A/N: Well, here it is. The last chapter with these adorable Avengers. It's been a long and crazy and fun ride, and I'm grateful to each and every one of you for sticking it out with me. This was so much fun, and I'm kind of actually sad to see it end, but it's on to new adventures for me and for the Avengers!

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or any of the related rights.

...

Natasha was very careful to check to see if anyone was around before, with a small stretch, she let her hand drift down to rest in Clint's hair.

She'd kill anyone who suggested it, but Natasha knew he was adorable at this age.

She let her fingers run through his sandy hair, and the tired-out four-year-old snuggled deeper into her side, clutching her shirt like a blanket.

Seriously, adorable.

Natasha had been the first of the Avengers that the Asgardians tended to. It seemed she had woken up in the middle of the Avengers' medical center before she remembered what had happened. She had, of course, been too young to remember all of it at the time, but she could vaguely recall something about a coloring book and a big green person she assumed was Loki.

Coulson gave her the watered-down version and assured her that there would be a more thorough debrief later, but then he had waved her into the room next door, practically pushing her out, and told her that she had more important things to take care of.

She had wondered what Coulson meant for only a second before a tiny little Clint Barton tackled her at the knees, hugging her tight. "You're okay!" he said, practically dancing around with joy as he spoke into her kneecaps.

She hadn't known what to do—SHIELD protocol definitely didn't have a handbook for what to do when your partner turns four and attaches himself to you—so she gently pried him off of her and knelt down so that they were at eye level. "Of course I'm okay," she said. "I'm always okay."

He grinned at her and then grabbed her by the hand, leading her to a chair before he scrambled up to sit next to her, still positively beaming. "I told everyone that you'd be fine," he said confidently. "But Tony was worried."

Natasha snorted. "Right. Tony was the one who was worried," she muttered. She glanced around the room and saw that the Iron Man in question was sitting in a corner arguing with a tiny Steve about something or other. Some things never change.

Clint followed her gaze and grinned. "Don't worry. They're gonna be okay, too."

"Of course they will," Natasha said, and she couldn't help smiling when she turned her attention back to Clint to find him practically crawling into her lap, his freckled nose inches away from hers. "And so will you."

"That's because I'm a superhero," he said with a grin. "And you are, too. That's why we won, because good guys always win."

In that moment, Natasha felt her gut lurch, and she hated that she was thinking, Please, can we just keep him this way?

Clint had babbled on some more, filling in the details Coulson had left out—including some colorful references to Fury as a "pirate" that were going to go down in SHIELD history if Natasha had her say—before he eventually seemed to tire himself out and fell asleep on her side.

That's how Natasha found herself with a sleepy little four-year-old in her lap.

She quickly pulled her hand out of his hair when she heard the door open, but when she saw that it was Maria, she smiled and went back to playing with Clint's hair. "Hello, Maria," she said.

Maria slid into the seat next to her, peering curiously over her shoulder at the sleeping Hawkeye. "He seems so . . . vulnerable," Maria said. "You all did," she added quickly.

Natasha felt the corners of her lips turn up. "He's always felt that way to me," she said quietly, watching as Clint rubbed his nose into her shirt. "But then, I'm biased." She grinned over at Maria. "You here to take him to the Asgardians?"

Maria nodded.

Natasha looked down at the sleeping Clint again, and then she glanced back at her friend. "Do you think I could take him?" she asked. "It might be a bit scary for him."

"He took on Loki and the Enchantress on his own. I think he'll be okay," Maria teased.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant," she said. "I just think . . . it might be better if he's not alone in a room full of strangers."

"Tony and Steve did alright."

"Steve's older, and Tony's used to strangers," Natasha shot back. "And you sedated Bruce, so he still hasn't even woken up in his new body."

Maria laughed. "Fair point." Then, she shrugged easily. "Sure, you can come with him. I'm sure the Asgardian delegation wouldn't mind."

Natasha nodded—she'd known she would get her way. Carefully, with all the grace and stealth she had acquired over the years, she slid her arms underneath Clint. He didn't wake up even the slightest bit as she turned him into her shoulder and carried him a few rooms over.

…..

It was quiet in Avengers Tower.

Clint supposed that was only to be expected. They were all exhausted after what had been one of the longest and weirdest debriefs of his career—which, really, was saying a lot. And they'd all reacted to their re-aging differently.

Tony seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride, but then, he hadn't seemed very different no matter what age he was. Though he had disappeared into his workshop, and Natasha had threatened to call Pepper on him if he didn't emerge to eat something in the next twenty-four hours.

Natasha was taking the whole thing pretty well, too, but, she told Clint, that was because she didn't really remember it.

Bruce had Hulked out the moment he woke up, but it hadn't lasted long. As soon as the Hulk saw that everyone was back to their proper ages, he had calmed back down again. "Hulk tired of babysitting," he'd said before he shrank back down. And he'd only broken three or four rooms—that had to be some kind of record.

Steve was taking it pretty hard, though. Clint could figure why, too—the guy had seen war and loss and the kind of stuff that it must have felt good to forget. Clint had experienced it, too—the rush of memories returning when they got back to their bodies—and there were some things he knew Steve probably wished he hadn't had to relive. Clint had a few of those as well.

But that meant Steve had disappeared somewhere else as well, so the Tower was pretty much empty. And as much as Clint wanted to take a trip up to the roof and stare at nothing until he felt better (he'd found that was always a good strategy when things got too weird or too personal), there was one last thing he wanted to do.

Thor was still downstairs in the main halls sending off the last of the twelve-person Asgardian delegation—but he had left his hammer behind, and that was what Clint was really here to see.

Because, the thing was, Clint remembered everything. He remembered the building coming down and the de-aging and having to explain and then re-explain the situation to the other Avengers. He remembered the fight, and he definitely remembered dropping Mjolnir on Loki's foot. He remembered that vividly.

He hadn't understood it then. Maybe that was why the hammer let him use it. Or maybe it was just one of those "desperate times" things. Either way, Clint knew he wasn't going to get any sleep that night unless he tried it. . . .

He stood with one foot up on the table and gritted his teeth, then pulled.

Nothing happened.

Clint smirked down at the hammer. "Knew it," he muttered, wiping his palms on his pants and turning to leave.

"And what is it that you knew, my friend?"

Clint nearly froze in his tracks, but he managed to put on a convincing smirk as he turned to find Thor standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused sort of look on his face.

"Knew it was a fluke," Clint said. "Probably one of those 'little kids are so innocent and pure' things."

Thor studied Clint carefully before, in a few steps, he crossed the room and picked up his hammer, flipping it over in his hands. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "But I have not known Mjolnir to be so fickle." He held the hammer out to the side as if he were inspecting it from far away. "The hammer looks at your entire being," he said. "It varies from time to time—I know I myself have been unworthy of it before. And yet it chooses a person, not a moment."

Clint snorted and waved Thor off. "Sounds like more of your nonsense mumbo jumbo to me."

Thor just laughed. "Perhaps," he said again. "But, my friend, I think you are avoiding the real question."

"And I'm sure you'll tell me what that is."

Thor beamed. "Of course," he said heartily. "The real question is: what has made you stop believing you are worthy?"

"It's not belief," Clint said so quickly that he surprised himself. He felt his fists open and close, and he shook his head, gritting his teeth, before he tried again. "I've done some stuff, Thor. Before I was an Avenger. When I was a SHIELD agent—and before that, too." He gestured at the hammer with a wide sweep of his arm. "You think I'm some kind of hero, but there's your proof right there. I'm just keeping up with the real deal, and we all know it."

Something in Thor's gaze was unbearably soft as he dropped his hammer. "My friend," he said quietly, "what makes you think the boy you were is anything but the man you have become?"

Clint just snorted and waved his hand, turning away. "Yeah, whatever," he said. "If you need me, I'll be on the roof."

Thor, thankfully, didn't follow.

Clint practically kicked the door open as he made his way inside, his hands shoved so deep in his pockets that he could have torn holes in them.

"Pouting?" It was Natasha's voice, and he looked up to see that she was smirking at him as she sat on the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the side. "I thought we got rid of the four-year-old you."

"You and I both know I haven't ever grown up," Clint said with a grin, sliding next to her in an instant. He had missed her company, even if they had been beside each other the entire time.

Natasha just laughed and grabbed his shirt so that he tipped sideways. His head landed on her shoulder, and before he realized what she was doing, she was ruffling his hair with her hands.

"What . . . ?"

"Just checking," Natasha said, though she kept her grip on his shirt so that his head stayed firmly in place on her shoulder.

They sat like that for a while, staring out over the city's night skyline. Occasionally, Natasha would run a finger or two through his hair, and he let her.

"Let's get one thing straight, Clint," Natasha said at last.

"Yeah? What's that?" He grinned up at her, moving his head so that his chin rested on her shoulder.

She made a face at him. "You are never allowed to be that unbearably tiny again. I think Coulson was going to have a heart attack every time you did something dangerous."

He made a face right back. "Yeah. Coulson was worried."

She rolled her eyes at him, and they fell back into silence.

"I have to say, though, I like 'The Purple Kid,'" Natasha said at last. "Maybe we should change your code name—what do you think?"

He snorted. "Whatever makes you happy, Nat."

Natasha just laughed. "Missed you, Clint."

"Missed you too."