's security had dangled him outside the train while it was moving and laughed when he couldn't help screaming. He starts to slip his hand out of hers, but she looks over the moment he does it, bends down to where they're eye to eye.
She opens her mouth, but before she's able to say anything, the figure from the engine jumps down to land beside them. Now that Clint can see something more than an outline, he notices just how nice the man's suit is. Well, the parts that aren't covered in grease and soot. Much more strangely, his heart is evidently very loud, with whirs and clicks that Clint can hear and a bit of light that peeks through his shirt. The woman looks up at him indulgently. "Having a good time, dear?"
Tony makes a face and rubs and hand through his already-funny hair. "Got distracted."
"Is the train now going to fly?" she asks.
Tony blinks. "No, but, now that you mention it-"
"Tony," she says again, just as he's about to reclimb the engine.
He gives her a small smile. "Pepp?"
"I want you to meet someone first."
Tony looks over at Clint and Clint's pretty sure he hasn't even noticed his presence till now. It makes Clint want to run, but "Pepp" is still holding his hand and hers is soft and gentle and Clint can't seem to make himself.
"Making friends?" Tony asks.
Pepp's smile is small, a bare flicker of her lips. "He hasn't told me his name, but he saved me from a monkey and found you for me."
Tony's eyes are dark, and there's never just one expression in them. Clint doesn't like it. Not knowing what's coming is the worst. He asks Clint, "Doing my job?"
"Tony." Pepp's tone is a warning. Clint knows all about warnings, for all that he's rarely granted them.
There's a beat and then Tony smiles. It's a sharp smile but not mean, at least not in the way Clint knows mean. Tony says, "Fair enough, I wasn't doing it."
Clint doesn't really know what that means, except he thinks he's safe for the moment. Still, he has to go. Even from this far away, one glance over at the big top and he knows exactly where the show is, and that if he's not where he's supposed to be in minutes, he's going to regret it for days. Clint shrugs and tries, once more, to pull away, this time a little more forcefully, panic lending him strength.
Pepp's grip tightens, not quite enough to hurt, but close. Clint gasps out the one word that he trusts not to make things worse. It might not make things better, but Clint is used to taking what he can get. He whines, "Please," then, for good measure, "Please, miss."
"Missus," Tony says, even though he doesn't seem to be paying much attention anymore, his thoughts back on the engine.
"Tony," Pepp repeats, sounding fond, but also tired. Then she says, "Brave little boys deserve rewards. I'm not letting go until I see about getting you one."
Clint isn't sure what happens, then, only that his mind gets stuck in the last time a townie tried to help him out. He'd lived on water and whatever he could dig out of the animal troughs for over a week, and his hip was still sore from how long it had been before one of the clowns sneaked him to a "healer" in backwoods Alabama to fix it. His breaths feel sharp in his chest and everything is too bright, despite it still being night and he can't find his voice to beg some more. Too used to running only delaying things, he instinctively goes deathly-still.
Vaguely, Clint hears Tony say, "Hell, boy-o."
He's too entrenched in his own fear to respond until he feels a gentle, warm hand against his face, a large palm lying lightly on one of his shoulders. Clint can hear a sound like when one of the horses is giving birth, or one of the cats needs a wound treated, but doesn't realize he's making it, not fully.
Pepp, for her part, just says, "All will be well, little one. You'll see. Everything will work out."
*
As soon as the two adults get distracted just enough by thinking of who, exactly, they need to find to "help" Clint, he twists free and runs for all he's worth, thinking frantically. He needs a good hiding space. They'll find him up high, now that Jacques and Carson have figured out to look. The lion cages keep him safe from people, but not from the lions. He'd learned that the hard way.
Praying he gets lucky, Clint heads to the car reserved for the pretty flame thrower, "Miss Blaize," who almost always spends her evenings with the horse-trainer. Nobody will think to look in one of her trunks. Clint just has to stay quiet and tucked up until the worst of it blows over.
Once he's inside, he almost reconsiders. The dark doesn't bother him so much-darkness usually indicates safety-but he's trapped inside. If they find him here, there will be nowhere to go. Then again, having somewhere to go has never really saved him. He knows better than to run from the circus. He's seen townie kids without parents begging on the streets, their skin hanging on bones, almost see-through. Scraps are better than nothing.
It's a while before he hears voices calling for him. That's…unusual. It's general knowledge that Clint's not one to give up his hiding place until he's been dragged from it. He doesn't know what to make of the change. His stomach cramps in fear, but he ignores it. They won't find him, they won't.
The one thing Clint hasn't planned on is everyone-Miss Blaize included-being drafted into finding him. She is the one who opens her trunk, probably not even to find him, probably to grab something, and screams, "Get out! Get out, you filthy animal."
Clint is fast, but not quite fast enough to scramble away before she's pulling him out by his hair. He chokes off the sound of pain in his throat. It is easily swallowed by the sheer amount of terror he's feeling. Blaize says, "Stupid carnie-spawn," like she's any better for not having been born to the life. She pushes him out of her car, "Carson wants you."
Clint is all set to hide again, but one of the roustabouts catches him and drags him to the main tent by his ear. Clint doesn't whine, it will only make the man pull harder. He's tossed into the tent, catching himself on his hands. He doesn't bother to get off his knees. He thinks about things he likes: the smell of rain, the softness of the horses' noses, the funny sounds the monkeys make. Sometimes he can hold onto these thoughts, stay in them, and it hurts a little less.
Then something happens Clint cannot understand. A woman's voice-Pepp's voice, he realizes-bites off the words, "Thank you for your…cooperation in this matter," and someone, oh, Tony, squats down and tucks his hands under Clint's underarms, saying, "Up you go," before putting him on his feet and dusting him off, or, well, trying.
Pepp takes his hand again and says, "Come now, Clint."
Clint has no idea what to do. Has he been thrown out? Is that the punishment for helping these people? Should he beg? Should he go with them? They haven't hurt him so far. Clint chances looking at Carson, but Carson just sneers and makes a dismissive gesture. Pepp starts walking, and Clint could dig his feet in, but he'll stumble sooner or later. Instead, he follows.
*
Clint is brought to a carriage drawn by machines. He's not certain if he should be terrified of the way they seem to mimic horses, or if he should offer them treats. He doesn't have any at the moment, but when he does, he might have to try.
Tony says, "Show you how One and Two work later, for now, let's be gone from here."
Clint's lifted inside, where he discovers the nicest space he's ever seen. It's even prettier and softer than Carson's car, and that's the best one. This, though, has seats that feel like Clint's always thought clouds would if he could reach them. It's warmer than the chilled outside, but not hot and stuffy. It's clean, too, and Clint doesn't want to find out what happens to things that get the car dirty.
Pepp, though, says, "On the seats, Clint. It's too dangerous for you to stand."
Clint is still healing from a severe switching two nights earlier. He hasn't been sitting, just perching, but he knows he can't do that. He resigns himself to the discomfort, and to the likelihood that he will get another beating for making things muddy and stained, and sits gingerly on one of the seats. Despite biting his cheek, he can't quite help the sharp breath it knocks from him.
Tony's eyes narrow and Pepp frowns. Clint hastens to tell them, "I falled." Then, because they look doubtful, "I climb and do stupid things and fall. All the time."
"Most words the kid's said all night and it's to cover for people who just sold him off," Tony comments.
Clint doesn't understand. "Sold? Like…" Like an animal?
Pepp glares at Tony. "Some people, Clint, money is all they understand. And if you want something, you have to speak the language of the person you want it from. Does that make sense?"
Not really, but Clint is too busy thinking about how the horses are sold to the glue factories if they even make it that long. He blinks back tears. He may be stupid, but he's not a cry-baby. "Are…are you gonna make something with me?"
Pepp tilts her head and Tony says in a tone that manages to be both flat and sharp, "You're not high enough grade machinery, kid."
Pepp closes her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. When she opens them, she asks, "What do you mean, make something?"
Clint grips the tatters of his pants with his hands so that they won't shake. "The horses are turned into glue."
For a moment, both adults are silent, wearing expressions Clint doesn't understand, their cheeks a bit green. It is Tony who says, "You're not a horse."
Clint actually knows that. Still, "I got sold."
"But not bought," Tony says. His lips are twisted in threatening way, but he's not looking at Clint, instead staring out the window of the coach, back in the direction of the circus.
Clint doesn't know a lot, but he's pretty sure that doesn't make any sense. Pepp sighs. "Give us a chance, Clint? Things will make more sense if you just give us some time."
Clint's used to not being told anything, so he nods and works on not falling asleep. The carriage is so soft that even the bumps in the road don't bother him, and he hasn't had any real rest in days, not since they came to town and Jacques started using him as a way to make some quick money on the side from the townies. Even the pain from the beating and from the men isn't quite enough to keep him from drifting.
He does everything he can think of, including digging a finger into one of the scabbed spots, but in the end, just like always, he loses the fight.
*
Clint wakes to the feeling of hands on him and immediately goes limp. He has found he won't win any fight, but he can make things hard for the other person. A male voice says, "I'm not carrying deadweight. Since you're up, you can walk."
Clint blinks his eyes open and it takes a second, but then he remembers. Tony. Tony and Pepp and being sold. Clint slides off the carriage seat and follows Tony out of it. Pepper is already standing in front of the carriage, speaking quietly to a man with dark skin, the kind Clint has only seen when the circus traveled southwards, and then only behind fences. Clint wants to touch, to see if it feels any different than his skin, but he knows better.
The man has a holster holding a pistol at each of his hips, the metalwork extremely detailed and pretty. Clint's never seen beautiful weapons. He knows he should be scared-he is-but he also wishes he could touch them. Their owner turns to him and smiles. "Clint, yes? I'm James, but friends call me Rhodey."
The man holds his hand out and Clint isn't entirely sure what to do. Is this man going to be in charge of him? His curiosity overcomes his wariness-a flaw that has landed Clint with more scars than not-and he reaches up to take the hand. It closes gently around his and shakes twice before letting go. Clint blinks. Disappointingly, his skin feels the same as everyone else's, but with calluses that reminded Clint of the roustabouts more than the performers.
"Welcome," Rhodey says.
"Th-thank you?" Clint knows it shouldn't be a question, but he doesn't feel assertive enough to state anything just then.
"Rhodey," Pepp says softly, and Rhodey nods.
"Of course. I'll return shortly." He walks off toward a stallion, a real, breathing one.
Now that Rhodey is gone, Clint has nothing to distract him from the house in front of him. House is a bad word. Clint has seen houses when the performers have taken him into towns for one reason or another. This is, well, maybe it's a castle. Clint's never seen a castle, so it could be. It's taller than any home Clint has ever seen, maybe three stories, and has statues at the top, and actual lights gracing the front. There are windows bigger than Clint knew windows could be. It's not exactly pretty, but it is impressive.
"You're welcome to sleep in our driving way, but I, for one, am going inside," Tony announces.
Pepp shakes her head and looks down at Clint. "Ready to see your new home?"
Suddenly, things shift into place. This house probably needs little hands to clean in places adults can't get. There are lots of kids in need of jobs, so Clint doesn't know why these two wanted him from the circus, but he's not really too bothered. He'll miss the animals, but maybe he can do better here, not be naughty, and he won't be beaten as much. It's a new start.
Clint nods and offers Pepp a small smile before following her in her trek toward the house.
*
Inside the house is more beautiful than anything Clint has ever seen. He's used to the cheap glamour of the circus, its riotous colors and the fake sparkle of glass. There are plenty of colors here, too, but they fit together, neither so bright nor loud as those of the big top, but rich and wonderful. What glass there is does not sparkle, but shows him the night sky, the dark quiet surrounding the house.
There is a wonderful clock ticking steadily in one of the nearby rooms. Clint can just see the slow movement of gears painted to fit with the rest of the décor. He cannot tell time with a clock, but he likes to watch them, all the same.
Clint cannot help but be a little distracted by how many hiding places this house might have, where he could tuck himself in and not come out until a pursuer lost interest. Of course, he'll try to be good, but Clint knows he'll mess it up. He always has before.
A tall, distinguished-looking man with the neatest eyeglass Clint has ever seen, with lenses that rotate at the click of a brass dial just to the right of the frame, greets Tony and Pepp as "master" and "mistress." The lenses click and whir into place as he peers curiously at Clint. Clint makes himself stop staring, distracting himself with the question of whether Pepp's a queen, or something. Queens probably seem like angels from far away. Pepp says, "Evening, Jarvis. This is Clint. He's going to be staying with us."
Jarvis gets to one knee in front of Clint and Clint has to keep himself from bolting, the movement is so strange. Despite his clipped, clean tones, Jarvis has a soft gaze, and when he says, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Clint," it does not sound like a joke. Then again, maybe Clint just doesn't get the joke. This is all very confusing.
Clint wants to ask questions, but he knows it's better to wait and be told what to do. He doesn't want to get this wrong, not so soon. He dips his head and whispers, "Nice to be meeting you, sir."
"Jarvis," Pepp says, "could you have one of the maids draw up a bath? And see about getting Clint something clean to wear, at least for tonight?"
"Of course, mistress." Jarvis stands fluidly and walks further into the house, turning a corner so Clint can no longer see him.
"Pepp," Tony says. It sounds like what Clint would call a whine, but he daren't think that, not even in the questionable safety of his own mind.
"Go," she says, laughing a bit, and waving her hand. "You've done your duty by me."
"Yes, well, seeing as my manly feats have been…feted, I'll just-" he leans in to kiss Pepp quickly and then disappears in a different direction from Jarvis.
Pepp looks down at Clint. "Don't mind him. He gets ideas, and then he must get to his workshop."
Clint thinks it's weird she feels the need to explain. It's not Clint's place to mind.
She smiles at him, but even Clint can tell there's something odd about the smile, just a bit off. All she says, though, is, "No doubt that bath is already in progress. Let's go see if we can find where they've chosen to draw it, shall we?"
Because she seems to be waiting for some type of response, Clint nods his head once.
*
The water in the large shiny copper basin Pepp shows Clint to is warm. Clint's never felt anything like it before. In the summer the streams he finds to wash in are nice, a relief from the heat, but in the winter they are painful, and washing a torment he is occasionally made to endure by others in the circus. He fully expects something of the kind, but finds himself wanting to stay inside the water, the way it laps at his skin gently and seems to make him warm even inside his stomach, which never feels that way in the winter.
She instructs him to scrub behind his ears and under his fingernails. The tub, which has a machine that heats and pours the water into it, spilling over a turning gear with a waterflow space carved into the surface, has to be emptied and filled three times before she seems content, but Clint can't find it in himself to mind. Even the way it stings his open blisters and welts can't bother him. The overall feeling is wonderful.
The nightshirt Clint is put in once dry is much too large for him, but so, so soft. Clint wonders if it belongs to a big kid, or one of the adults. Clint's not sure how old he is, maybe seven or eight or nine, judging by the performing kids he's always been around. He's small, though, smaller even than some of the kids he's definitely older than. He trips over the nightshirt walking down the hall with Pepp, and instead of scolding, she does nothing more than pick him up and carry him the rest of the way. Clint is too surprised to even startle. She doesn't hold him so tightly it hurts anywhere besides where his back is still healing, and when they reach where they are going, she is gentle about setting him down. He finds himself missing the feel of her arms and wraps his own around him. It's not the same.
The room where they have stopped is huge, as big as one of the side-tents. It has a bed as big as half a train-car and is decorated with a red so dark it's nearly purple, accented with a creamy white. It's beautiful, if mostly empty. It has places to hide and the biggest window Clint has ever seen in his life.
Pepp says, "This is where we'll start you out. It's very near to where Tony and I sleep, and Rhodey and his wife are just down the hall. We can move you if need be, but for now, I think this is best."
Clint nods. He thinks he'll like working on this room, even if there are a lot of things that will be hard to reach. He can be careful. He asks, "Can I, uh, where're the rags and mops an' stuffs? Missus?"
Pepp frowns. "Is something dirty?"
Clint blinks. He doesn't understand the question. "Whats you wants cleaned?"
The frown does not go away. "Why would I want you to clean?"
Clint chews his lip. "Oh. Did you buyed me for the animals?"
That makes some sense. Clint really is very good with all kinds of animals and a large house like this might keep quite a few. Of course they wouldn't want someone as dirty as Clint had been to clean their things. He'd been stupid to even think it.
Pepp folds to her knees with a grace Clint is only used to seeing from the acrobats. She tilts her head and says, "We have plenty of people working for us, Clint. We don't need any help."
"Oh," Clint says again, feeling even more stupid. He should have known better. "Is it…am I just for Rhodey, or is there more?"
"For?" Pepp asks, and there is something Clint doesn't understand in her voice, something that scares him.
He doesn't know how to make her happy. He uses Swordsman's word, because the others he's heard he's pretty sure he isn't supposed to say to ladies. "En'ertainment?"
Clint doesn't know what he's done wrong, but Pepp's eyes get watery, the rest of her face drawing tight. She says, "You're not for any of that. For cleaning or animals or entertainment or whatever else you did before. None of that, never again."
Her voice sounds weird. Clint says, "I'm sorry?"
It's frightening, not knowing what's expected of him, what he's supposed to do, but he hates the way he's made Pepp look and sound, so he won't ask anymore. If he gets punished for not knowing, it won't be any worse than Pepp crying.
She shakes her head, draws in a few breaths and says, "Nothing to be sorry for. Let's just…you must be hungry."
Clint is, but he can't tell if that was a question, so he just tries out a little smile. It seems to work.
*
"Some people find our cook to be unusual, but he really is a genius in the kitchen," Pepp says as she guides Clint along endless hallways, her hand wrapped warmly over his. Clint can't remember a time when someone touched him the way she does. He thinks he could live without food or water, if he could keep holding her hand.
The kitchen is huge. Clint is starting to think his whole life has maybe been small, everything seems so big. There are lots of copper pots and pans hanging about, as well as whirring timers and machines Clint has never seen, but at least one of them seems to be making coffee. A smell Clint cannot recognize, but very much wants to be familiar with, floats in the air. Pepp calls, "Bruce, you here?"
A man with unkempt curly hair and a shirt covered in flour and other, darker powders emerges from a room off to the side. He is holding a dead fish in his hands. "Oh, Pepper. Weren't you planning on staying out later?"
"I was with Tony," she says.
Bruce nods, as if this explains the universe and all its secrets. "I'm experimenting with the five-star anise he bought for me."
Pepper smiles. "Every once in a while, he can actually be thoughtful."
Bruce snorts. "If he wants something in return," but the words aren't bitter. Clint thinks Bruce likes Tony.
Pepper says, "Bruce, this is Clint. He's going to be staying with us."
"Oh." Bruce blinks. "You really think he should be around me?"
Softly, she says, "The medications Jane has given you have stopped any incidents for two years now. I think you'll both be fine."
Clint isn't sure what any of that means, but he makes a note to be quiet and invisible around Bruce. Bruce immediately makes this hard by saying, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Clint. Did you want something to eat?"
Clint is one hundred percent sure there's never been a time when he wasn't hungry. That said, he doesn't know the rules here, like how at the circus, certain people got fed first and others last, if there was any left. He's wondering if he should ask when Bruce says, "Of course you're hungry, you're a boy."
He disappears, then, around a corner, fish still in hand. Clint looks up at Pepper, "I don't need nothing to eat."
"Mm," she says, and steers him toward one of the chairs at a table that's little more than a place to rest a few teacups. Bruce returns with a slightly less than half a bowl of something that is sending steam curling up from the rim, carrying with it the rich smell of meat and spices.
He puts it in front of Clint and hands him a spoon. He hesitates, then says, "Eat slowly, all right?"
It's disappointing, because it probably means the food will be taken from him after only a few bites, but he's not going to mess up the first order he's really been given. "Yes, sir."
Bruce's face scrunches uncomfortably. "Bruce."
Instead of trying out the name, Clint takes a spoonful. He can't help the noise he makes as his tongue comes in contact with the food. Clint has grown up on food made for large crowds, and scraps of that food, at that. This is…this isn’t food, this is a reward. Clint doesn't know what he did, but he will do it forever if it means only a few bites of something like this.
He goes slowly, as requested, but they never even try to take the bowl away from him, not even when he rests for minutes upon beginning to feel full. Instead, Bruce talks about something he needs from Tony, and hide-row-ponick thing, that Clint thinks is another machine. Pepper nibbles on what seem to be flower petals with sugar on them, occasionally telling Clint he's doing well, or responding to Bruce.
When Clint has finally finished, Bruce asks, "Was that good? I was experimenting with caraway seeds, it might have been a mistake."
Clint, despite having a hard time imagining why it matters, tells him solemnly, "It was the bestest food I'm ever tasting."
*
Rhodey returns as Clint is looking around to see if anyone is watching, or if he can lick his bowl. Next to Rhodey is a woman whose hair is in a messy bun and who is tiny, even next to Pepper. She's carrying a black bag. She smiles at everyone when she walks in, a broad, sweet smile and Clint finds his own lips curling.
She says, "You must be Clint. I'm Jane. Rhodey says you need a bit of patching."
Clint blinks slowly, sending a questioning glance at Pepper, who says, "She's a doctor, Clint. I want her to take a look at you, all right?"
"I'm healthy, missus." Doctors are expensive. He's heard it yelled, whispered and everything in between when circus performers have been hurt. And the circus docs…Clint forces himself not to think of the injection machinery that left scars wherever it pierced, or the cheap tin limb replacements that almost always turned green, the skin around them turning angry red and having to be cut away, further and further.
"Then it won't hurt to let her confirm that, will it?" Pepper asks.
Clint shoves his real fears away. Letting on to being scared has always been a path to other people learning how best to punish him. He goes the safe route, and mimics what he's heard. "Docs is expensive."
Pepper blinks then. After a moment, she says, "Tony and I have the money to spend, and want to spend it on you."
Clint can't help asking, "Why?" He knows better than to ask that question, has been hit at least eight or nine times before learning that lesson, but it literally just tumbles out of his mouth. He opens his mouth to take it back, to apologize, but Pepper is too quick.
"Because-because I always wanted a fairy godmother growing up."
Clint is too distracted by his own curiosity to notice himself digging the hole deeper by asking, "What's a fairy godmother?"
Pepper hesitates for a second, then answers, truthfully, as far as Clint can tell, "Someone with the desire and ability to take care of someone else who needs it."
Clint still doesn't really understand, but he does know that Pepper, for whatever reason, wants him to let the doctor poke at him. He says, "Oh."
"I will be very gentle," Jane tells him. Clint shrugs. The idea seems kind of strange, but if she wants to try, he won't argue.
*
Jane starts with his feet. She makes a hissing noise upon seeing them. Clint bites his lip and mumbles, "I cleaned'em best I could, miss doctor."
"Jane," she says softly, as she begins to take bright and unusual gadgets out of her bag. "I like being called Jane. And you did a very good job of cleaning them, but…they probably hurt to walk on, right?"
Clint supposes they do. He can't remember a time when they haven't, though. Some days it hurts less, but then he'll accidentally step on something again, or be given a job involving some task his feet aren't used to, and it will start all over. "They'll gets better."
"Mm," Jane murmurs. "What I'm about to do, Clint? It's going to hurt a lot. But it's going to help, too. Okay?"
Clint still doesn't understand why people keep asking him things. Jane sighs and tousles his hair. "Poor thing. We're going to get you fixed right up."
It does hurt, what she does to his feet. It burns and pinches and Clint finds himself biting his wrist to stop himself from whimpering. Jane carefully moves his arm away from his mouth and says, "You can make all the noise you want to."
Clint can't think of any reason she'd lie, but he's had noisiness beaten out of him too thoroughly to believe her. When she's finished, she wraps his feet in soft, clean bandages, and then puts a pair of socks on them. Clint flexes his toes. He's never worn socks. They feel weird, not in a bad way, but new all the same.
Jane continues to look him over, tapping and listening to different parts of him with little machines from her bag, frowning at all sorts of things, and occasionally asking how he got a scar. Clint remembers a few of the worse ones. He just says, "I'm clumsy," again and again and again, like he was trained. Eventually she gives up. She doesn't get angry or rough with him. He waits and waits for it, but it never happens. She's even careful when she discovers the irritated welts on his back from his latest strapping.
When she's finished, Clint is exhausted. He tries to get to his feet and nearly pitches face-first to the floor. Jane catches him and says, "Just rest for a moment," holding him up and steady.
*
Tony bursts into the room where Rhodey and Pepper are reading to Clint aloud and in voices about a wolf and a little girl and her grandmother. It's kind of scary, but Clint wants to know what happens. He's seen books-Simon, the animal doctor who patched people up in the circus when they needed it, had always had one somewhere-but the insides are all gibberish to him. It's amazing, the way they make up a story.
At first he was nervous, when they started reading, that maybe they had better things to be doing, but he's since become too involved in the plot to notice that thrum of concern. It resurfaces immediately when Tony appears, looking bedraggled and announcing, "I am a genius."
Pepper glances up from the book, and Clint thinks she's a little annoyed, but he's not sure at whom the emotion is directed. She asks, "Why don't you come back when you have something newsworthy to share? We're having story time."
"And you can go back to having it as soon as I show you what I did," Tony says, evidently unbothered by Pepper's reaction.
Pepper opens her mouth, but Rhodey cuts her off, saying, "All right, show us."
The piece of machinery Tony is carrying, which looks like a cross between a cat and one of the electric lanterns Clint has seen throughout the mansion, moves, then, and Tony places it on the floor. It stalks toward Clint, who fights his desire to run. He'll only be caught. Better to figure out what the machine-creature is supposed to do.
It stops just before it gets to him, tilting its "head" back and forth before purring, "Mine. Miiiiine."
Tony winces. "Ah, the programming necessary to make her protective also makes her a little possessive."
Clint doesn't understand. He doesn't think he can hurt the people here, but he wouldn't, in any case. "I-I won't cause troubles, sir."
He knows he won't be believed, but it's worth a try. Tony frowns. "You probably should think about it, being a kid and all. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"You don't hafta make her watch me. I won't-"
"She's not to watch you, Clint," Pepper says from behind him. He whips his gaze to her. She smiles. "Tony is wonderful at making things and terrible at explaining their uses, but he made her to keep you safe." She looks past him, at Tony, "I presume she has some type of alert protocol, should it be necessary?"
"Why are you always underestimating me?" Tony asks. "It wounds me. In my soul. In the deepest-"
"Does she have a name?" Rhodey interrupts.
Tony says, "Uh," but Rhodey shakes his head, "Not you, you're terrible at naming things. I was asking Clint."
Clint has never named anything in his life. He's probably worse than Tony. He stares at Pepper's hands, where she's still holding the book in her lap. He doesn't even realize he's going to speak when he says, "Story."
"That's-" Tony starts and Clint hunches in on himself, waiting to be kicked or hit or spit on or anything before the laughter comes, the mocking. Instead, Tony says, "That's good. I like that. Story. Huh."
For her part, Story makes her strange electric rumble-purr sound, walks in a circle three times, and settles herself between Clint and everyone else in the room. Carefully, Clint reaches out to run a finger over the shiny arch of her back. She whistles, "Miiiine."
*
Clint has never slept in a bed before. A couple of times, when he was younger and stupider, he would try sneaking into the cots of performers who didn't spend their nights in their own, but after the beating with the handle of the riding crop, he'd gotten the message that it didn't matter whether those cots were empty or not, they weren't for the likes of him. The bed he's led to by Pepper isn't a cot. He can only clamber up through years of climbing skills and when he gets to the top he doesn't even realize he's speaking before asking, "Is this made of clouds?"
Pepper smiles. Clint wonders if maybe she's made of sunshine. Maybe everything in the mansion is made of magic and the best parts of the world around them. She says, "Close. It's called down. It's made from the feathers of ducklings and very soft."
Clint wants to swim in it, but Story somehow clears the height of the bed with a very mechanical-sounding pounce and starts nosing him into lying down. He doesn't know if it's appropriate, but he can't help giggling. Story's nose is cold and the bed catches him and there are warm covers waiting and everything is too perfect. This is probably a dream. Maybe like the time one of the people from the town hurt him bad enough that he had to sleep for a few days. He hadn't dreamed anything this good then, but he could be now.
He's just happy his mind can come up with this fantasy. It's so different from everything he's known. He turns to tell Pepper thank you, to tell her he can earn his place. He's little but he can carry big things and get in small places and other useful stuff. She quiets him by tucking the covers over his body, just at his shoulders, and brushing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Clint startles at that, wanting more, but having no idea what has just happened.
Pepper brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Rest, Clint. Dream well."
Clint nods. "You too, missus. And…and tell sir goodnight, please?"
Softly, she says, "I will. Now sleep."
Clint is too tired to do anything else.
*
He wakes from a nightmare in the middle of the night to darkness and no sense of where he is, in a cocoon like he's never felt. He scrambles to the side, trying to get his bearings, and tumbles off the edge of the surface, meeting the floor with hands frantically thrown out and one knee. It hurts, but Clint knows better than to cry out. That will only mean more pain.
He's always been able to see well in the dark given a little bit of adjustment time. Now he sees that the thing he just fell from has a space underneath that he can just fit into if he makes himself control his breathing. That isn't a big sacrifice for the safety the spot offers. It will be hard for grown-ups to get to him. They will, eventually, they always do, but for the moment, he'll have some time before he's caught.
Story half-wheels, half-toddles in right next to him. She makes whirring and chiming noises, her gears reflecting off what little light the lantern in the window is still giving off. Her eyes are pure black, but so shiny they glint as well. Clint imagines it should make him more scared, being watched. It doesn't. Instead it helps a little. It's not enough to make him come out, but when she rumbles, "Mine," it at least makes him feel less alone.
*
Clint must fall asleep underneath the bed, because he wakes to the sound of spurs clinking softly and Rhodey calling his name. Clint bites his lip and tries to decide if it will make punishment worse if he hides longer, makes them find him. It usually does, so Clint takes a breath and slips out from his hiding spot. Softly, he says, "Sorry, sir."
Rhodey turns around from where he is checking out the window, and says, "Oh. There you are. Didn't like the bed?"
Clint wants to duck away. "It's very nice, the nicest thing."
Rhodey takes a step toward him and Clint flinches away. He doesn't mean to, it just happens. Rhodey stops, stills for a second, then sits down on the ground so that he and Clint are roughly the same height. Rhodey says, "But it's not a very good hiding place, huh? Anyone could get to you."
Clint stays silent. He doesn't understand what's happening. Rhodey asks, "Has Natasha allowed you to see her, yet?"
Clint can't think of any Natasha, so he shakes his head. Rhodey nods. "I'm not surprised. My wife Natasha and I run security for the Starks. The mansion is my domain, anywhere else is hers. She was with them yesterday at the circus. Probably rode atop the carriage to get back. She feels safer and more effective when she can hide."
Clint doesn't think it's the same thing. She's not afraid, she's sneaky. He doesn't argue.
Rhodey continues, "She was raised by a mercenary organization. She doesn't know if she was kidnapped or sold or born into it. They taught her that to be seen was to be hurt. I hired her on as a contract worker when Tony was changing the focus of his business and had a lot of people who wished to harm him. After the interview, I didn't see her for eight months, but she saved Tony's life three times.
"The first time she allowed me to see her again, I asked her out." Rhodey's smile widens. "She said no."
Clint must show his surprise, because Rhodey laughs. "I just kept asking. She eventually took pity on me."
Clint smiles a little, not sure if he should, but it's a good story. Clint likes happy endings. Rhodey carefully lifts one hand, slowly, and where Clint can see. He reaches out and gently squeezes one of Clint's arms. "We understand the need to hide, Clint. But nobody here is going to hurt you, or let you get hurt. I know you don't believe it yet, and that's all right. Pepper, Tasha and I are all very patient people, and nobody listens to Tony."
Rhodey slowly stands, his hand coming up to ruffle Clint's hair lightly. Clint thinks of the way the big cats arch into being petted when they're in the mood. He's starting to understand why. "Come on, Clint. Let's go get some breakfast, before Pepper sends in reinforcements."
part two
part three