Chapter 1
"Son of a bitch." Clint snarled, spinning around the corner to let off a few arrows before ducking for cover again. He was pinned and he was on his own. He cursed his own stupidity again. This was supposed to have been a simple intel mission. Go in, get the intel, get out. But oh no, of course not. It could never be that simple. He spun back around, the next arrow explosive and he ducked down, covering his ears. As soon as the arrow went off he looked around for anything he could use to his advantage. He saw a bunch of boxes piled high against the far wall but they don't hide the seam of a door from his eyes and he moved quickly, tossing the boxes away. The door was locked but he shot the lock off, moving into the room as quickly as he could, closing the door behind him. He took the moment to look around then and found himself closing his hands in tight fists to control the anger he felt rush through him. He was in front of a cell, and in the cell a little boy was curled up, eyes fixed on Clint. The eyes were nearly luminescent and Clint wouldn't be surprised if this kid turned out to be some sort of enhanced. The cell was closed with a standard lock and Clint was glad. He had a thing for this. He was in motion again, pulling the head off an arrow, jamming it in the lock.
"Cover your ears, kid." Clint ordered and the boy did as he was told even as Clint did the same, setting the mini explosion off. The door swung open and without even a though Clint beckoned the kid forward. "Come on. We're getting out of here." The boy didn't even hesitate but Clint knew better than to think it was because he trusted Clint. He'd obviously been tortured; the bruises were obvious as were the restraint marks on his wrists and ankles. The kid was probably 5 or 6, but while he was fairly tall for his age, he was all skin and bones made all the more clear by the fact that he was dressed in tattered clothes quite a few sizes too large for him.
Clint looked around and spotted the air vent this time. "Come on. There's our way out." And the boy didn't argue, allowing Clint to help him into the vent even before he followed himself. It took quite a few twists and turns before Clint stopped hearing people outside the vents and called for the boy to stop, letting them out into a room Clint remembered seeing when he'd broken in. They were almost out.
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They arrived at the safe house and Clint finally let himself take stock of the kid in front of him. They hadn't spoken, both concentrating on getting out of there, but now that they were free, they both had a chance to observe the person they were with.
"My name's Clint." Clint introduced first, and the boy blinked in acknowledgement. "What's your name?" The boy just stared at him, for long enough that Clint feared he wouldn't answer, but when he started packing up his bow, the boy spoke.
"Stiles." Clint made a noise of acknowledgement before turning to regard the kid. He could see a handful of injuries already and glanced at the watch attached to his vest. Still had an hour before he needed to make contact.
"I have extra clothes if you want to change. And a medical kit. I have fairly decent field medical training if you let me look at your injuries." Stiles just stared at him another moment, and Clint felt as if the boy could actually see into his soul. Even as he had the thought the boy actually seemed to relax and nodded.
"Yes please." Clint was moving immediately, grabbing his kit and one of his extra t-shirts to start. When he had a better idea of the kids size he'd cover pants. He crouched in front of where the kid sat on the edge of the bed and gave what he hoped was a comforting smile.
"Alright. Tell me what hurts." Stiles just shrugged.
"Everything I guess." Clint nodded, he knew the feeling.
"Okay lets start with the big stuff. Can you breathe okay?" That had Stiles taking a breath in test, frown of concentration on his face. And then he nodded.
"yeah." That was a good sign, it meant his ribs were probably okay.
"Alright what about your head. How's that feel?"
"It hurts on the inside - like a drum beating." And that was a headache, he could deal with that.
"Alright what about your joints - shoulders, wrists, knees, elbows, ankles?" That had Stiles nodded.
"My left shoulder hurts a lot."
"Can you lift it above your head." That had Stiles shaking his head. And that was a good place to start. "Can you lift it enough to take the shirt off?" After a pause Stiles shook his head again and Clint dismissed the thought of his T-shirt. He knew he had at least one button up around and he was pretty sure it was a thick cotton plaid too. "Alright, I'm going to cut this shirt off you, okay? So I can see your shoulder. I'll get you a new shirt as soon as I'm done." Stiles nodded, seeming content to let Clint play doctor, and so Clint pulled out the scissors, carefully cutting the shirts away. What he saw was worse than he expected and he couldn't help the curse that passed his lips. He could hardly see any unbruised skin, and the shoulder the boy had casually said hurt was swollen enough to tell Clint that it was dislocated and probably had been for a while.
"It's okay." Stiles murmured, and Clint met the kids eyes, a rage in his own.
"No it's not." Clint snapped out. "This is never okay." Then he moved, gentle fingers skimming over Stiles' shoulder, and though the boy flinched initially he stayed in place after that. "I've got a cream for the bruises. But the shoulder I'm going to have to set. If I leave it any longer it will cause more permanent damage."
"It's okay. You can do it now."
"Stiles-" he just looked up and gave Clint an encouraging smile and Clint felt as if it should be the other way around but he decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Okay, I'm going to push it back in and then I'm going to get some ice on it. Then I'll get the bruise cream." Stiles nodded finding that all perfectly logical and Clint felt himself wincing. "On 3?" He got another nod though Stiles was looking away from him now, uninjured hand clenched in a fist. Clint didn't hesitate then. "1, 2, 3." With practiced ease he pushed the shoulder back into place and heard Stiles' quiet whimper of pain. Though he wanted to apologize he moved quickly instead, getting the ice pack kept for this very kind of thing and wrapped it in the T-shirt he'd been going to give the boy. "Okay, here we go." That's when he saw the tears on the boy's face, and wow did that ever make him feel like the shittiest person alive.
"It's okay. I knew it would hurt." Stiles comforted, obviously having noticed his guilt, but Clint shrugged, gently placing the pack against Stiles' shoulder. He winced again but didn't move. The more he looked at the bruises and the longer the cold seeped into his hand, the angrier he got, and so he channeled his focus into questions.
"Why were they doing this to you?" He asked, and with his good hand, Stiles wiped away as many of the tears as he could despite the fact that he was still sniffling, tears still sliding over pale, mole dotted skin.
"They thought I had magic." That threw Clint for a loop.
"Do you?" Even as he asked the question he found himself backtracking. "Nope. Never mind. Forget I asked. How long did they have you in that cell?" Stiles actually looked amused by the backtracking, but as soon as he tried to remember how long he'd been there, he began to grow anxious.
"I - I don't remember. I don't know how I got there. One day I wasn't, and then I was." Clint could see the kid was getting worked up so he put his free hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder.
"Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out. How about another question. How old are you?"
"5 and a half." Then he was pausing and so Clint waited, could see Stiles had his own questions now that he was thinking beyond their escape and his injuries, and Clint wanted him to ask them.
"Why were you there? When you found me?"
"The people who had you were bad people. I was there to get information to take them down."
"Did you get it?" Now it was Clint's turn to nod. "But then what?"
"Now I wait until check in and then I call my handler, who's like my supervisor," he clarified at Stiles' confused frown, "and then he tells me how to get out of this place so I can go home." The rest of the questions he'd been able to see all disappeared behind disappointment and Clint had no idea where it had come from.
"What about me?" Stiles finally asked, and there were fresh tears in the whiskey coloured eyes, but these ones were scared and lonely.
"I'll figure out where they took you from and then I'll get you home too." That had the tears spilling over again.
"They said mom and dad were dead." The boy curled in on himself despite the bruises and Clint reacted before he could reconsider, pulling the boy in against his chest, being as careful as he could. Rather than push away though the boy just cuddled right into Clint's heat, crying himself out. Then with his good hand once again he wiped the tears away.
"We'll figure it out, Stiles. And I'll stay with you until we do." That had Stiles finally pulling back to offer a watery smile.
"Okay." The smile gave Clint an ache in his chest so he stood, getting the bruise cream, glancing at his watch again. It was about time.
"Alright, I'm going to show you how to do it and then you continue okay? I have to call my handler." Stiles nodded wiping the last of the tears away for now. "And it's okay to take the ice off for a minute. It's better that way.” Stiles just set the ice pack down and Clint tossed it back in the freezer before turning back to Stiles. He quickly showed him how to heat up the cream with his hands to then smooth it on gently, and Stiles was quickly copying the motions, allowing Clint to get up and pull the phone out of his stuff. Coulson answered on the second ring.
"Coulson."
"Coulson, I need an out for an extra person." There was a moment of silence before Coulson gave a sigh and Clint could all but see him rubbing at the frown on his forehead in his minds eye.
"What happened?"
"They knew I was there. I got in, got the intel, and then got cornered. Ended up finding a cell. There was a kid in it, Coulson. And they'd been torturing him." Clint knew it was a sign of how close they'd grown that Coulson didn't even question him.
“Is he in travelling condition?”
“I think I've dealt with the worst of it, but we'll need to get him to someone with real medical training.” There was a pause as Clint assumed Coulson moved to make the arrangement.
“Get to the extraction point. I'm sending a quinjet.”
“Got it, boss.” Coulson hung up then and Clint turned back to see Stiles watching him with his big doe eyes.
“Think you can make it a bit farther?” Clint asked, and Stiles nodded. “Okay, we're going to go meet with the people who are supposed to get us out of here.” Stiles nodded again, carefully sliding off the bed, and Clint winced in sympathy as the kid's shoulder moved. He pulled the painkillers out of the med kit, shaking one into his palm, pouring a glass of water and offering both to Stiles. “Here, this should take the edge off.” the boy accepted both and as he took the pill, Clint rifled through his pack, finding the shirt he'd been looking for. It would be way too big for the boy, but at least it would be soft and warm. He lifted it for the boy's approval and actually gained a smile.
“It's so soft.” Stiles marvelled as soon as it was buttoned up, and Clint just returned the smile.
“Just the way I like it.” with quick efficient movements, he packed up all his things, swinging his pack onto his shoulder. He checked his gun, Stiles' eyes fixed on him as he did so, and slid it away when he saw it had a full clip. “Ready?” Stiles nodded again but surprised Clint by taking his hand, obviously nervous. Clint just gave a gentle squeeze of comfort. “Let's go.”