1. Dweebs and Losers

"Fuckin' hall cop got me." Bucky crashed into the bleachers.

Clint snickered. "Coulson nailed you?"

Bucky screwed his face up. "There was no nailing."

Clint laughed loudly while Bucky glared at him. "You're just pissed he doesn't fall for the 'poor me amputee' routine."

"Kiss my ass." Bucky made a show of adjusting the grip claw on his arm.

Natasha sat quietly judging them, but gave Clint a sly smile showing how unsympathetic she was to Bucky's plight. Clint laughed again. He and Bucky were the star soccer players of Shield High — no one fell for Bucky's game, and hadn't since 9th grade. Except for Steve Rogers, but that had less to do with his All-American earnestness and everything to do with the baseball player's ill-disguised crush on Bucky, although that had not translated into them getting up close and personal. Yet.

"Trying to get into the showers with Steve again?" Clint chuckled, imagining exactly what happened: Bucky trying to sneak into the showers when he was supposed to be headed out the field, and skinny-assed Coulson hauling him up for a demerit.

"I'm telling you, Coulson guards Steve's dick like it belongs to him." Bucky huffed and kicked at Natasha's foot, which she easily deflected.

Clint stretched out. Soccer practice was still 30 minutes off and Clint was not in the mood to do homework. He glanced over at Natasha. "I can't believe you humor him like this."

She shrugged. "Deal is, if he scores I get to watch."

Clint laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench. Bucky jumped up to attack but Natasha ran for it, laughter trailing her as Bucky gave chase. Clint figured they would end up making out in the racquet ball court as usual.

Clint wondered if Coulson had actually issued Bucky any demerits. His power as a hall monitor was pretty low, but he took the job seriously. It meant he got harassed a lot but Coulson never seemed bothered, since getting hassled had probably been his lot in life since he started kindergarten. Gangly and awkward in large coke-bottle glasses and sporting a fairly homoerotic fixation on Captain America, Phil Coulson was the acme of high school nerd. Socially he paid the price.

The problem was Clint had always held a fondness for dweebs, going back to the circus. The bearded lady's daughter had been sweet-faced and bookish and gave Clint his first real boner when he was ten. He had never gotten close enough to touch — they were just kids anyway but Clint would never forget her. She set the tone for every crush he had since. But Clint's life as a loser was long gone, wiped out in the space of being taken in at twelve as a foster son by Principal Fury. The guy was a hard-ass kind of parent, but over time Clint had gone from orphan carnie with a strong chance of doing jail time to being class president (it was an accident, he swears, but Natasha just mocked him), lettering in soccer and archery with a strong chance of going to a top-tier university on a sports scholarship. He was one of the "cool" kids, and while no one was more surprised by that than he was, there was a standard he was supposed to maintain. Clint waffled between not giving a damn about that and caring a whole hell of a lot. He admitted without shame that a sense of belonging was fucking important to him. Dating the head of the Latin Guild would jeopardize that, especially given that Clint's best friends thought that Coulson was a self-righteous jerk.

And it was true, Coulson was insufferable, but damn it if Clint didn't adore that a little. Coulson really didn't care about what anyone thought of him, his eyes sparking with challenge whenever anyone tried to bully him. Coulson — the dweeb and nerd who started the Captain America fan club — never backed down from a fight, and that really hit all of Clint's buttons.

"Where is Barnes?"

Clint opened his eyes. Speak of the devil. "I don't know."

Coulson's lips thinned into a tight line. "He ran away before I could give him his demerit slip."

Clint tried really hard not to laugh, but not hard enough. Coulson's eyes narrowed, his shoulders hunching up around his ears. Clint raised his hands. "Man, I really don't know. He went chasing after Nat. I'm sure they're somewhere necking at this point."

Coulson's face went bright red up to the tips of his ears. Clint was not turned on by virginity at all but the idea of Coulson being that sweetly innocent was too adorable. Clint shoved that thought aside.

"I thought Barnes wanted in Roger's pants," Coulson sputtered, his expression caught somewhere between anger and mortification.

"Bucky is an equal opportunity pants infiltrator." Clint smirked.

The shoulders went back and Coulson stood up straight. He was not small, and they were about the same height, but all the posturing in the world wasn't going to make Coulson into a big enough man to intimidate Clint. "Rogers is a senior and a state level all-star. He's not going to waste his time on a junior with an attitude problem."

Clint stood up slowly. "Seriously, you're here to talk shit about my best friend?"

Coulson, to his credit, didn't twitch." Your best friend is Natasha Romanoff."

"Wow, so not the point, four-eyes."

A brief flash of pain crossed Coulson's face, but he reigned it in. "At least I'm getting laser surgery this summer. You'll just always be an asshole who thinks he's better than other people. You aren't. You're just an orphan who rides on Fury's coattails. Without him you'd probably be in juvee!" Coulson spat out the words then turned and marched off before Clint could recover.

He was still standing there when Bucky and Natasha showed up again right before practice. They were looking loose- limbed and well laid, but Bucky tensed up the second he set eyes on Clint.

"Fuck, was Coach Cage here?"

"No. Coulson." Clint shook himself out of his trance.

"That dork? What the hell did he want?"

Clint tried to focus on his anger and not on the hurt expression that Coulson had shot down right before lashing out in defense.

"Hey, Clint. Hawkeye!" Bucky snapped his fingers in Clint's face. "What the hell did that jerk say to you?"

Clint pushed Bucky off and hopped down the bleachers. "Nothing that isn't true."

#

"I hear ol' four eyes was giving you shit." Tony plopped down next to Clint at their usual table in the cafeteria.

"He tried." Clint focused on the supposed mystery lasagna on his plate. It was a little bit too gelatinous to actually contain cheese.

"Ah, don't listen to him. He's just jealous of your game."

"Guess you two have that in common."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I taught you everything you know."

"Did you? Let's ask Pepper."

"Oh, ow, that hurts, except for the fact it doesn't. Pepper's too much in love with me to even dream about your man stick."

Pepper sat down with them. "'Man stick'? Really?"

Tony's smile was wide and toothy. "Oh baby."

Pepper rolled her eyes and shot Clint an exasperated look.

Tony turned to Clint when Pepper didn't rise to the bait. "Seriously, though, do I need to tank his SAT scores?" He pulled out his smart phone

"Shit no, Tony. Cut it out. Coulson was just... whatever. Leave him alone." Clint cut into the suspicious lasagna.

Peppers eyebrows shot up and Tony studied Clint like watching a bug under glass. Clint twitched. "What?"

"Nothing. Laying off." Tony lifted his hands away from his pocket. "Because, I mean, it's clearly so important to you."

"Tony." Pepper's voice was sharp.

Clint shoved his plate away and stood up. "Fuck you." He walked out. Somewhere, Natasha was watching him. He did not need to see her to know it.

Three classes later, she caught up with him. They walked to AP World History in silence. When they sat down she gave him the raised eyebrow of accusation. Clint shrugged. "What?"

"You've been pissy since Tuesday practice."

"Just waiting for winter break.'' He made a big show of opening his notebook.

"I mean, since you talked to Coulson. What did he say?" She actually sounded concerned.

Clint sighed. "He just... said something."

She tilted her head. "About you being an orphan." Her eyes narrowed, her whole body tensing up.

"Aw, shit. Nat, I was being an ass. He just hit back. Don't go after him. I deserved it."

"You don't deserve it," she hissed as their teacher started class.

"Whatever."

#

The problem with being attracted to a dweeb who thought Clint was pond scum was that he couldn't escape the guy. They were both juniors and no matter how different their interests were, they shared three classes and lunch period. Coulson ignored Clint like the trash he was, but Clint could not stop himself from spying on him. He had always kept an eye out for Coulson, mostly out of defense because as a hall monitor Coulson was ruthless, but it took a new turn since their showdown on the bleachers. It should not have bothered Clint as much as it did that Coulson didn't respect him, but of all the things Clint had worked for in his life, respect was the top of the list.

Clint was popular and he always had a date for every party. Most of his teachers described him as "intelligent and lively" instead of "a pain in the ass". His coaches were proud of him and Clint had been a letterman from freshman year at high school on. People (Fury and his archery coach, mostly) were pushing him to aim for the Olympic archery team. Clint worked hard but he was rewarded for it, and people liked him. Everyone liked him.

Except Coulson.

Clint discovered that he could not get over that fact. Sure, there were some kids who were jealous of Clint's success, and one guy who hated Clint for stealing his girlfriend (she had just been looking for a reason to dump the guy anyway), but no one seemed to actively dislike him for no reason at all. It drove Clint nuts knowing that super-smart geek Coulson didn't like Clint because of things Clint had no control over (it wasn't his fault his father was a drunk who steered their car into a tree, or that his brother was a shiftless junkie, or that his prior foster homes kind of hated his attitude…well maybe a little on that last one, but Fury seemed to deal with Clint just fine, so it probably wasn't all his fault). Clint started spying on Coulson just to figure the guy out.

Not because he was cute or anything.

He noticed that Coulson had a uniform of sorts that consisted of khaki pants, leather belt, and button-up shirt-sleeve. Every. Day. On days with after-school events, he added a sport jacket and it was just the most humiliating thing Clint had ever seen because who the fuck wears a jacket to anything school-related? Except Coulson. He'd been doing it so long no one even teased him about it anymore, and Clint had to admit it gave Coulson a slight edge up on the maturity angle. Clint figured that in jeans and a tee-shirt, Coulson would probably look all of 12 years old.

Coulson also had a small coterie of friends, mostly based around the Latin Guild and the Captain America fanclub, and they all stuck together like super glue. He also pretty clearly had a one-sided crush on Steve Rogers (well, who didn't, really?). There was something really pathetic about Coulson, the way he clung to what he considered his, his entire attitude defensive and superior.

Clint was fascinated.

Natasha noticed but no one else did, and Clint liked it that way. He could beat down anyone who sassed him, including Bucky, but he just didn't want to deal with the gossip factory. If anyone knew the little crush Clint was harboring for one of the most detested lamers ever to lame, Clint would be begging to join the Latin Guild in lieu of the witness protection program.

#

Steve Rogers graduated and Bucky moped all the way through summer into their senior year. Rogers was picked up by Oregon State (ranked 4th in baseball by the NCAA, but they had a strong fine arts program which was Steve claimed was important during his graduation speech as Magna cum Laud) so Bucky decided that was the university for him, while Natasha threatened to go to the film school at NYU. Clint spent most of the summer mediating their fights and going to archery competitions all over the state and not thinking about Coulson at all.

So he was surprised to see Coulson show up looking horrible. He had his uniform khaki pants/shirt-sleeve combo going on, but he had hit a growth spurt of a couple of inches and while the pants had obviously been let out, they were still an inch too short to be regulation. The shirts he wore looked just as thread-bare and ill-fitting. He was not wearing glasses anymore, so he clearly got the laser surgery for his eyesight, but everything else about him screamed "gone to the dogs." He still hung out with Sitwell and the (now) sophomores FitzSimmons, but he dropped being a hall monitor, much to the relief of most of the student population.

No one would have noticed the changes who didn't watch Coulson the way Clint did. It was all so subtle and played with such a bland expression that Clint knew no one would notice.

No one but Clint.

They shared AP Calculus, which Clint thought ironic because he hated math. He was good at it, when he tried, but it didn't come to him naturally the way it did for Tony or Natasha and he just flat our despised it. But even if he got into a good school on an archery scholarship (a non-negotiable, according to Fury) he still needed decent grades so he couldn't blow it off despite being a senior.

The first day, Phil sat at the very back of the room, another strange move for him. He was usually the kid in the second row waving his hand in the air, and it just seemed odd for Clint to look forward and not see Coulson's head up there in front of him. So Clint casually (oh so very casually, he was smooth) changed seats on the second day to sit next to Coulson.

Who ignored him.

Clint was fine with that.

He just kept watching.

#

When he wasn't at practice or a meet, Clint did his homework in Fury's office, because Fury was the kind of guy who stayed late at work. His other foster child, Kate Bishop, was still in elementary school so she went home with Fury's wife, Ms. Hill. Clint and Mr. Fury always managed to stumble into the house just in time for dinner.

"Hey, Nick."

Fury looked up at him. Calling him "Nick" was their code for "this isn't about school or your job, I need you to be my dad right now", which in this case wasn't exactly true even if it was.

"What's up?" He kept his hands poised over the keyboard, ready to get back to emails if he decided Clint was wasting his time. Some people thought he was rude but Clint admired the honesty.

"So, there's this guy, in my class, and I'm…I'm kind of worried about him?"

"Are you seriously asking me for dating advice, Barton?" Nick grimaced.

"No!" Clint's voice slipped into a higher register and he coughed while Nick grinned at him. "No, I don't want to date this guy." Clint worked on not blushing, because Nick could see right through him. "He's, uh, a friend? And I think he's having problems?"

"In class?" Nick folded his hands on the desk and stared at Clint.

"Not really? I mean I don't know, he's smart, I guess he's doing fine in class. Only our third week anyway." Clint shrugged. "Just, I noticed his clothes have gone downhill? And he looks tired all the time? Man, I don't know, I just know that look, okay?"

Nick stared at him for a long time. "You think he's got family problems?"

"Hell if I know. But something's going on." Clint toyed with the edge of his tablet.

"You comfortable telling me who we're talking about? Or are you asking for advice on how to find out on your own?"

"I guess I'm asking you how I should deal with it. I lied, I mean he's not really a friend. In fact I think he kind of hates me. But he's not a bad kid, and—" Clint stopped, unsure of how to finish that without sounding like he had a very pathetic crush.

"Hmmm." Nick leaned back in his chair. "How about this: why don't you start treating him like a friend, and see what happens?"

"He's not like Bucky or Nat, he's not going to go kick the ball around with me or anything."

"Sometimes the best friendships require the most work, son." Nick sighed, sitting up and looking at his monitor again. "You're smart, you'll figure something out. Now get the fuck back to your Spanish homework."

Clint grinned despite himself. He had the coolest foster dad in the whole damn state.

#

Clint decided to fall back on the time tested, infallible tactic of passing notes in class. He folded up his note into a teeny tiny airplane and because he was Hawkeye, made it sail through the air while the teacher's back was to the class so that the note landed right in the middle of Coulson's desk. Coulson looked at it with a stunned expression for a second, before glaring at Clint.

"Open it," Clint mouthed, then shut up when the teacher turned around.

When he snuck a peek back at Coulson, it was to see him reading the note with a confused look on his face. He looked up at Clint then back down at the note, then scribbled on it before hunching over to roll it across the floor to Clint.

Clint faked a yawn to reach down for the note. He stared at the answer in surprise, then grinned. His "you wanna get nachos after school Y/N?" had a very precise circle drawn around the "Y".

Playing it cool, Clint only had to circle the front quad three times before he found Coulson. "Hey! You ready? I'm starved."

Coulson still had deep suspicion written all over his face but he nodded, clutching his backpack to his chest defensively, as if they were in 5th grade. Clint noticed that the bag was dirty and ripped in places, something he'd expect from Bucky but not Coulson. He didn't say anything, just pointed. "Amigos is two blocks down. Soccer practice got cancelled and Fury never leaves before six so I've got time to kill."

"Okay." Coulson nodded and followed.

Clint was not ashamed of the fact that he was a regular at Amigos, scoring them a nice booth. Coulson settled in across from him, his movements slow and precise. Once the complimentary chips were on the table (and being stuffed into Clint's mouth), Coulson finally spoke up.

"So what's this about, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't like me, I'm not one of the cool kids, and this isn't a date. So what the hell do you want from me? You're too smart to want to pay for copies of my homework."

Clint sighed, figuring that this was what Nick meant by hard work. "I just wanted to hang."

"With me?" Coulson scoffed and looked away.

"Sure, why not?"

"Oh please," Coulson sniffed dismissively.

"Hey! I'm telling the truth!"

"Or softening me up." Coulson's eyes narrowed. "I know your kind."

Clint saw red. "Yeah, I get it, the orphan ex-carnie foster kid isn't good enough for the Latin Guild president, sorry. I mean the only legit reason for me to ask you to hang out would be because I want to cheat, right?"

Coulson actually startled. "What?"

"That's what you meant, isn't it? Stupid orphan trash, not good enough for you. Look, I was just trying to be your friend—"

"Why? Suddenly in senior year you give a damn?"

"Man, given what you think of me, I sure as hell don't know."

"I think you're a player who uses people. I don't care about your history, or being an orphan—"

"Yeah, pull the other one. You're the one who brought it up."

"Me? No I didn't, you brought it up!"

"Last year, on the bleachers? You said a lot of things."

"On the…on the bleachers? When?"

Clint stared at him. "You don't remember."

"No! Should I? And what does that have to do with anything?"

Clint slid down and banged his head against the bench seat. "Well, fuck."

Coulson pulled himself together, sitting primly and glaring at Clint. "Is this where you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"You assume I had this all planned out."

"You didn't?" For the first time, Coulson seemed to let his guard down.

"Not really. Look, I know you don't like me, but you seem like a good guy. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and—"

"I like you."

Clint blinked. "You do?"

Coulson rolled his eyes. "You're Clint Barton, the amazing Hawkeye. You're smart and talented and handsome, you're on two sports teams, and you're going to get a full ride to a good school." Coulson folded his arms over his chest and glared out towards the middle of the restaurant. "Everyone likes you."

Clint opened and closed his mouth a few times. "You think I'm handsome?"

Coulson slowly turned his head to stare at Clint. "That's your take-away?"

"You said I was loser. Call me surprised."

"I don't even remember that!" Coulson waved his arms around for a second, stretching the seams of his beat-up old shirt, before he realized what he was doing. He stopped and looked at Clint for what felt like the first time, his blue-gray eyes searching deep. Clint tried not to squirm. Coulson shook his head. "I really hurt you with what I said, didn't I?"

"I thought you don't remember."

"I really don't. But you do, and that's important."

Clint shifted in his seat.

"So if that's really what you believe I think of you, why would invite me for—" He stopped as the disinterested waitress dumped a huge plate of cheese covered nachos on the table— "For nachos?"

They both stared at the overwhelmed plate dripping cheese and salsa.

"Don't hate me, but I was worried about you," Clint finally mumbled, reaching for a handful of the messy nachos to occupy himself with.

"Worried? About me?" Coulson looked confused.

Clint sighed. "You're tired all the time. You almost fell asleep in Calc yesterday, you're sitting at the back of classes, you dropped out of the Captain America club, and you're dressing like a high school bum." He looked up into Coulson's shocked, terrified eyes. "Something happened, and I'm worried, okay?"

Coulson froze solid for a long time, then mechanically ate some chips, cheese dripping on the table. Clint let him stew, because he wasn't in much of a place to pester the guy after backing him into a corner. When he finished, he set his elbows on the table and put his face into his hands, the picture of exhaustion.

"Mom's sick. Really sick. She has insurance but she's had to quit her job for all intents and purposes, and we can't afford a home nurse so I'm…I'm doing everything. We don't have much money to live on, not and keep the bills paid, and I can't even think straight."

Clint stilled under the weight of the secret he had just been gifted with. "Don't you have sisters?"

"Dad took the girls last year, it was a fucking drama, and he's an asshole who only did it to hurt mom. But now she's sick, and things don't look good, so Skye and Melinda are staying with him. For good, probably, because I can't exactly file for custody once…once…well, later."

"Fuck," Clint sighed, because he was out of other ideas.

"I'm her primary nurse, really, and she's weak and the medicine is horrible, God, it's almost as bad as the cancer. Our house smells like a hospital ward. I try to keep the place clean and—" He stopped, just stopped in the middle of his sentence and sat there.

"What about college?" Clint asked gently, pushing the plate of nachos closer to Coulson.

Coulson's laughter was caustic and cold. "A pipe dream right now. Mom's prognosis isn't clear cut, we don't know how long she has, and miracles happen right? Right." He huffed out a breath and sat up, lowering his hands. His eyes were bloodshot but he had not been crying. "So I can't just flounce off to college, because she doesn't have anyone else to take care of her. I'm stuck here for I don't know how long, and I hate myself for thinking that way because I love her, I don't want to lose her!" He sucked in another breath, his body trembling. "So there it is, my sob story. Fuck, I'm sorry." He rubbed his face. "You lost your mom a long time ago. I didn't mean to come off as insensitive."

"Dude, I was five." Clint waved a hand around. "I mean it sucked and all, it really fucked me up, but this isn't about one-up-manship, okay? Life sucks for you right now."

"Yeah, it really does," Coulson smiled at him, a small lopsided and weak twist of lips that was the most beautiful thing Clint had ever seen. He gulped a few times and looked away.

"I thought I was covering better, but I guess not. You saw right through me."

"I was looking," Clint shrugged.

Coulson paused to tilt his head. "Why?"

Clint chomped on some nachos. "I called you four-eyes that day. I kind of deserved what you said. I mean, I was being a jerk."

"That…that's why you were looking at me?"

"No."

Coulson just nodded, as if Clint had given something away, and they sat in silence eating their food. Coulson wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back. "Now you know, I guess. You can stop looking if you want."

It felt like a test, as if Coulson was feeling him out for something, and Clint had a good idea what. "Nah. Gonna keep looking, if it's all the same to you."

Coulson actually fucking blushed, looking off to the side. "Yeah, that would be okay." He rubbed his neck, still refusing to meet Clint's eyes and still bright pink from neck to ears. "I, uh, gotta go. Need to check on Mom."

"You missed the bus." Because of course Coulson was the only senior in the whole world who still rode the school buses.

"Public transportation isn't bad here," Coulson offered with a shrug.

"Yeah, no. Nick will give you a ride if I look pathetic enough." Clint threw money down and stood up, not giving Coulson a chance to try and pay.

Coulson looked absolutely horrified. "Do you mean Mr. Fury?"

"Well he is my foster dad, so yeah. C'mon." He hustled the still-stunned looking Coulson out of the restaurant.

#

"Clint made you miss the bus, son?" Nick asked, leaning over his desk and looking annoyed, which Clint knew better than to take seriously.

Coulson paled. "Yes sir, sorry sir, we just, I mean—nachos!"

"Oh shut up. Let me close down and we'll get you home."

Clint winked at Coulson, who shook his head.

"Let me have a word with my boy, Coulson, if you don't mind stepping outside."

Coulson marched out, nodding furiously, and closing the office door behind him.

"So this is your new guy?" Nick smirked as he shut down his computer and packed up his briefcase.

Clint felt himself blushing. "No, we're friends."

"Uh huh. Okay. But you cleared up what was bothering you?" Nick stood up and pinned him with a stare.

"I guess. I mean, it's a big problem, but he's dealing."

"You'll read me in on it if necessary?"

Clint shrugged. "Nah. I'll just force him to tell you."

Nick shrugged back at him. "Good enough."

The ride to Coulson's house was quiet, although Clint managed to wrestle Coulson into the back seat with him. Coulson looked drained, as if the events of the past hour had wrung out every emotion he had, and he sat in the seat listlessly looking out the window. His hand was on the seat next to him, lax and pale. Clint stared at the back of Nick's head and casually dropped his hand down so it fell next to Coulson's, their pinky fingers touching. Coulson flinched but didn't move, and after a second gave Clint a furtive, shy glance. Which, of course, Nick didn't miss at all and rolled his eyes. Fortunately Coulson did not see that, instead relaxing a little as Clint shifted his hand closer until they were touching from wrist to fingertip.

When they got to Coulson's home, a small ranch house with a yard in desperate need of mowing, Clint scrambled out after Coulson. It got him a confused look but he just trailed Coulson up to the front door before grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around.

"Look, I'm bad at this. Ask Nat. I mean, you can ignore me for the rest of senior year and I get that, man, I get that. You deserve better, right? But, wait, hear me out! I want you to know I'm here to help. I can…uh, mow the lawn, clean the gutters, or whatever. Drop food off or give you rides. I…I don't want to sound like I'm offering charity, I've gotten too much of that shit in my own life. But I, uh, like you and want to help."

Coulson looked gobsmacked for a moment, then actually smirked. "Like me, huh?"

"Er. Yeah." Clint glanced back at where Nick was pointedly not staring at them, checking his phone.

"I always got the impression that you thought you were too good for me."

"Huh. Well, I kind of thought the same thing. Maybe that means we're made for each other?" Clint said before he could filter his mouth, then cringed. He sounded 14, not a few months shy of 18, and being a smooth operator was obviously not on his agenda for the day.

But Coulson surprised him, and maybe he wasn't quite the virgin that Clint assumed, because he laid a kiss on Clint that was talented, wet, and sexy. Clint pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around the thin, gangly and awkwardly beautiful dweeb. They kissed with lips and tongue, suggestive and a little desperate, even if they both kept their hands above the waist and fairly still. Clint was moving to push Coulson up against the door when the car horn went off like a demon. Coulson sprang backwards and thumped into the door. Clint spun around and gave Nick the finger, although the bastard just laughed at them.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Coulson!" Clint said, walking backwards and not stumbling at all down the stoop steps.

"My name's Phil!" He called out, keys in his hand and broad smile on his face. It was the best he had looked since he started back at school.

Back in the car, Clint couldn’t stop grinning, remembering the look on Coulson's—Phil's—face. It was going to be a hard year for Phil, Clint knew that, and he was aware that Phil's priority was taking care of his mother. Clint still had archery meets and high expectations to live up to himself. But Clint decided right then and there that he would do a lot, anything and everything he could, to keep Phil smiling.

And yeah, he was due to get a lot of shit-talk from Bucky and the soccer team, but Clint didn't care anymore. Some things were more important.