The Place Where The Path Leads

The bright sunlight painted the bedroom with a blinding white light. Clint scrunched his nose and squinted at the brightness. Seemed like Phil had (again) forgotten to shut the blinds when he came to bed last night. It was something Clint continuously tried to remind him of, mainly because while Phil could sleep just as deeply in pitch black as in direct sunlight, Clint needed darkness to be able to sleep.

For a moment, he debated whether it was worth the bother of getting up, shutting the blinds, and crawling back to bed, or if he should just stay and burrow closer to his alpha. It was a tough choice, but he decided on staying in the bed, because shutting the blinds involved moving, and that was always a drawback when talking about Phil and bed.

He turned onto his stomach and rested his chin on his hand, eyes raking along Phil’s body. It was June, and the last couple of days had been pretty hot for early summer, so they had settled for only sheets as a blanket. The light fabric did little to cover Phil’s body. Or, it covered, but didn’t cover, and left practically nothing to imagination.

Clint was more than okay with it.

He liked these slow, quiet moments when he was awake and Phil was still asleep, because it gave him the chance to look without Phil trying to appear lesser than he was. It was probably a thing he had cultivated for years, both for his emergency alpha status and for his professional life. Phil was composed and body-conscious, and had a tight hold on his alpha side, apparently for Clint’s sake, even though he had never asked for it. Because of that, Clint always felt something was… well, not missing because sex was pretty awesome, but not complete, either. 

Sometimes, he wished Phil would just relax and let go. He had even told Phil that a couple of times, but Phil had just given him his slight shadow of a smile, kissed him, and told him no. It was annoying, but at the same time, Clint couldn’t help feeling ridiculously relieved. He knew Phil was safe (his own omega side backed that up, for fuck’s sake), but years of living in fear were a hard thing to ditch. 

The only time when Phil really let go was when they had sex, and only if Clint was in control. He had no problems with that — on the contrary: he very much liked to push Phil around, straddle him, and stare down at him when he rode him hard and Phil stared back at Clint with love in his eyes as he came. 

Clint blinked as he smelled the faint scent of his arousal and his hole clenched. Even though he was pretty used to having sex with Phil, it still surprised him how eagerly his body reacted to his alpha’s proximity, ready to jump into action by slightest suggestion. He snorted a soft huff of laughter and shook his head at himself.

Cocking his head, he gave his sleeping mate a slow once-over. 

Phil was sprawled on his back, his thinning hair sleep-tousled and sticking up in every direction, and mouth slightly ajar with his arm under his pillow, the other reaching out across the bed. That was typical of Phil: even in his sleep, he subconsciously sought Clint out, wanting to touch and make sure his omega was there. He exuded a steady, warm scent of a secure, content alpha, and it surrounded Clint in a soft, feather-light blanket — not suffocating but subtly telling him everything was alright, that he was safe and protected.

It made something flutter warmly inside Clint.

There were lots of things Clint enjoyed about his new life. Safety, of course, with a home, and regular meals went without saying, as did the genuine respect and fondness he felt for Phil. He wasn’t brave enough to call it love, because love wasn’t for people like him, but he felt content and wholly good with his alpha. It was a novelty, to be able to trust someone like that, to know he wasn’t going to be fucked over just for shits and giggles.

With a soft sigh, Clint settled to lie on his side, pillowing his head on his arm. Phil twitched slightly in his sleep, his body curving instinctively towards Clint. He smiled and reached out his hand, hovering it just above Phil’s chest. It was covered in salt-and-pepper hair, thick enough to Clint for him to teasingly call it fur, and he itched to caress it. He didn’t though, because he didn’t want to wake Phil up. His alpha had been working long days, and he wanted to give Phil his rest.

Clint laid his hand on the bed right next to Phil’s and swallowed.

He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to land someone like Phil.

Back in the circus, he had sometimes sat in the tent corner as ”Esmeralda the Gypsy Queen” read palms, gazed into her crystal ball, and intoned wise words about soulmates and true love to the giggling teens in her tent. Of course, she hadn’t been a gypsy, but Irma from Maryland, and she hadn’t known shit about fortune telling. But she had been a master at reading body language and the unspoken need to be loved and cherished, and she had told her clients exactly what they had wanted to hear.

Clint, for his part, had never believed in soulmates or true love. How could he, when love had meant looking at his parents fight while piss-ass drunk, and turn their frustration on him and Barney when they were done tearing each other a new one? Later, in the circus, ’love’ had meant even less: ever since he had presented, Trick Shot had been determined to make Clint his, never mind that Clint never had a heat with him. 

But for all the shit he’d done, it hadn’t been Trick Shot, who had broken him. It was Barney.

For some time, Clint had honestly thought Barney had been there to protect him, like a proper big brother was supposed to do. Later, it had dawned on him that it had been Barney who had given his blessing for Trick to use him, to whore him out, and to ultimately mutilate him ”to stop with the fucking whining already.”

He had hit the rock bottom soon after. Determined to either get away or die trying, Clint had managed to slip away when Carson’s had made its slow journey from one town to the other, slipping out of the truck and running into the forest. After wandering for several days, he had finally found a farm and hidden in a pig shed for about a week before he was found out, washed, clothed, fed, and sent away again.

He didn’t blame the farmers. They had been poor, decent people who saw the marks of abuse and helped him as much as they dared. But they had had their own family to think about, and Clint had been pitifully grateful for the small respite he had gotten before he had continued running.

At times, he wondered how he survived it all. The following years had been filled with fear, panic, resignation, and depression, and he didn’t like to think about them too much. First of all, the memories tended to trigger an episode, and secondly, Clint’s panic made Phil upset to no end.

And now it felt unbelievable that he was here, in a small, cozy apartment, together with an amazing alpha who was determined to take care of Clint. After everything that had happened, after the orphanage, the circus and — 

Clint shuddered. 

He didn’t want to think about what had happened in the circus, not when he was in a place where he could be comfortable with himself and his alpha. Things finally looked a lot brighter, and he had no wish to dwell in the past. 

He finally had a future, and that was because of Phil.

His alpha.

Abandoning his decision to not disturb Phil, Clint snuggled closer to bask in Phil’s proximity. His alpha let out a small rumble and moved to gather him in his arms — yet another thing Phil did purely on instinct — and slowly opened his eyes.

”Clint?” Phil blinked and his eyes cleared, turning sharp as he scented the leftover distress lingering around his mate. 

Clint winced. He hadn’t meant to stink the air with his worries and wake Phil up, but the alpha was so attuned to his moods that it didn’t take much to alert him.

”Sorry,” he whispered. ”Made the mistake of thinking about the old days.”

Phil gave him a searching look and then said, ”Do you want to get up?”

Clint shook his head. 

Sometimes, after a bad night filled with memories he wanted to forget, he was restless and wanted to get up and do something. Phil always accompanied him, if only to make him a cup of hot chocolate or sit beside him. However, this time he was good right where he was. He crawled partially on top of him buried his nose in his mate’s neck. 

Phil wrapped his arms loosely around him and let out a contented sound.

”I’m taking the morning off. Waffles for breakfast later?” He asked, voice muffled against Clint’s hair.

Clint nodded and closed his eyes, letting Phil’s heartbeat and scent lull him back to sleep.

”Do you have any plans for today?” Phil asked later as he mixed the waffle batter with a frown of concentration between his brows while Clint was sitting at the table reading comics from the morning paper. 

They had a routine on lazy mornings like these: Phil read the politics and culture sections, Clint had comics and obituaries (they were sometimes absurdly hilarious), and they took turns with the crosswords.

”Well, I thought I’d go to the gym,” Clint answered and took a gulp of coffee. Or he tried to, but to his annoyance, his mug was empty. ”Oh, and I need to write to your mom,” he added, frowning at the mug.

A couple of weeks after their trip to the Coulson family last Christmas, Phil’s mom had called to announce she was going to unofficially adopt Clint, and he better start calling her Mom. Phil had rolled his eyes at the phone, but he had given Clint such a fond smile that he hadn’t known what else to do but accept.  

Then she had asked Phil to set up an email account for Clint, because she wanted to talk to him without Phil acting as an intermediary (”I don’t think we need your chaperoning, Phillip!”), and Clint had been terrified, confused, and intimidated. He hadn’t really understood why. He had been unsure of what he would even write — and why would Phil’s mom want to hear about his days anyway? — but it turned out he didn’t have to know.  Phil’s mom took care of it, and, before Clint even realized what had happened, they were writing long emails on a weekly basis.

She was a scarily efficient lady, Phil’s mom.

Thing was, Clint loved it. Phil’s mom was smart as a whip, sarcastic, and funny, and her letters always made him smile. They also made him feel all warm inside, the way she included Clint in her questions and musings about upcoming holidays, renovation plans, and Phil’s love for fluffy socks. He wasn’t sure what she got from him in return, but he tried: he told her about his childhood (a censored version, of course), how he had learned to tie knots and walk the line at the circus, his newest experiments with homemade cotton candy, and his newfound love for archery.

Phil hummed a noncommittal sound as he refilled Clint’s mug. ”Remember, you don’t have to write to her,” he reminded calmly. ”She’s sometimes too enthusiastic for her own good.”

”Yeah, I know,” Clint whispered. He closed his eyes, and took a long pull from his mug. When he lowered it and opened them again, he found Phil watching him with fond exasperation.

”You and your coffee,” he huffed with a shake of his head, and turned around to fuss with the waffle pan.

Clint blew a raspberry at his back, but he was pretty sure Phil knew anyway.

They ate in warm silence, Clint wolfing down two more mugfuls of coffee and a huge pile of waffles with honey and jam. Phil eyed his condiments, but he had learned early on that Clint loved drowning his pancakes and waffles in sugar, and he never said anything, just pushed the honey jar closer to Clint.

”Do you want me to swing by the gym on my way home?” Phil asked in-between bites.

Ever since he had mated and bonded with Phil, Clint had been left alone. The scent of a mated omega was usually enough to keep him safe, and the way Phil’s scent seemed to be permanently rubbed to his skin helped to cement him as being off-limits. However, old habits die hard, and mere knowledge had little to do with Clint’s deeply-ingrained distrust of other people.

As a result, they had established new routines. 

After Clint’s heat had passed and they had felt comfortable enough to leave the apartment, Phil had provided him with a cellphone. He had had to return to work, and they both agreed that they needed some means to stay in contact while he wasn’t home.

Little by little, as Clint had started map the neighborhood on his own, they had used his cell as a tracker to let Phil know where he was. At first, he had been vehemently against it, but after a lengthy discussion, Clint had understood that the phone wasn’t a controlling device. It seemed Phil was better able to actually be away from him when he knew where Clint was in case something happened. 

Then, one day when he had been on a quick supply run at a local grocery store, he had accidentally walked in on a domestic row, and received a healthy dose of drunken alpha rage when he politely asked them to perhaps take their disagreement outside. It had triggered a full-blown panic attack that had left him in a shivering heap in the corner, pressing the panic button with enough force to jam it. It had taken Phil precisely seven minutes and 43 seconds to arrive to the store, push the well-meaning people off, and gather Clint in his arms. 

After that, Clint hadn’t complained about the GPS tracker.

According to their current agreement, Clint was free to explore and walk home from the gym, but only if  he informed Phil first. Their neighborhood was a good one, but the gym was on the slightly shabbier area, and Clint had to pass a couple of shady alleys on the way home. 

Phil usually didn’t ask, but whenever Clint was feeling off, Phil wanted to check. 

Clint pursed his lips and thought for a moment. The gym was about half an hour of brisk walking, and he felt good now, so he shook his head.

”Nah, no need. I’ll text you.”

”Sounds good,” Phil said easily. ”Do you want lasagna or Chinese tonight?”

Clint perked up. ”Waffles and lasagna on the same day? Must be Christmas.”

Phil snorted at him over his coffee. ”I only need to check in on Stark today, that’s all.” Phil paused. ”Of course, depending on how that goes, you might get some fresh yeast rolls too.”

Clint grinned. 

Stark was one of SHIELD Security’s biggest clients. He paid obscenely well off and never questioned if the security detail was extensive or over the top, but he was also the client who made Phil suffer from violent heartburn. He was brash, had nonexistent self-preservation skills, and loved to rile people up. He was also an omega, something the business world had trouble accepting.

Clint had met him once, when Stark had thrown an extravagant party just because he wanted to. He had invited too many people, changed the guest list several times, and never provided Phil with the final list to check. He had also insisted on Phil bringing Clint, and after weeks of needling, Phil had reluctantly agreed to ask.

At the party, Clint hadn’t known how to react to Stark’s overflowing familiarity. His hackles had risen when Stark had leaned into Phil’s personal space, and to Clint’s own surprise, his scent had turned thunderous and he had actually growled. Phil had blinked and turned incredulous eyes at him, and Stark had had the sense to blush and apologize.

Clint had spent the rest of the evening firmly under Phil’s arm, stinking the air around them with the equivalent of a blinking red Don’t even fucking think about it! sign, and when they finally made it home, Clint had made damn sure Phil knew exactly to whom he belonged.

Later, when Phil had regained his ability to form words, he had told Clint about Stark, and how he had been betrayed by his mentor and father figure, and how he only ever touched those he fully trusted. When Clint thought about it, he realized it was true: he had seen Stark touch only Phil, an African-American alpha with a military air, a gorgeous beta blonde lady, and a beta man who looked like a chauffeur.

Nowadays, Phil’s dealings with Stark didn’t end up in steamy sex, but usually resulted in yeast rolls. Seemed like frustrated punching made a good dough.

It seemed like a nice enough day: slightly overcast with the barest hint of wind and not as hot as the day before. Clint picked up a good speed, walking with his shoulders relaxed and face neutral. Like always, moving like that was a small exercise in self-control, because his initial reaction was to hunch and slink into the shadows, as he had learned to do years back. 

Following their agreement, he had sent Phil a text as he left, and he knew Phil would be waiting for the second text in about half an hour. Clint made a good time, walking briskly southwest towards the gym, concentrating on the route and ignoring the lazy afternoon traffic around him. 

He enjoyed the way people passed him by without a fuss. It was a novelty, to be left alone and unbothered. He felt almost invisible. Previously, whenever an alpha had bumped into him, he had more often than not ended up grabbed and groped, but now the alphas let go immediately with profound apologies. After spending over a decade being harassed just because he was an unmated omega, the freedom Phil’s claim gave him was almost heady. 

It didn’t mean Clint wasn’t careful.

Even though they said that omegas had all the same rights as the other gender groups, Clint knew better. He had learned that the truth on the streets was often different from the truth preached in the churches and political forums, and that’s why, despite the warm weather, he had his hoodie on. The hood covered his head and he had his hands stuffed in the pockets: one hand holding a portable alarm Phil had bought him, the other curled around his phone.

Just because some senator said he had rights didn’t mean he had the luxury of being stupid.

In just a little over twenty minutes, he let out an almost inconspicuous breath as he saw the familiar, lopsided sign of The Howler. It wasn’t a fancy place, just a small gym on the shadier side of the town. It wasn’t the coolest of places, but what it lacked on the size and shine, it made up in atmosphere. 

If a gym with that name could be called homey, this was it.

If Clint was being honest, he hadn’t even remembered how much he had missed shooting until Phil had taken him to the Christmas fair back when they visited his family. The feel of the wonky, flimsy, ridiculous excuse of a bow had been better than anything, and Clint had lost himself in the familiar pull-and-release, nailing the bullseye every single time. The gobsmacked look on the booth keeper’s face had been precious. 

The bow in his hand had felt right in so many ways, and he had been sorry to put it down, slightly sheepish about his unhindered joy for such childish thing. 

Thing was, as much as Clint loathed everything Trick-and-Barney related about the circus, not everything had been bad: he had learned to read and write, and, on his good days, Trick had taught him to shoot a bow. For a while, it had been the only thing he had managed to do right, even though that too had soured with time and abuse.

Had he known his alpha better back then, the look of utter awe on Phil’s face probably would’ve tipped him off. As it was, Clint had been completely blown away a couple of weeks after his heat, when Phil had handed him a gorgeous compound bow and introduced him to the gym with a shooting range.

”I saw your face when you shot those arrows,” Phil had said, slightly flustered. ”I wanted to give you the chance to do it again.” He had smelled slightly nervous as he had looked at Clint, like he had been worried Clint would say no. As if that would ever happen.

Sometimes, Clint really didn’t understand his alpha at all.

The owners of the Howler, Steve and Buck, were army vets with an impressive collection of scars from their tours. The most obvious one was Buck’s missing left arm, but Clint recognized mental scars when he saw them, and he knew that Steve hadn’t escaped untouched either. 

Neither of them had blinked an eye when Phil had escorted Clint in and issued what seemed like a third degree interrogation about their personal lives, their morals, and the way they run their business. They had been perfectly polite and open, explaining that they were high school sweethearts, friends since childhood, and, even though they both were alphas, they hadn’t even once let it stop their relationship. They had gotten a fuckton of shit about it in the army, but they had brushed it off, determined to live their lives the way they wanted, not how the society dictated.

What had sealed the deal for Clint though, was the way they had reacted when Clint had opened his mouth. Steve’s eyes had widened in shock as he had realized the reason behind Clint’s damaged voice, but he had curbed in his alpha side and gritted his teeth so hard Clint could hear it several feet away. Buck, on the other hand, had growled, whirled around, and stormed out of the office, only to end up at the range to shoot a dummy into pieces.

”I’m sorry,” Steve had apologized with a wince. ”He was…” He had sighed and shaken his head. ”Buck was captured on his last tour in Afghanistan. He’s never told me exactly what he went through, but I know him. He’s always stood up for the weak and vulnerable — just a manner of speech, no offense meant, Clint — but after he came back, he’s had more trouble handling certain things.” Steve had paused and looked grimly at Clint. ”Omega issues being one of them.”

Phil had frowned and cocked his head, watching Buck reload his gun and continue shooting. ”Is that going to be a problem?”

”Other than Buck wanting to rip to pieces the ones who hurt your mate? No.” 

”Clint, what do you think?” Phil had asked.

Clint had bitten his lip, but before he had had the chance to say anything, Steve had cleared his throat.

”If his presence bothers you, we can arrange things so that Buck’s not here when you come in.”

”You don’t have to—”

”I’m sorry,” Steve had interrupted gently, ”but if it bothers you, we really have to.”

Clint had stared him in the eye for a long time. He had no idea how Phil had found the gym in the first place, but he had learned early on that Phil had some weird connections through his work. Steve and Buck had seemed like decent alphas: they were totally polite and respected Phil, even though he acted slightly aggressive on purpose. But most of all, Clint’s omega side had felt at ease. He had learned to trust it, and he decided to give the place a chance.

The first time Clint had come in to practice, Steve had helped him to build an appropriate shooting lane, somberly listening to everything Clint had suggested. When he had tried to protest, Steve had shrugged and merely said, ”You’re our first archer. Why not make the lane suitable for others as well? I mean, who knows how many we’ll have next year.”

Phil had stayed in the background, seemingly engrossed in his paperwork, but Clint knew he had been aware of everything going on around them. So, when Buck had entered and approached Clint, Phil had dropped all pretense of working and followed the alpha with a narrowed stare.

Turned out, there had been nothing to worry about.

”I’m adopting you,” Buck had said in a low, intense voice. ”If anyone anywhere gives you any shit — anything at all — you tell me, understand?”

”Buck, Clint already has an alpha of his own,” Steve had chided, but his tone had been soothing and gentle.

”Shut up, punk,” Buck had huffed. ”I’m gonna be his fairy godmother.”

Unsure of what to say, Clint had just nodded mutely and watched Buck stomp back into the office.

”Drama Queen,” Steve had muttered fondly, and had then turned back to the lane.

When Clint entered The Howler, Steve was in the office. Clint saluted him smartly with two fingers, receiving a grin and a nod back. The gym was quiet, just like Clint liked: he still wasn’t that much into bigger crowds, which was why he usually visited Howler around noon-ish when there was only a handful of people in.

Buck was on the range, testing some new antique pistol they’d purchased a couple of weeks back. Both he and Steve were gun enthusiasts (”But in the sane sense of the word,” Steve had reminded sternly), and getting their hands on a vintage piece had made their month. Clint didn’t understand, but he was more into paleolithic weaponry anyway — besides, when he was dreaming about building his own bow, he really didn’t have much say in other people’s hobbies.

”Hello gorgeous!” Buck called as he saw Clint.

Clint gave him an eyeroll and a finger. The banter came easily now: at first he had been wary, but as soon as he had realized the quips were just Buck’s way of communicating and in reality he had eyes only for Steve, he had relaxed. 

”So, cupcake, what are your plans for today?” Buck asked as he checked and reloaded the vintage pistol.

Clint shrugged and pursed his lips. He cocked his head as he watched the lane in front of him, considering angles and trajectories. It was something he did naturally, and he had only recently learned the names for all the things he didn’t even need to think about.

He motioned with his hand, making vague loops and hops, splaying his fingers in the end. 

Buck nodded, serious, somehow getting the idea of what Clint wanted to do.

”Okay, sugar pea. Show me what you’ve got.”

Clint paused and blinked, then turned towards Buck. Sugar pea? He mouthed. Really?

Buck grinned and winked. 

Clint shook his head and concentrated on making his bow ready.

Thing was, Buck used only outrageously sweet nicknames for him, and the more obnoxious or ridiculous, the better. Steve had tried to make Buck stop, worried that either Clint of Phil would take offense, but to his own surprise, Clint had realized he actually liked the gentle teasing and stupid names Buck called him. In a way, the snarking reminded him of the way he and Barney had been, back in the day when things had been good between them.

Besides, Buck made a point to never call Clint beautiful, sweetheart, darling, or love. It had taken Clint some time to realize that Buck had paid close attention to what endearments Phil used, and was careful not to cross any boundaries that actually mattered.

After he had meticulously checked the bow and done some warming up, he started his routine, going through the motions with practiced ease. Knowing he was safe and protected, it didn’t take him long to lose himself in the rhythm and focus on hitting the target every time. The arrows snapped in place in rapid success, forming a picture of a perfect dick on the back wall.

Buck snorted as he saw it.

”You know,” he drawled, walking closer, ”next month, there’s this ren faire not far from here. I know for sure they have an archery competition. Would you like to go?”

Clint lowered his bow and frowned at Buck. 

”Me?” He rasped.

Buck nodded. ”Yeah, you. Me 'n Steve have been there every year since we came back. It’s nice. You’d blow their minds.”

Clint raised a brow. ”With dicks.”

”Well, that’s up to you,” Buck shrugged. ”Pussies might also be nice.”

”Is he harassing you again?” Steve asked, walking in from behind Buck, voice laced with fond exasperation.

Buck whirled around with indignant air. ”I wasn’t! I was proposing to him.”

Steve blinked slowly. 

Clint wasn’t exactly sure which one of the two had the knot in the relationship, but he didn’t really want to know. It was none of his business, anyway.

”To go to the ren faire next month,” Buck spelled out. 

”Ah,” Steve said thoughtfully and turned to give Clint a long look. ”It’s not just Buck’s idea, although I’d forego the dick pictures. But think about it and talk it through with your alpha. We’d be honored to take you there.”

Both alphas were looking at him with something akin to fond earnestness, and Clint didn’t know how to handle it. So he nodded, muttered something under his breath, and turned to clean his bow to give his hands something to do. 

He ran a mile on the treadmill and had a go with the punching bag, carefully combing through the proposition. It sounded nice, and Clint was a bit surprised about how much he wanted to go. He hadn’t been to this type of a faire since his circus days, but he was pretty sure that, surrounded by the alphas he trusted, he’d enjoy himself.

Of course, he’d have to ask Phil first. It wasn’t like his alpha denied him stuff, it was more about Phil getting overprotective and worrying his ass off, which was something Clint liked to avoid if possible.

He finished up, took a quick shower, and after a brief consideration, decided to stop in a small coffee shop he’d spotted earlier on the way to buy half a dozen of Phil’s favorite cronuts for dessert. 

That night, after they had eaten the shepherd’s pie Clint had made and gotten cronut crumbs all over the couch, they dozed off, watching some inane reality show Phil loved. Clint was feeling full, both of Phil’s attention and food, but he felt fidgety, and the question about the ren faire was like insistent itch just under his skin.

”Something on your mind?” Phil murmured into his hair and stroked lazy circles into the nape of his neck with a finger.

”There’s this faire…” Clint whispered. ”Buck told me about it.”

”Oh?” Phil encouraged without breaking the rhythm of his thumb. His scent was rich and warm, and it made Clint brave.

”He said there’s an archery competition.”

Phil hummed a noncommittal sound. ”Do you want to go?”

Clint hesitated. He did, but that would mean he’d need a new bow, because a compound wasn’t exactly appropriate for a ren faire. Also, Phil would probably need to take time off from work, and neither was something Clint was comfortable with asking.

”Clint?”

With a sigh, Clint turned to look at Phil. He knew that his alpha was well attuned to both his scent and mood, and he had picked up on Clint’s hesitation.

”Sweetheart, you are allowed to ask things for yourself, remember?” Phil chided him. ”Do you need a new bow? I guess so, considering a modern compound might look a bit out of place.”

Clint huffed and snuggled closer to Phil, sneaking his arms around the alpha’s midriff. 

”I think I’ll ask Jasper about that. He’s kind of a nerd and can probably tell me where to look,” Phil mused. His scent turned slightly sweeter, and Clint frowned, trying to get a read on it. It was very similar to the contented, sated scent Phil exuded when they were cuddling, but with a sharper undercurrent.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later when Clint realized he had smelled it on Phil when his alpha had given him the compound bow. Apparently, it made Phil happy to get Clint things Clint wanted.

Weird. Happiness by proxy.

Clint’s days were soon filled with getting to know his new bow. It was a gorgeous recurve, a beauty he barely dared to touch at first. A bit finicky and fussy too, but with patience and determination, Clint slowly won her over.

Her. Yes. The bow was definitely a lady.

Considering the competition was as much of a show as it was pure skill, Buck took over coaching Clint. It made Steve roll his eyes at them, but none of them could deny the benefits of having an extra pair of eyes to check how Clint did things. Sure, his form was shit because the circus hadn’t been the best of places to learn how to shoot properly, but Clint compensated that with his innate ability to adapt to almost anything.

As the word spread that the gym had its own archer, Clint got an audience. At first, it unnerved him a lot, and the weight of multiple eyes boring into his neck making him sweaty and borderline panicky. 

Buck talked him through it with his usual finesse. ”They’re, like, 15 feet away, princess. Steve is right beside them, and I’m standing in between them and you. Just shoot the fucking bow.”

Clint flipped him off, and while giving him a flat stare, shot an arrow through the bullseye just to spite him.

After a week, Buck took him to the park to shoot outside. The competition was an outdoors event, and it was only sensible to get a hang of it before the real thing. Clint suspected it had also something to do with Buck wanting him to get more used to spectators. The first time went without a hitch, which meant that the second time Buck took him out to practice it was in the pouring rain, and the third time it was so windy Clint had serious trouble hitting the target at all. 

He couldn’t remember when he had last had so much fun.

In the end, it all paid off when he cleared the table with ease and heard an enthusiastic ”Fuck yeah!” from Steve of all people. The stupefied look on Phil’s face at that was priceless.

They had a nice time at the faire, circling around the booths, drinking mead (Steve made sure it was non-alcoholic), and eating roasted chestnuts and corn-on-the-cob until their stomachs hurt. Clint thought he was subtle about avoiding tents with certain color patterns, but when Phil’s arm tightened around him and his protective scent surrounded in a warm cloud, Clint knew he hadn’t fooled his alpha even one bit.

At some point, he felt his neck prickle. He tried surreptitiously to check his surroundings, but saw nothing suspicious. It didn’t mean he wasn’t being watched, though, and the feeling of being followed was way too familiar to ignore. He shuddered.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Phil give him a questioning look, and offered him a wan smile.

”Tired,” he rasped. 

Phil nodded, didn’t ask anything, just nodded his head towards the parking lot.

As they drove off, Clint snuck a glance at the cluster of tents. The faire looked the same, but he couldn’t help a sense of foreboding.

He was sure someone had recognized him.

After the faire, Clint was drained. Not physically as such, but spending a long time in a place packed with people and being at the center of attention during the competition had been more exhausting than he had thought possible. There was also the issue of the odd sense of being watched, and Clint was somewhat reluctant to venture outside the apartment. It pissed him off, mostly because he had thought he had put all that behind him already.

Steve and Buck told him to take a couple of days off, and something in their eyes told Clint that Phil had probably tipped them off. He was half-heartedly annoyed: he wasn’t a fucking flower to be babied, but at the same time, he was grateful for Phil being so understanding.

He didn’t tell Phil about the feeling of being watched. It would just make him worry for nothing.

A couple of weeks later, when Clint was walking home from The Howler, he thought he heard soft whining from a nearby alley. He paused, suspicious about the sound, and wary to approach. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been fooled by sounds of distress.

As he crept closer, he smelled that the scent clearly wasn’t human. It turned out to be a beaten-up dog, a dirty blonde mutt with other eye swollen shut and bloody. Clint paused and blinked, changing his pose and scent from wary to soothing. The dog was breathing heavily, obviously in pain, but when Clint slowly approached, it still tried to thump his tail.

”The fuck happened to you?” Clint whispered, kneeling beside him.

The dog raised his head in attempt to lick his hand, but slumped back with a pained whimper.

”Fucking hell,” Clint mouthed and thought for a moment before making his decision. ”Sorry about this,” he croaked and gently lifted the dog into his arms. It let out a high whine that broke something in Clint’s heart, but didn’t try to snap at him.

There was a vet clinic not far from the alley, and Clint didn’t even think twice before he pushed the door open, marched to the counter, and pleaded with his broken voice, ”Please, help!”

The veterinary technician blinked, glanced around her, and then hollered ”Doc! Emergency!” 

Clint stood still, holding the dog as close as he dared, fervently hoping someone would agree to help.

”What happened?” 

Clint whirled around to face a curly-haired beta vet with kind eyes and worried expression. 

”I don’t know,” he whispered. ”Found him in an alley. I just couldn’t leave him there.”

The vet blinked and his scent took a slightly pitying turn as he took in Clint’s voice, but he didn’t let it show in his demeanor. He nodded and motioned Clint to follow him into an examination room. Somewhat absently, Clint noticed the vet left the door open and stepped away from it to give Clint a free route out if he wanted.

”Would you place him on the table, please,” the vet said, and Clint complied, trying to be as gentle as he could. He still jostled the dog a bit, and it let out a pathetic whimper.

”Oh boy, this doesn’t look good. What the hell was done to you?” The vet murmured softly as he gently palpated the dog.

Anxious, Clint bit his lip, feeling the need to hover. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a slight, worried tug on his bond to Phil, but he ignored it, staring intently at the dog.

”Will he live?” He whispered, barely audible.

The vet shook his head. ”I’m not going to lie to you. He’s been hurt badly. The eye is lost already, there’s at least some internal bleeding, several cracked ribs, and I have no idea in how many pieces his other front leg has been broken into.” He gave Clint a weary sigh and a tentative smile. ”But we’re going to try anyway.” Then he turned towards the door. 

”Darcy!” 

The vet waited for the technician to appear in the doorway. ”Prep the operation room, please. We have a patient.”

After helping to weigh the dog, Clint carried him to the operation room, and then he was gently but firmly escorted out and asked to wait until the vet was done. Clint paced back and forth in the waiting area, biting his nails, and hoping the dog would be alright. He didn’t really get why he was feeling so anxious, but something about the mutt called out to him. 

Whatever the reason, he just couldn’t help but worry.

The clock on the wall seemed to eat time at a pace that appeared to rush and stand still at the same time. Clint stared at it, wondering what was taking so long, and he was of half a mind to go and pester Darcy again when the vet asked for him. 

There was a good amount of blood on the vet’s scrubs, but he was smiling, albeit a bit strained. Clint decided to focus on that.

”It’s going to take time for him to heal, but he’ll make it,” the vet said and beckoned with his head. ”Do you want to see him?”

Clint let out a relieved breath and nodded.

The dog was lying on his side with his mutilated side up. There was a bandage over his eye, his left front leg was in a cast, and a neat row of staples decorated his underside like a zipper. He was noticeably cleaner than when Clint had brought him in, and he guessed he had been cleaned up both to avoid infection and check for any extra injuries.

Clint leaned forward and gently scratched the mutt behind an ear, suppressing a shiver at the boneless feeling of an animal still under quite a heavy an anesthesia.

”I’m going to take care of you,” he whispered. ”I’ll make sure nobody’s gonna hurt you no more, I prom—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish when heard a crash from the waiting room as the clinic door banged open, and then Phil’s furious voice demanded, ”Where is he?”

Bewildered, Clint hurried into the waiting room to see scared Darcy and the confused vet who had no clue why they had an alpha practically growling in the middle of their waiting room.

”Phil?” Clint asked hesitantly. He tried to keep his scent calm and his knees from buckling in a conditioned reaction to a furious alpha. He had never seen Phil angry, and he didn’t know what to do.

Phil’s head whipped around and his gaze narrowed. ”Clint? Are you alright?”

As he stepped forward, Clint couldn’t help but to flinch and bare his throat in front of his alpha’s anger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Phil jerk as if he had been hit.

”Clint? …Oh God, I’m sorry. I never meant—” Phil paused, closed his eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths. ”You never confirmed you got home. You didn’t answer the message I sent you. I checked your location, and you were stationary, and I— I thought—”

Slowly, Clint turned to look at him. Phil’s eyes were wide, and now that his anger had bled out, Clint saw how scared he was.

”I’m sorry,” he whispered. ”I didn’t hear your message, and I forgot.”

”Why?” Phil frowned and looked around, as if only now realizing where he was. ”What— Clint, why are we at a veterinary clinic?”

”I found a dog.”

”A dog?”

Clint nodded, slightly nervous. It struck him only now that Phil might not be okay with a dog, and he didn’t know what to do if Phil said no.

”If I may say so, he would’ve died if your mate hadn’t brought him in,” the vet said calmly from behind Phil, and Clint offered him a wan smile.

Phil blinked a couple of times. ”Well, where is he?”

Steeling himself, Clint led Phil to the back room to see the dog, and held his breath as Phil took a measured look at the unmoving animal in the recovery cage.

After a long while, Phil sighed and said softly, ”He’s in a bad shape, Clint.”

Clint swallowed. ”I know,” he whispered.

Phil turned to look at him seriously, searching his eyes. ”Are you sure?”

”Yeah. Please, Phil.”

Phil nodded. ”Okay then. Let’s take him home.”

Clint would’ve never guessed that having a dog could be so time-consuming. First, he needed to get out to do his business, which was pretty awkward with his broken leg and all, and it required Clint carrying him back and forth three stories. But otherwise than that, he just basically slept, but Clint had no idea why he felt the need to hover.

They named him Lucky, because that’s what he was, what with the missing eye and busted leg and all. Phil said he didn’t know anything about dogs and that Clint needed to teach him, but Clint wasn’t fooled: he saw the dog-related websites Phil surfed around, and he heard Phil cooing sweet things to the mutt when he thought Clint wasn’t looking. 

The first couple of days, Clint barely dared to leave Lucky’s side to run to The Howler to practice, somehow sure that something bad would happen to him if Clint wasn’t there to keep watch. He felt the constant need to check the bandages and count Lucky’s breaths because he knew how fucking much broken ribs hurt.

After three days, Phil rolled his eyes and gently but firmly told him to go and practice, promising that Lucky would be alright. However, he did install a couple of small webcams and connected them to Clint’s phone. Clint thanked him with an enthusiastic making-out session that left them both flustered.

Clint was sure he had the best alpha ever.

When Clint showed the first pictures to Buck and Steve, Buck said, ”That’s an ugly damn dog.”

”Have you looked into the mirror lately?” Clint hissed, prickly and ready to defend his dog, ugly or not. Then he glanced at Buck who was smiling at one of Lucky’s more not-so-photogenic pictures, and realized Buck was just shitting with him.

”Several times a day, and I’m always gorgeous,” Buck said airily, making Steve roll his eyes and stomp away.

Thing was, Clint enjoyed having Lucky around. Apart from his time spent at the gym, he was mostly alone the days while Phil was at work. He wasn’t lonely, not really, but he couldn’t deny he liked the having the dog around. It made him feel more at ease.

As he slowly recovered, Lucky started hobbling around the flat, stubbornly following Clint around wherever he went. Phil denied him the access to bed, and no amount of sad puppy eyes from Clint or Lucky swayed his mind. He lost the battle of the couch, but Clint suspected Phil hadn’t been that much into winning in the first place. Despite complaining about dog hair all over his suits, Phil came home from work to flop onto the couch, had his lap full of a dog trying to wag his tail off, and started exuding a warm scent of a thoroughly happy alpha.

Yeah, Clint knew the truth: his mate was whipped by a one-eyed mutt.

When Lucky got his cast off, Clint started walking him more, still careful not to strain him too much. It was perhaps a futile attempt, considering his enthusiastic nature, but at least Clint tried. He had more luck (heh) with teaching Lucky several whistles and hand signs so that he could eventually let him run free. Lucky was a pretty smart dog, and his love for Swiss cheese helped considerably with his training, because he’d climb a tree for a treat.

It didn’t take long for Clint to guide Lucky with subtle hand gestures and a series of whistles, and he was pretty damn proud of them. 

He tried to teach them to Phil too, but with questionable success. After a couple of days, Phil had merely shook his head and said that he could just keep Lucky in a leash and leave the commands to Clint. For some reason, Clint felt guiltily relieved. As much as Phil liked Lucky, he was still first and foremost Clint’s dog, and having something that was completely their thing meant more than he dared to admit.

He was also pretty sure that Phil knew that.

They soon extended their walks to the gym and the nearby park. Without Clint even noticing, Lucky acted as his guide and guardian, giving Clint courage to explore the neighborhood further than he had previously dared. Lucky showered Buck and Steve with sloppy kisses until they were slimy and huffing with laughter, and for that, he earned a special place on The Howler’s office couch. He rested there and waited patiently until Clint was done with his routine, trying to steal pieces of Steve’s sandwich with an innocent face that fooled no-one.

Steve always fed him half of his sandwich anyway.

Now that he had company, spending time in the park was Clint’s new favorite hobby, right after shooting the bow and cuddling Phil. He usually went there after finishing up at the gym, first walking at a leisurely pace and letting Lucky enjoy himself, then just sitting on a bench with the mutt either sprawled on his lap or having energetic dreams under the bench.

Clint didn’t remember when he had last had the chance just to sit and observe. Perhaps it had been at the circus, or even before that. It sure as fuck hadn’t been after, because by then he had been too busy to stay away from people and actually surviving. People watching wasn’t something unbonded, injured omegas had the luxury of doing.

The park was very different on weekdays and weekends. On weekdays, there were mainly omegas with their kids, groups of teenagers, or elderly folks, but on weekends, the park was filled with people. Clint wasn’t that keen on going then because Lucky or no Lucky, the bigger crowds still made him nervous. He preferred the slightly more peaceful late afternoon hours.

He liked to watch people, make up their life stories, and whisper them on Lucky’s fur. Sometimes, he even told them to Phil, who listened to him with a fond smile, asking questions about unknown relatives and dirty secrets. Clint always tried to come up with the most ridiculous tales.

Sometimes, he watched the families and wondered.

Thing was, he didn’t even know if he wanted kids of his own. He had never really thought he had the chance. 

After the talk at Coulson’s, he and Phil hadn’t breached the subject of a family again, but sometimes Clint thought about it. He remembered the way Phil acted around his nephews and nieces, the fond if somewhat awkward way he talked with them and handled them. It was more than clear that Phil liked kids, but he had never said anything about it to Clint.

And Clint… well, because he was a coward, he had never dared to ask.

Clint knew that Trick and his buddies had hurt him six ways from Sunday, and all that abuse and violence had caused damage to his insides. He didn’t know the extent, mostly because he had never seen a doctor. His bonding heat had been pretty long, but considering his age it probably wasn’t that odd — or at least that’s what Anne had said.

He knew he should go get himself checked, but he just hadn’t gotten round to doing it.

”What do you think, Lucky? You think Phil would want kids?”

Lucky raised his head a bit, giving Clint a one-eyed stare. 

”I mean, what if I can’t have them?” He wondered, scratching absently Lucky’s fur. ”I guess I should just get myself checked. Who the fuck knows what all that caused me, you know?”

Lucky let out a soft woof and licked a broad stripe across Clint’s face.

”Aww, dog, no!” Clint hissed, wiping his face dry. ”A frenchie on the nose? Not cool.”

He pushed himself up from the ground, took in his surroundings with practiced ease, and paused when he saw someone standing at the other side of the pond. There was something disturbingly familiar about him — yeah, it was definitely a man — but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was standing too far away and slightly in the shadows for Clint to get a glimpse of his face, but the peculiar feeling in his gut told Clint he was staring at him.

As he watched, the man raised his hand to salute. Clint blinked and took an instinctive glance behind himself, to check if there was someone else the man could be waving to. There was no-one.

When he turned back the man was gone. 

With a frown, Clint scanned the area behind the pond, clutching his phone in his hand. He didn’t know why, but the short incident had unnerved him, and the park around him didn’t feel as welcoming as it had.

Sensing his distress, Lucky butted his nose into his hand, jolting him from his thoughts. Clint swallowed and started walking, resting his hand on Lucky’s head and dialing Phil with the other.

”Clint?”

”Hi Phil,” Clint rasped. ”How’s your day?”

There was a moment of silence, and Clint felt a gentle, concerned nudge at their bond. Then Phil started talking about his latest meeting with Stark. His voice was calm and collected, and he didn’t ask what had happened.

With Lucky’s cold and wet snout nudging him towards home and Phil’s voice grounding him, Clint hurried home. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling that the man in the park had shown himself on purpose. 

He had wanted Clint to see him. 

In the days after the incident in the park, Clint felt edgy. He tried to brush it away and pretend that everything was okay, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being shadowed. It was subtle and he never actually saw anyone — didn’t even scent anything out of the ordinary — but the sense of being watched persisted. It was a gut feeling, and since his gut had kept him alive, Clint trusted it.

After feeling safe for so many months, going back to being paranoid about his surroundings was anything but pleasant. It made him tired and snappy, hissed at Phil like an angry cat, and then felt like drowning in his guilt. 

At times, Phil glanced at him from the corner of his eye, worry and love evident in his face and scent, but because Phil was so goddamn proper and respectful, he didn’t ask what the fuck was going on. Instead, he waited, hovered, and expressed his love in small kisses and gentle touches, like he was trying to push it under Clint’s skin, to his bones.

It made Clint feel like the worst mate ever. He was worrying his alpha over nothing.

He figured he probably should tell Phil, but what could he say? Hey Phil, there was this guy who waved at me in the park, and it’s freaking me out. 

Yeah, as if.

He set his jaw and tried to keep his daily routines going by sheer force of spite, taking Lucky out for walks like he normally did. If his pulse was elevated and he kept sniffing and glancing around, nobody needed to know, right?

To distract himself, he decided to finally make an appointment to an obstetrician to get his innards checked out. As sparse as his mockery of health education had been, Clint knew he was in a high risk of, well, everything after Trick’s tender mercies. He knew he was clean (or, as clean as anyone with his history could be), because as soon as he had gotten away, he had gone to a free clinic to get tested for HIV, being insanely relieved when the test had come back negative. And afterwards, he’d let no-one touch him. 

Until Phil.  

Okay, so, spreading his legs to some random doctor wasn’t exactly an appealing thought, but he had to do it — if not for himself, then for Phil. Besides, he was already feeling down, and a bit more misery would hardly add to his mood that much, right? 

After some deliberation, Clint decided to tell Phil about his plans, if only to have something to blame his mood about. It took him several tries, because there was no casual way to tell your mate that you wanted to check for everything that had been broken in you, but eventually, he managed.

Phil was as understanding and gentle as always, and held him through the night before the appointment. He even asked if Clint wanted him to take some time off to accompany him, which Clint nervously refused. He had never been to an obstetrician, but he was pretty sure they would ask questions, and as open as he had been about his past, there were things he didn’t want Phil to hear.

In the morning of his appointment, he took Lucky out for a long walk in a half-hearted attempt to calm down. The mutt seemed to sense that his mind was wandering, and behaved unusually well (sort of), forgoing his more common routine of chasing squirrels and eating half a bush of roses instead before Clint realized what was happening. At least the scolding of the unrepentantly grinning dog took his mind off of both the appointment and his stalker.

His obstetrician was a middle-aged omega who performed the standard examinations with brisk efficiency, with gentle hands and warm smiles. She didn’t bat an eyelash at Clint’s history or the fact that Clint had no idea how many cocks he had taken up the ass in his day, not to mention the medical history of said members.

Anyway, the doctor ordered the widest possible array of tests and a pelvic X-rays, and made both internal exam and sonogram. Clint was desperately grateful Phil wasn’t there to witness his squirming.

”Well… as far as I can see, your bone structure is intact,” the doctor said when Clint was once again dressed and sitting in front of her desk. ”That at least is a relief, and the early STD tests also look okay, for the most part, but…” She sighed. ”I’m going to be blunt: You have heavy scarring all around your reproductive organs, most likely from untreated chlamydia. It is extremely unlikely you’ll ever have kids, at least not without heavy medical intervention.”

Clint frowned and nodded, trying to take in what she said.

”But— I thought I was clean?”

”You’ve only had the basic HIV test, not the full package,” she said, not unkindly. 

”Okay,” Clint said numbly and blinked. Fuck. So not okay. He wasn’t clean. 

”Your alpha should get tested too, just to be sure,” the obstetrician continued. ”I’m prescribing you with a medication that takes care of the lingering infection. I’ll call you when the rest of the results arrive.”

Clint nodded mutely, took the offered prescription, and left the clinic in a daze, barely remembering to pick up Lucky from the cooing receptionist on his way out.

Fuck. Fucking fuck. He wasn’t clean.

What would Phil say?

He made his way to the pharmacy to fill in his prescription, convinced that everyone knew exactly why he was there. With burning ears, he listened to the beta pharmacist go through the spiel about what the drug did, how to take it, and what the common side-effects were. He didn’t meet the clerk’s eyes as he took his paper bag, and ducked his head on his way out. 

Eager to get the hell home, he hunched his shoulders and missed the man on the other side of the street, staring after him with narrowed eyes.

It took Clint seven tries before he had gathered enough courage to tell Phil the news, and even then he didn’t dare looking Phil in the eye, burying himself under the blanket and curling in a tight ball instead. His shame clung around him in a thick blanket, tickling his nose and stinking up the air.

But Phil wasn’t disgusted.

”I got tested a couple of months ago,” he said calmly. ”In my line of work, there’s a high risk of getting dosed with different bodily fluids, so it’s part of our employee package.”

”Oh,” Clint whispered to his knees.

”Also, I got used to testing regularly when I worked as an emergency alpha,” Phil continued. 

He fell silent, cocked his head, and looked Clint for a good while. Then he took a gentle hold of Clint’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes. Phil’s gaze was clear and cool, and it soothed the tight knot of anxiety in Clint’s gut. 

Lovingly, Phil wiped his thumb once across Clint’s cheek and asked, serious, ”But more importantly: how do you feel about the other thing?”

Ah. Right.

Clint shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but fully aware he didn’t pull it off. He tried to turn his head to avoid Phil’s eyes, but Phil was having none of it.

”Clint, I don’t care,” Phil said, soft but stern. ”I adore my nephews and nieces, but I’ve never wanted kids of my own. In my line of work, they might even be considered a liability. None of our active security staff has kids.” Phil paused to peck a kiss on Clint’s forehead. ”So if you think this makes you somehow unfit as a mate, don’t. Because I really don’t give a damn.”

Despite his efforts, Clint couldn’t fully hide his relief, but he tried to play it cool by snuggling closer to Phil. Yeah, it would’ve been nice to actually get to decide for himself about his own reproduction, but honestly, he was just glad. Sure, he liked to watch families with kids, but the mere idea of a kid of his own scared the shit out of him. 

”Okay?” Phil murmured against his hair. His scent was warm and safe around Clint, tingled with the barest hint of fond amusement, like Phil knew what he was thinking about.

Hell, Phil probably knew exactly what he was thinking about.

Clint smiled against his chest. ”Okay,” he whispered.

Over the next couple of weeks, the feeling of being followed didn’t vanish, but it dissipated somewhat, turning from burning prickling in the back his neck into an oddly vague feel of unease that followed him time to time. Clint tried to catch a glimpse of his stalker, but never saw him again. So, when nothing happened, he slowly started to relax.

That turned out to be a mistake.

On a clear and cool Friday in mid-August, Clint had just finished his warm-up and was getting ready to go through his routine when he heard someone entering the range. He ignored it: this wasn’t the first time someone came to practice at the same time with him, and he had learned to tolerate people watching him practice. His winning of the faire competition had gained him some reputation, and there had been increasing numbers of interested watchers lately.

He concentrated on his routine, using his compound this time for a change, and worked on his accuracy with shooting two arrows simultaneously. It was tricky, but he enjoyed the challenge. When he finally managed to nail it, he lowered his bow, grinned, and nodded.

There was a dry snort from somewhere behind him.

”Still playing with arrows?”

He froze, and something inside him gave a painful *thunk.* The sneering voice sounded too familiar, but — it couldn’t be.

Slowly, he swallowed and turned around. He felt eerily calm, almost detached, as he watched his brother casually lean on the door frame, his mouth upturned in his usual smirk.

”Cat got your tongue?” Barney asked, cocked his head, and raised his brows in mock innocence. ”Oh, right. That wasn’t no cat, yeah?”

Clint didn’t say anything, but gritted his jaw and fought back his nausea. In the back of his mind, he felt Phil’s worry, and he latched on it like a lifeline, gripping it tightly. It flared, hot and sharp, and Clint knew that as soon as his panic would start filtering through, Phil would drop everything and rush to The Howler.

Barney shook his head, tsk-ed, and stepped forward, unhurried and unworried, like being in the same room was something they did on regular basis.

”What are you doing here, little brother?” He asked, curious. ”This is a gym and a gun range.”

Clint tried to keep his face impassive, but his No shit, Sherlock must’ve bled through, because Barney’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together in an unhappy, tight line.

”I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, but I’m taking you home,” he said and started purposefully towards Clint.

Clint took a couple of hurried steps back and whistled once, a sharp, piercing sound that made Barney blink and pause. Clint fervently hoped that Lucky was in a hearing distance and actually decided to obey him for a change. The mutt surprised him though, by rushing in in a flurry of dirty blonde fur, hurrying to Clint’s side, and giving Barney his most unimpressed one-eyed glare.

Barney stared at Lucky for a moment and then burst into laughter. ”Fuck, that’s an ugly fucking dog!” He cackled. ”A crippled ugly mutt, a bit like you. Suits you well, yeah?”

”Fuck you,” Clint rasped. He could take insults hurled at himself all day, but Lucky didn’t need to hear them.

”Oh, it talks!” Barney mock-gasped before stepping forward in full intention to grab Clint. He didn’t get far, though, because Lucky positioned himself right in front of Clint and let out a deep, dirty growl.

Barney faltered. ”Fucking stupid dog,” he muttered.

As if in slow motion, Clint saw Barney shift his weight to his left leg and watched his right foot start to rise. He didn’t even think as he raised his bow, nocked the arrow back, and hissed, ”Don’t.”

A slow, cruel smile spread on Barney’s face and he moved his leg, ready to kick Lucky. ”’Don’t what? You gonna shoot me?”

The sound of a safety clicking off echoed loudly in the empty range.

”No, he’s not going to shoot you, but I sure as fuck will,” Buck snarled from behind Barney.

Clint stifled a startled jerk, and kept his hands steady and bow ready. He hadn’t seen Buck creeping in, but then he had been too caught up on the standoff with Barney to really register anything that was going on around them.

Buck was standing with the pistol in his hand steady and unwavering. He was thrumming with barely contained violence, and the scent of rage rolling off of him made Clint light-headed.

Barney turned slowly around and asked, incredulous, ”Who the fuck are you?”

”You’re not the one asking questions here,” Buck griped back.

Barney was silent for a moment, taking in the man in front of him. ”That’s your alpha?” He snorted over his shoulder with a leer. ”Suits you, just like your dog. A cripple!” He shot Clint a look full of contempt. ”You can’t even get yourself a proper alpha!”

Buck tilted his head a little and gave Barney a gentle smile that was, frankly, terrifying.

”Oh no, I’m not his alpha,” he purred. ”His alpha is… more than proper.”

Barney rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, but stopped short when Steve walked in with strong, purposeful steps, face thunderous. He stopped in front of Barney, crossed his arms across his chest, and gave him a level stare.

”You’re not welcome here, so I suggest you remove yourself from the premises,” he said, low and measured.

Barney gave Steve a languid once-over. Then he smirked, gave Steve a cocky salute with his middle finger, and walked out like there wasn’t an enraged alpha following him with a gun three inches from the back of his head.

”I’ll be seeing you, Clint,” he sing-songed from the doorway without pausing, and then he was gone.

Steve stepped closer to Clint and gently pressed his arm to lower the bow. ”Clint, stand down,” he said softly. ”I guess you knew him?”

Clint nodded mutely. His head was dizzy and he could feel a slight tremor run along his hands. He felt like a puppet with his strings suddenly cut, and he would’ve slumped in a heap on the floor if Steve hadn’t caught him.

”Steady,” Steve said calmly and nudged him along. ”Let’s go to the office, okay?”

Clint felt like he didn’t have the energy to move, but supported by Steve and with Lucky pressing his side against his leg, he managed to stumble into the office. Steve guided him to the couch, and he folded onto it like a rag doll.

”Phil is on his way,” Steve said. ”He called and said he had felt something wasn’t right.”

Clint nodded, not really hearing what Steve said. He blinked and swayed a little, distantly aware of Steve puttering around in the office, making more noise than was strictly necessary. It was grounding, and he was grateful for Steve’s thoughtfulness.

It didn’t take long for Phil to arrive, and when he did, he made a beeline to Clint, sinking into his knees in front of him. Steve discreetly took his leave, giving them some privacy.

”Clint, sweetheart? Are you alright?” Phil asked urgently, running his hands along his sides and back.

Clint drew a shuddering breath, almost feel forward to Phil’s arms, and buried his nose on Phil’s neck.

”It was him,” Clint whispered. ”The guy that’s been following me. It was Barney.”

To Phil’s credit, he didn’t flip out when Clint confessed that someone had been following him, but Clint saw how his eyes got a familiar pinched look when he mildly asked why he hadn’t said anything.

”I’m sorry,” he whispered and winced. ”Didn’t want to worry you for nothing.”

”Clearly, it wasn’t for nothing,” Phil chided gently.

”Yeah, I guess not,” Clint agreed, ashamed.

Phil sighed and drew him close, careful as always to not force him. Clint didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t need Phil, and burrowed himself close, drawing strength from his alpha.

”What now?” Phil asked after a moment, when Clint had had calmed down. ”What do you want to do?”

Clint bit his lip and thought. The easiest solution would be to hide and let Phil take care of sorting out the mess. But that would mean giving up, and, frankly, Clint was fucking tired of being a coward. He knew he had come a long way from the scared omega he had been years back, but apparently it didn’t take much for Barney to coax the old reactions out of him.

There was a throbbing headache lurking just behind his eyes and his whole body ached like it had been through more than a half of his normal routine. He knew he should give more thought to his meeting with Barney, but he just… couldn’t. Not right now.

”Home,” he whispered against Phil’s neck. ”I wanna go home.”

Phil didn’t say anything, just took him in his arms bridal style. With Lucky trotting silently beside him, he carried Clint out on the curb where Steve had a car waiting. Steve’s alpha anger burned in low embers, but instead of threatening, it felt oddly soothing. It wasn’t anger at Clint, it was for him.

The ride home went by in a daze. Clint was on Phil’s lap and concentrated on breathing in his scent, his other hand buried in Lucky’s fur. He had a distant thought of playing it a bit too heavy — a mocking voice that sounded too much like Barney — but he didn’t care. He was allowed to be comforted by his own alpha, dammit!

When they got home, Phil took him into his arms again, ignoring Clint’s feeble protests. Clint knew he was no small omega, and as fit as Phil was, carrying Clint’s ass three stories was going to cost him. But Clint didn’t have the energy to seriously scold him for exerting himself too much. Besides, the way Phil clutched him close was telling enough: even if Clint told Phil to let him down, Phil wouldn’t let him go. 

It was something Clint had learned with time — Phil’s need to feel Clint was safe went a long way.

True to his nature, Phil took Clint straight to the bedroom, laid him gently on the bed, and gathered several blankets in an approximation of a nest. When he was satisfied, he climbed in to hold Clint close. 

It wasn’t even far late in the afternoon, but after everything that had happened, Clint felt drained. With a soft sigh, he pressed his nose against the hollow of Phil’s throat and slowly drifted off.

When he woke up, he was alone in the dim room and the bedroom door was almost closed. It was something Phil often did: he closed the door to give Clint some peace and quiet, but left it slightly ajar to let sound and light through.

There was a glass of water and a fruit bar on the nightstand, another habit of Phil’s. Clint huffed a soft laugh and downed the water, leaving the fruit bar for now. He was hungry and would prefer a warm meal over a snack, no matter what Phil said about making sure his blood sugar didn’t plummet after a stressful situation.

His alpha was a fussing sap, and Clint wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he shuffled to the door, he heard Phil talking softly on the phone.

”Did you get it? …Yeah, hold on… Barton, Charles Bernard, DOB August 4 ^th … Okay… Sounds legit… No, not yet… I’ll let you know… Thanks Nick.”

Confused, Clint stopped. Why was Phil asking about Barney? Why was he talking to his boss? And what was Phil going to let him know?

After a moment, Clint heard Phil’s steps draw closer, and the bedroom door opened slightly. 

”Are you hungry?” Phil called calmly, not even a bit surprised at seeing Clint standing right behind the door. ”There’s still that tuna casserole left if you want. I’ll make a salad for the side.”

A bit sheepish, Clint stepped out of the bedroom and followed Phil into the kitchen. They didn’t talk while Phil prepared plates for both of them, and they ate in slightly awkward silence. Despite his hunger, Clint ended up pushing his food around the plate until Phil sighed and reached out to take a hold of his hand.

”What’s troubling you?”

”Why were you asking about Barney?” Clint asked bluntly.

For a moment, Phil was silent, thinking. Then he squeezed Clint’s hand and said, ”You don’t need to worry about that.”

Clint scowled at the way Phil blatantly ignored his question, but didn’t remove his hand. Yeah, he knew Phil was worried, but something about it all — going behind Clint’s back and asking things about Barney — felt wrong, even though Clint couldn’t put his finger on it.

Phil rubbed his thumb slowly across Clint’s knuckles, a steady movement that gradually calmed him down. 

”It must be disconcerting, seeing him after so many years,” he said quietly.

”Yeah,” Clint agreed. He fell silent for a moment before admitting, ”He said he was there to take me home.”

Phil’s thumb froze.

”I know he can’t do that, I belong with you now,” Clint hurried to add. ”But then he tried to kick Lucky and…” He gritted his teeth. ”That fucker.”

Phil’s thumb returned to the slow rubbing, but somehow, it was more aggressive. 

A moment later, Phil asked carefully, ”Do you want to move?”

Clint jerked his head up and frowned. ”What? No!” He forced out loud, incredulous. Then he sighed and continued, ”No. I’m tired of running.”

Phil gave him a long, assessing look before nodding. ”Okay then.” 

He didn’t bring it up again.

A couple of weeks went by, and nothing happened. Clint wasn’t sure what kind of a deal Phil had made with his boss, because the only thing that was different was that one of ”Clint’s alphas,” as Buck had named them, escorted him everywhere. Clint thought it was a bit excessive, but he didn’t protest, because he sensed how important it was to Phil.

Legally, there was nothing Barney could do. Clint was a fully mated omega in a secure, established relationship with his alpha, and short of killing Phil, there was no way Barney could take Clint and get away with it. On top of that, Barney was a beta, and when facing Phil, he was seriously overpowered. 

However, Clint knew all fucking well how little Barney cared about the law. He wouldn’t really put anything past his brother.

Besides, he didn’t know what was motivating Barney. If he was acting on Trick’s orders, who the fuck knew how far he’d go?

When it finally happened, it was almost cliche-y.

Over the months, Phil and Clint had taken to the habit of ordering takeaway every Friday night, and that’s what Barney decided to exploit. So, one Friday night, when Phil opened the door to accept their delivery, Barney ducked in and sprayed him with the pepper spray he had hidden behind the pizza boxes. Most likely, his idea had been to incapacitate Phil, but the spray did little to restrain an alpha ready to defend his mate, just another thing Barney hadn’t bothered to think through.

Even when blinded by the burning pepper solution, Phil was a force to be reckoned with. He fought dirty, with silent, terrifying precision, and it took no time at all for him to have Barney on chokehold, gasping for breath and flailing his hands in a futile attempt to get free.

This was the first time Clint saw Phil use brute alpha force on anyone, and when Phil growled a furious ”Stay down!” with his full alpha voice, it was all Clint could do to not whimper in total submission. Phil sensed it through his rage and reached out through their bond to soothe him, and Clint clung to it, pitifully grateful that he wasn't the target of Phil's anger.

A short moment later, a SHIELD Security team to barged in with Nick in the front, and before Clint had the chance to ask where the hell they had come from, Barney was tackled to the floor, cuffed, and yanked back up by his arms. 

”You fucking cunt,” Barney spat, his face red with rage. ”You think you’re really worth this? Does your alpha even know what a whore you were in the circus — how you took cock after cock for days in a row? Yeah, you heard me! He was nothing but a hole to —”

”Motherfucker, shut the fuck up already,” Nick growled, stuffed his glove in Barney’s mouth, and started dragging him away. Barney’s eyes screamed murder at Clint, who was left in the middle of the room, staring after his brother. 

He was jerked from his daze when Buck practically pushed him to sit on the couch and shoved a glass of water at him.

”Where the fuck did you come from?” He rasped, blinking up at Buck.

”Well, hello to you too, cupcake,” Buck huffed and poked at the glass. ”Drink that while Steve helps your alpha clean up.”

Clint frowned, realizing he didn’t see Phil anywhere, but obeyed Buck anyway. He downed the water and answered mechanically the questions Buck asked him (Yeah, I’m alright — No, he didn’t touch me). When Phil came back from the bathroom, he leaned on Phil’s chest when the alpha drew him on his lap, gripped his hand, and didn’t let go. 

There was an odd itching feeling under his skin, but it wasn’t until the living room had been aired, Steve and Buck had left, and Phil had taken Clint to bed that he started to get angry.

He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes at their intertwined hands, and tried to get a hold of what was bugging him.

”How did they know when to come?” He asked, turning around to face Phil.

Phil blinked at him, his eyes still puffy red from the pepper spray. ”Huh?”

”The SHIELD team and Buck and Steve. How did they know?”

”Because of the new surveillance system,” Phil answered.

Clint blinked and slowly pushed himself to sit up in bed. ”You bugged our home without telling me?”

”Yes. And I’m not going to apologize for that, you know. I won’t play with your safety.”  Phil’s eyes were clear and calm as he watched Clint. 

Clint stared at him and gritted his teeth. He didn’t get was why he was getting so worked up. Intellectually, he knew Phil had done it all for him, to keep him safe. Clearly, it had been necessary, but it didn’t change the fact that Phil had acted behind his back. 

Somewhere deep inside, he felt a slick wave of shame. 

He had caused Barney to be apprehended. His home had basically been a trap and Barney had walked straight into it. Clint had put his own brother in prison. But hell, Barney had basically sold him to Trick, had given him a blanket permission to fuck his every hole six ways from Sunday, and hand the leftovers to his pals afterwards. 

He felt a need to punch his pillow and his teeth drew into a silent snarl. Barney was the one who had betrayed Clint, not the other way ’round, so why the fuck did Clint feel like shit?

Phil didn’t say anything, didn’t comment on Clint’s all-over-the-place scent, just blinked, sat up to lean against the headboard, and waited.

Clint felt his irritation crawl under his skin and he hissed. He couldn’t say what pissed him off more: the outcome with Barney or the calm way Phil just fucking sat there, radiating calmness and patience like a pro.

”What?” He growled, the word rasping painfully on its way out.

Phil cocked his head a little. ”How do you feel?”

”Fuck you,” Clint forced out, clenching and unclenching his hands, breathing hard.

He needed to do something or he was going to rip himself out of his skin, and without a further thought, he turned abruptly to straddle Phil and kissed him with a brutality that came as a surprise to Clint himself.

For a split second, Phil froze, thrown by Clint’s action, and Clint tensed. Then Phil relaxed, opened up, and let Clint in. He reached out his hands to wrap them around Clint, but Clint was having none of it. He didn't want the comfort, not this time. He grabbed Phil’s hands and slammed them on the headboard beside his head, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. Phil let out a surprised sound, and Clint sucked it from his lips, swallowed it down, and dove back in with force.

It wasn’t nice, gentle, or loving. It was pure animal instinct, a war where Clint was the commander with Phil at his mercy, and Clint was not taking prisoners. He attacked Phil’s mouth as he gave Phil’s hands one more fierce squeeze, wordlessly ordering him to keep them where Clint placed them, and then grabbed Phil’s pajama pants and ripped them open to get to his cock. It was half-hard, but after a couple of rough pulls it stood to attention, and Clint impaled himself on it without a further ado.

Despite the active sex life they had, sinking down on an alpha cock without any prepping hurt like motherfucker even though he was leaking slick, but Clint gritted his teeth and continued. Phil let out a worried sound and twitched, wanting to reach out for him. Clint shot him a furious glare, daring him to move his hands, and with grim satisfaction, he saw Phil swallow and obey.

Good.

After that, Clint didn’t really pay much attention to anything else but Phil’s cock and mouth, kissing the alpha with teeth, and fucking himself on his cock with little thought of either one’s comfort. He came soon after with the taste of Phil’s blood in his mouth and a violent clench of his ass that forced Phil tumble after him with a hoarse cry.

For a good while, they both just panted, waiting for their heart rates to even out. When Clint gave a full-body shudder and slumped there on Phil’s lap, his alpha brought his hands gently around him and hugged him close.

”Feeling better, sweetheart?” He murmured in Clint’s ear.

A bit ashamed, Clint nodded against Phil’s neck. ”I guess,” he whispered as he raised his head, and froze.

Phil’s lips were bitten red and bloody, split on at least two places. Horrified, Clint’s eyes snapped to Phil’s, and he opened his mouth to apologize. Phil shook his head and pressed his fingers on his lips, effectively silencing him.

”No need,” he said with a small twitch on the other side of his mouth. ”I admit, my lips are probably going to sting like hell for some time, but it’s okay. Clint, you needed this, and I was willing. You didn’t do any damage.”

”But I hurt you!” Clint whispered, staring wide-eyed at Phil. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the sluggishly bleeding split, of the bright red drop slowly making its way down Phil’s jaw. 

It reminded him of the way his mom’s lip had looked like too many times.

He wanted to vomit.

”Clint!” Phil said sharply, a sliver of alpha in his voice. ”Stop it! Trust me when I say you did not harm me. I’m an alpha, I could’ve stopped you any time I wanted. You did not abuse me, understand?”

Clint shook his head, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He felt like a monster.

He was just like his dad.

He wanted to get away, to crawl in a corner in shame, curl up, and beg his alpha’s forgiveness. He didn’t get the chance, however, because Phil tugged him close and gently pressed his nose into the crook of Phil’s neck, forcing him to breathe in his scent.

”It’s okay, Clint,” Phil murmured and stroked the short hairs in the nape of his neck. ”We’re okay.”

It did little to calm Clint’s distress. ”I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Phil, please forgive me, please,” he whispered over and over again, fully aware of the futility of his apologies. 

Phil let Clint babble, held him when his apologies turned into slurred sobs that wracked through him, and kissed his temple when his hiccups finally eased and he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

When Clint woke up, he was lying on his stomach with his hands wrapped around Phil. His ass was sore and his cheek felt like it was glued onto Phil’s skin, courtesy by dried semen. Awesome.

Phil was leaning on the headboard, reading some inane Tom Clancy book that he lowered as soon as he noticed Clint was awake. 

”Hi there,” he said and smiled crookedly. 

Clint flinched at how the split lip pulled. It looked painful.

”I’m sorry about that,” he whispered, reaching out a hand, but he didn’t dare to touch the swollen lip.

Phil gave him a long look, took a hold of his hand, and kissed his fingers. ”If I accept this apology, will you stop?”

Clint blinked and averted his eyes.

Phil put his book away and sighed. ”You are not your father, Clint. You did not attack a defenseless person, and you definitely didn’t abuse me. You were upset, angry, and hurt both at me and at Barney, and you needed a way to get it out of your system.” He shrugged and gave Clint a wry smile. ”I’m not complaining.”

”But I hurt you,” Clint insisted numbly.

”No, you didn’t. Not in a way I didn’t welcome.” 

Phil reached out a hand to lift Clint’s chin up with a finger and directed him a piercing stare. 

”I could’ve put a stop on it any time I wanted, but I didn’t want to,” said, seriously. ”I could’ve used my alpha voice to order you to stop. I didn’t even dream about it. I submitted to you because I wanted to, and, more importantly, you needed it.”

The gentleness in his eyes was too much, made something clench in Clint’s chest, and he turned his head to hide his face on Phil’s abdomen. His skin smelled like sweat mingled with Clint’s slick and spunk, with the underlying, unmistakable scent of Phil. He inhaled deeply, filled his lungs with the strong smell of their own little corner of humanity, and swallowed it down. 

Could it really be that easy? To put his past behind him and leave it there? 

He seriously doubted that, but it was a start. At least he should try — not for Phil, but for himself. He had gone through his personal hell, and now he was just happy he was here, with his alpha.

Phil’s hand carded through his hair and grounded him as he let out a long, steady breath. 

He was home.