Ok. So. I know I have a lot of fics running around, but I'm starting this one so that I have something to do in the summer along with Another Brick In The Wall.

Also the idea was something so amazing that I couldn't pass it up so I claimed it.

So, someone on Tumbr wanted kid!Natasha and parental-figure!Clint and parental-figure!Phil with something starting between the two of them because of kid!Natasha. So she wanted Natasha to be this killing machine Russian child that Agent Barton is sent to kill, but he's like, hell no, too young and he gets the help of Phil to keep her safe and raise her. So it's kind of a new take on a Clint-Nat-Phil family. Its not Clintasha, but it may be a bit Cup-Cake (clint/coulson) so I warn you now not to read it if that's not your cup of tea.

But it's a really swell idea and i couldn't say no, especially since I RP as Hawkeye on tumblr now as hotguyhawkeye if anyone wants to check me out!

So.

With that being said, I'll most likely be updating this whenever inspiration hits, so maybe once a week while I work up my comeback with Another Brick In The Wall. This is a request, so.

*shrugs* Here goes nothing.

Current Song: Must Have Done Something Right by Relient K

Current Thought: I HAVE SO MUCH HW I'M NOT DOING.

The Tale of the Hawk and the Spider

Kill the Black Widow. That was his assignment and Clint Barton, Agent of SHIELD, always carried out his assignments. They were everything to him, the core of his being, the reason for him still sticking around in the land of the living, though if you saw his job description, you'd think otherwise.

So he was going to kill the Black Widow. Whether he liked it or not.

Or at least he thought he was. He really thought he was.

Because then he saw her and oh, God, how fucking cruel could the world be?

Standing in front of him, with bare feet and skinned knees, in clothes too big to fit comfortably and covered in so much blood and gore, was a little girl. She was about eight, if he was right, judging by the way her body wasn't shaped yet into a woman's, by the way her bottom lip still pouted. She was eight years old with red hair and green eyes that had seen too much, eyes that looked at him blankly, yet filled with anger. Eyes that made him want to rip his heart out if it would only help because this couldn't be possible. This could not be possible.

Clint immediately dropped his gun. He dropped to his knees on instinct to make himself less threatening because he could not believe this. He really couldn't wrap his mind around this. She was a kid. She was a fucking kid, fucking eight years old. She was a kid and Clint was old enough to be her father and she was pressing a gun to his forehead without any remorse, only hesitating on the trigger because of his odd behavior. He could only stare. Her face was scratched up, bruised and bloodied. And she was so calm. Her hand wasn't even shaking.

And she was the Black Widow for Heaven's sake, she'd killed before, no wonder her hands weren't shaking. She was used to this. What the hell had happened to her to make her start this young? What?

Clint was not an emotional man. In his line of work, he couldn't be. That would be the worst thing ever. But right now? Right now his paternal instincts were screaming at him to just wrap her up in his arms and never let the world touch her again.

He lifted a hand to her cheek and she flinched so hard the gun knocked against his skull, but he still laid it gently on her face, his thumb rubbing a cut. For some reason, she hadn't shot him yet and he was hoping she didn't anytime soon. He needed to help her. He needed to do something, he couldn't just let this go.

"Who hurt you?" he asked softly in Russian. There was no reason to assume she could speak English. As a matter of fact, they had chosen Clint for the job only because she was so high up on the danger skill and he was the most fluent of their Russian speakers.

He wasn't expecting her eyes to get so large and then the line of her mouth got hard and she pressed the barrel harder into his forehead, the metal digging into his skin. Her body was rigid. And she didn't speak, just let her trigger-finger twitch. It only hit Clint now that he was the first person she hadn't killed. And she was the first person that he wouldn't kill. How ironic that they should be going through this adventure and experience together.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. "Not like them. I was told to, but I refuse." He nodded against the barrel of the gun. "I refuse. And I'm asking you: would you like to get away from here?"

She stared at him and he let her. He let her press that gun close and watched as she frowned and stared into his eyes. He wouldn't kill her. He was putting his entire career and more likely than not his entire life on the line for her. He was serious. He was serious and terrified of an eight year old girl and it was messing him up.

"I won't force you. I won't hurt you. But I can get you away. It doesn't have to be like this," he said, still in Russian, his voice still soft. "Tell me your name." She shook her head though and for a second, Clint thought she was going to blow him away. But then he saw her waiting expectantly and he caught on. "I'm Agent Barton. Some people call me Hawkeye. You can call me Clint."

Then he heard the smallest voice say, "Natasha." The gun fell away and he looked up into her eyes. They were filling with tears. She stepped back and he stood up slowly, hands out, unthreatening. She lifted her arms up to him and her lower lip wobbled for the first time. "Take me away," she said in fluent Russian and it was obvious to see that she was a native.

And Clint did. He picked her up, tucked her close to his body and ran as fast as he could out of the warehouse they were in and to the car he had stashed away, waiting for him. He tucked her into the backseat, covering her with blankets and put his coat under her head as a pillow and didn't say another word. He just got up front and drove out of there as fast as he could. He was trying to make for the Polish boarder as quickly as possible.

As he drove, he jammed his comm. back into his ear. "Barton," was the first thing he heard and it was a relief, given the circumstances of what he just did. God he was so fucked. "I take it the kill went well."

"I have her with me."

There was a pause and then, "Barton, you didn't need to bring the body-"

"No, sir. I have the Widow with me."

"Excuse me?"

"I have the damn kid with me, Phil," Clint said, breaking protocol and just practically yelling it out. "She's like, eight. Shit, did you know? Tell me you didn't know Phil, or I'll lose all my respect for you, because I sure as hell didn't know that Fury wanted me to kill a fucking prepubescent girl!"

He heard a gasp and then he heard the click as they were switched to a private line. "No, I didn't know that Clint. Why the hell did you take her?"

"I wasn't going to just leave her alone. She's 8," Clint emphasized.

"What are you going to do? When Fury finds out, and he will find out, even if it's not from me, he's going to go ballistic. What are you going to do, Hawkeye?"

Clint shook his head. "She's an asset. I can at least convince him of that. I can't let them kill her. I just – I don't… Jesus Christ Phil, she's all fucked up in the head. I couldn't just kill her and I couldn't just leave her. She's…" He shook his head and took an exit. "I don't know. I'll think of something."

There was a tapping on Coulson's end and then Clint heard, "Get to the Polish border. There' s an old friend who'll meet you there. He'll have things ready for the two of you."

Clint blinked then looked back at the little girl – no wait, at Natasha and found that she was still awake. "Coulson… no, don't get involved in this. If my career or my life goes down the drain, you don't have to get dragged down too." He sighed and blinked as he looked down the road. "And besides, she could still kill us."

"I trust you," Coulson said and then hung up on him. "Fuck," Clint swore. He shook his head and kept driving.

After an hour, Natasha said, "Where are you taking me?"

He looked to the back in the rearview mirror, almost startled, and said, "Poland."

"And who is sending us there?" she said, a bit more deadly.

Clint focused his eyes on the road again. "A friend."

I don't know. I want Natasha to come off as an adult, but be a little kid. Just so that we know the entire extent of the damage that has been raged up on her.

So.

Reviews would be so wonderful right about now, my loves.