So as some of you might have noticed by the title of this chapter Clint isn't seventeen, eighteen or nineteen like I'd planned on him being at this point. The reason for this being if I did skip ahead about ten years then I'd have missed a pretty major part of his life in the hunter world. So because of that I've held back on the time skip which will probably happen in the next couple of chapters unless I think of anything else that's important that I feel I should write about. And again thank you everyone who read, favourited and followed this story and thank you to everyone who reviewed: white collar black wolf, Chocolate498, Guest (1), Krysstinia, Guest (2), anqi602, Cira Heartfilia, and ArmyWife22079.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or The Avengers.

Chapter 3- Revelations, Clint aged 8

Clint manoeuvred his body very slightly to try and find a more comfortable position on the floor, an action made twice as hard due to the small fact that he had a four year old clinging tightly to his arm, fast asleep and oblivious to his older brother's problem. The eight year old didn't want to wake Dean up but he'd put off the inevitable for the past hour and now he really needed to go to the bathroom. Using his free hand, Clint pulled himself away from his brother, doing so very slowly to avoid waking the younger boy up, and then ran off to the bathroom, his small feet making no noise on the wooden floor.

He tip-toed up the stairs, careful to avoid the floor boards he knew would creak and groan in protest to his sudden weight, and ran around the corner, easing the bathroom door quietly shut behind him.

He hadn't known Bobby for very long, only a month at the most, but Clint saw more of the junk yard owner than he did of his own father at the moment, and Bobby spent more time with him and Dean too, keeping an eye on the two boys whilst somehow managing to look after seven and a half month old Sam at the same time. Somehow Bobby did all of this and still found the time to fix up the cars in his junk yard and speak to people on the multiple phones he had hanging up on the wall. Why the older man had so many phones was a wonder to Clint, almost as big of a wonder as how the older man could keep track of them so easily.

And because of this, Clint didn't want to wake up the middle aged man who had called it an early night two hours ago, leaving Clint and Dean to fall asleep in the fort they'd made during the day. Even when he knew Bobby wouldn't mind him getting up to go to the bathroom.

-o-0-o-

7 hours ago

Clint looked up at the carefully constructed fort, his seven year old, imagination fuelled mind not seeing a precariously balanced structure of pillows, blankets and chairs but a magnificent castle with turrets that shot into the sky with battlements that he and Dean could stand on to see on coming enemies preparing to attack their home.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a small head of blonde hair poked its way out underneath a blanket, a giant smiled plastered to his young face and his bright green eyes filled with joy. Dean crawled out from the fort with a piece of cardboard held tightly in his hands and he held it out for Clint to take. Doing what the younger boy wanted, Clint took the cardboard and read the messy black writing spidering its way across the front of it. "Castle Winchester," Clint read, frowning at the sign as he tried to decipher the messy words. He then looked back down at Dean, grinning mischievously. "A perfect name for such a dangerous Fort."

He then handed it back to Dean, the younger boy taking it and holding it proudly against his chest, only having a few seconds to relax before Clint picked him up by the waist, just managing to lift the boys weight, and giving the four year old the extra height he needed to balance the sign on top of the entrance to the fort. After only a couple of seconds Clint quickly lowered Dean back down to the floor before they both looked up at the sign and then at the fort in accomplishment. "It's good," Dean stated beside Clint, seeing a castle just as brilliant as the one in Clint's own mind, probably better. However, the two boys didn't have time to take in the work as within seconds of putting Dean back on the ground the two boys heard a thundering of feet down the stairs, causing Dean's head to shoot up at Clint with unbelievable speed. "It's the Cyclops," he whispered, grabbing Clint's hand and pulling him towards the entrance to their fort, only letting go when they were both safely inside its walls.

"If we're quiet it won't see us," Clint added, his voice just as low as he played along with his brother. "But we have to be very quite." Dean nodded, not wanting to speak and alert the 'Cyclops' to their whereabouts.

Several agonising seconds went by filled only with the noise of someone walking around the room, if Clint looked through the small crack in between the two blankets that made up the door to their fort he could just make out pair of brown, dirty boots stop in front of the entrance, half a metre from where he and Dean were sitting. He looked down at Dean and smiled in amusement, putting a finger to his mouth, clearly conveying the message 'be quiet'. Again Dean nodded, his head moving so fast Clint was certain it would fall off of his shoulders but before Clint could stop him he heard a voice come from the pair of boots. "Did you just call me a Cyclops?" it said, eliciting a giggle from Dean and a cough from Clint as he tried to hide his laughter.

"I think it's seen us," Clint said and both boys crawled to the exit of the fort on the other side of the room.

"Wait," Dean said, grabbing Clint's leg to stop the older boy from moving any further. "We need to fight back or it will take over Castle Winchester."

Clint smiled and then both boys ran out of the fort, surprising the 'Cyclops' and jumped at him, causing all three off them to fall to the floor in a giant heap. "Balls," the giant said, pushing himself up from the floor and brushing off his clothes. "What did I do to deserve that?" Bobby said, rubbing his aching shoulder.

"You tried to attack Castle Winchester," Clint explained, his tone of voice showing there was no room for disagreement. "Re-starting the war we have with your kind."

"And as Castle Winchester's two best knights it's our job to defeat you and any of your Cyclops friends," Dean added.

Bobby was silent for several seconds before he raised an eyebrow challengingly. "And what happens if I fight back," he said, grabbing Dean and tickling him.

"No... Bobby..." Dean squealed between breaths as he struggled to climb out of 'the Cyclops' grasp. It was only after Clint joined Dean in his fight that Bobby moved away, stopping when his phone rang from the kitchen. With a moan, Bobby climbed up from the floor. Seriously, he was too old to be attacked by two children and be called a Cyclops.

He disappeared for a couple of minutes, leaving Clint and Dean on the floor in the living room. Neither of them had moved when he returned to the living room after taking the call with a book in one hand and his phone in the other. "The Cyclops has retreated back to the mountains until further notice," he said apologetically, looking grumpily at the book in his hand. The words on the front of it were faded and in a language Clint couldn't read. "I have work to do." Clint nodded in understanding whilst Dean stood up and cheered, jumping up and down in triumph.

"Victory!" The four year old shouted, running back and disappearing into the fort, momentarily forgetting about Clint and Bobby in his moment of joy. Clint watched his brother disappear into the fort, listening to the child's shouts of triumph and then followed Bobby towards a table and took a seat next to him, staring down at the foreign book in curiosity.

"What language is that?" He asked, not noticing the grave look on Bobby's face as he did so.

"Japanese," the older man replied, trying to be as blunt as possible to stop the eight year olds further questioning.

Clint looked up in astonishment and shock, (Bobby could read Japanese?), but the curiosity still burned behind his grey-blue eyes. "I didn't know you could read Japanese," he muttered to himself, not realising he'd voiced his thoughts. Bobby shrugged opening the book and subtly shielding the pages from the eight year old causing said boy to frown in confusion as he contemplated what to say next. "Can my dad read Japanese, too?" He asked eventually. He'd seen one of the books his dad had been reading last week. That had also been in another language but it looked nothing like the book Bobby was reading. It hadn't been as old, although he could tell it defintley wasn't new, and whilst he was able to try and read the words on his dad's book, he didn't even know where to start with the one in Bobby's hands. Not that he'd been any good at trying to read the one his dad owned.

"Not that I know of but maybe," Bobby eventually answered, pretending to be wrapped up in reading the book. "Have you ever asked him?"

Clint shook his head looking away from Bobby. "No, he's never really around," Clint stated and Bobby bit back a sigh. He knew just as well as Clint how little time John Winchester was spending with his own kids and it wasn't enough. Hell, he was seeing the Winchester kids more than John was but hearing the casualness in Clint's voice as he said this almost made the older Hunter feel sorry for the child. But only almost. He couldn't have word getting around to other Hunter's that he had a soft heart. That wouldn't work in favour of his ruff 'don't mess with me look'. "He's always working," Clint then added as he slouched down in the chair and rested his chin on the table. "Do you know what he does?"

Bobby looked down at Clint, hating himself for the words that came out of his mouth. "You know what he does, kid," he said and Clint nodded.

"He's a mechanic."

"Exactly," Bobby replied.

"But why doesn't he take us with him? He always disappears for days and then turns up again hurt. I've seen you work on cars before, Bobby, but you never get hurt like he does." Bobby's frown deepened as he watched the kid stare at the table, picking at the wood without a second thought, distracted from what he was doing.

He closed the book, only realizing he'd used more force than necessary when Clint jumped at the sudden noise. "Your dad travels a lot, Clint. He's in Michigan at the moment, that's a long drive from here; he doesn't want to make you sit in a car for hours on end."

"I'd like to go to Michigan," Clint muttered, and then he frowned himself, shaking his head as he said, "I should go find Dean, I'm distracting you from your work." Slipping off of the edge of his chair, the eight year old jogged over to the fort where Dean was sat waiting patiently outside of it with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cloak, his face brightening up immediately when he saw Clint coming over to him.

This time Bobby did sigh as he watched Clint play with Dean. He was too smart for an eight year old, something that unsettled and upset Bobby, making him wonder what the boy had already gone through in his life to read small signs like he did. As much as he hated the thought, John Winchester needed to have an honest discussion with his oldest child over what he did for a living, because honestly, he didn't know how much time the two of them could keep the Hunting life secret hidden from him. "Balls," Bobby moaned, opening the book and flicking roughly through to the page he needed. He seriously hadn't signed up to babysitting three boys when he agreed to help John Winchester just over a month ago.

-o-0-o-

Present time

Clint opened the bathroom door and ran back down the stairs, still very much aware of the noise he was making. It was five minutes after he'd climbed back into the makeshift bed Bobby had put together inside the fort that he heard the familiar roar of a car engine making its way into the junk yard, the distinctive noise making him sit up quickly. Next to him, Dean mumbled something in his sleep and Clint mentally shouted at himself before slowly lying back down to avoid waking the four year old up.

He heard movement upstairs and then there was a louder than necessary knock on the front door that didn't stop until Bobby growled out, "alright I'm comin'," and opened the door harder than he needed to, emphasising his annoyance at being woken up so late. "John?" Clint heard Bobby say in disbelief and he only just fought off the urge to run out of the fort and into his father's arms. "You're two days late."

"Yeah, I know," was John's curt reply, and Clint strained his ears to hear what was going on. The door slammed shut and he heard a bag drop onto the floor and a relieved sigh escape his dad's mouth. "It took longer than I expected."

"I noticed," Bobby replied dryly.

John ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as he did so. "Look, I know I should've called"-

"Yeah you should've, and not for my benefit either," Bobby quickly interrupted. Clint didn't see it but both men looked towards the fort where the two younger Winchester's were meant to be sleeping. Neither of the adults realised that only one was.

"Are they alright?" John asked, groaning in pain very slightly as his expression turned from one of pain to one of warmth as he stared at the fort.

Bobby's tone softened when he heard the obvious pain the other man was in but he glared at the other man instead to let him know he wasn't off of the hook. "They're fine, but you're not."

"I'm fine," John denied. "I just didn't duck in time... The Wendigo caught my shoulder before I torched it, but I cleaned it all up." Clint frowned, his brow creased with worry and confusion. A Wendigo? What the hell is a Wendigo? And what had it done to his dad? Carefully Clint shuffled forwards, using his fingers to pry one of the fort blankets up from the floor giving him a small view of the adults in the kitchen. His dad was sitting in a chair with his back to Clint and Dean whilst Bobby was looking in the cupboards for something. "I had a handle on it." As John said this a hint of doubt wavered into his voice, like he was trying to convince himself of his own success.

"Good, cause you had three kids waiting for you to get back," Bobby said, his voice even yet his glare hardening as he directed it at John, silently telling him just how annoyed he was. John groaned again as he leant forwards in his chair to take the can Bobby was offering him.

"They're fine, Clint and Dean will have each other's back," John said, waving of Bobby's concern with more confidence than Bobby felt a father should have knowing what he knew.

"How can they protect each other if they don't know what they're protecting each other from?" Bobby asked and took a seat opposite John.

"I can't tell them," John hissed. "I won't bring them into this."

Bobby looked away from John. He understood exactly where John was coming from, he really did. Who in their right mind would want to tell their children about the existence of creatures that could kill them within seconds? He'd actually be seriously concerned if John went along with it so willingly. But unlike John, Bobby hadn't been in the hunting business for a couple of months, hell, he hadn't even been in it for just a couple of years. John Winchester probably didn't even know how much experience he'd had in this business. But he had had a lot of experience, and Bobby had seen, although very rarely, kids growing up into the life of hunting and he had seen the kids find out about what their parents did too. Turning back to face John, Bobby bluntly told him the truth. "You already have, as soon as you became a hunter."

"You don't know that," John denied to only be interrupted by Bobby.

"I've seen several kids grow up into this life, and trust me, the ones who find out for themselves never last that long." The oldest Winchester looked at Bobby, his face hardening. Bobby ignored the glare, having faced far worse in his life and carried on. "And if you don't tell them soon, your boy will find out for himself." John's eyes narrowed slightly, his brow creasing in confusion. "Clint was asking questions, wanting to know where you were today. He's not stupid, he'll find out eventually."

The two men grew silent and from Clint's position in the living room all he could see was his dad shifting uncomfortably, lost in thought. What did his dad have to tell him? He thought, fighting his curiosity and pushing down the part of him that was telling his body to go over to the two men and ask now. If he did his dad would be furious, not only was he meant to be sleeping but he would be inadvertently telling his dad he was eavesdropping on their conversation too.

Eventually John stood up, breaking the silence as the chair legs scraped across the floor. "Where's Sammy?" He asked turning around, Clint letting go of the blanket immediately to hide his face from view whilst Bobby sighed in frustration.

"He's up stairs," the older man said, and then added a little forcefully through clenched teeth, "sleeping." Nodding, John ignored Bobby's last comment and quickly disappeared upstairs, successfully avoiding the conversation.

A string of curse words Clint was certain he wasn't meant to hear escaped from Bobby's mouth before he too disappeared up the stairs in pursuit of John, not willing to give up on the conversation so easily. He wasn't sure how, but in the past couple of months John Winchester's kids had worked their way into his heart and for some reason he felt the need to help them, even if it was protecting them from their own dad's stubbornness.

As the two men carried on with their argument upstairs, Clint was left on his own, wondering what it was he had just overheard. He rolled onto his back, biting his lip and silently wishing the two adults hadn't just left the kitchen. Seriously, what had he just overheard?

He stayed like that for another hour until he finally fell back to sleep, still thinking about the conversation the two adults had had.

-o-0-o-

Clint sat beside the living room window, hidden from view by their partially collapsed fort. He and Dean had had a rude awakening only a few hours ago by the sudden weight of several blankets dropping onto them, the chairs no longer supporting the fabric. He was in the perfect place in the house. He could see Dean from his position, the four year old sitting on the couch with his eyes glued to a cartoon playing on Bobby's old TV. Normally Clint would be sat there with him, enjoying the TV show as well, but when Bobby and John had headed into the junk yard to fix up the impala Clint had taken the small opportunity he had to look through some of Bobby's old books, a clear aim in his head as he looked through them to find anything he could about a 'Wendigo'.

At first he'd been a little unsure of his plan. For starters he didn't know where to start when it came to spelling out the strange word, but in the end he'd gone for spelling out the word as best he could and finding something that seemed similar. He personally thought there should be more of the letter 'e' in the word but according to the tatty, worn book in his lap there was only one.

Although, looking at the roughly drawn picture in the book, Clint was still unsure as to whether he'd find the right thing. He couldn't have the right book because seriously, the… thing drawn on the page in front of him couldn't have attacked his dad. There was just no way that the thing… no, the monster that he was staring at could possibly exist.

But then again, what else could hurt his dad enough to make him admit his injuries. He'd never seen the man do that before.

Looking back down at the book, Clint studied the misshapen drawing, the creature having long, bent limbs and a face with sharp, needle like teeth and pin point black eyes. It was a monster. A monster that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a deep voice calling out his and Dean's name from behind the fort. His dad stepped over the pile of blankets and cushions with two plates in hand, smiling as he handed one to Dean. "Here you go," he said as Dean looked away from the TV to take the plate of food, immediately taking a bite into his sandwich, his stomach apparently already empty of the breakfast he'd had that morning.

Clint on the other hand took the plate but didn't eat any of the food sitting on it, his appetite disappearing as soon as he looked through the book in his lap. John noticed the way the boy looked down at the food, distracted. He also noticed the book half closed in his lap, and even though he couldn't see most of what was on the page, one word stood out to him more than the others. Looking at his oldest son, his face softened and after only a little hesitation he came to a decision. "Clint, could I talk to you outside for a second?" he asked, and Clint nodded, getting up and leaving his plate on the couch beside Dean as he passed it. Nobody noticed the four year old sneak Clint's lunch onto his own plate when they left the room.

Leading Clint outside, John stopped beside the Impala, lifting Clint easing onto the trunk of the vehicle. "Where's Bobby?" Clint asked, noticing the lack of the other man.

"He went to work on one of the other cars," John said, looking Clint in the eye as he moved onto his intended topic of conversation. "Me and Bobby were talking last night," he started, unsure of how to go on. "He said you were asking about where I was last week." Clint nodded, looking around for Bobby, his eyes sometimes moving to look at his dad's injured shoulder. "I was…" John stopped speaking, for once in his life at a complete loss for words.

Clint carried on for him though, blurting out a question before he thought through what he was saying. "Are monsters real?" he asked hurriedly, fear shining in his grey-blue eyes. John opened his mouth to answer but closed it immediately and taking this as a need for explanation, Clint carried on speaking. "I overheard you and Bobby talking last night… I heard you say this thing hurt you. You called it a Wendeago and you said you burnt it but before you could it injured your arm."

"A Wendigo," John corrected, nodding somewhat hesitantly. Running a hand through his hair, John sighed in frustration. "Look, Clint," he started, running a hand through his hair, again. "There are things… monsters… I guess, out there." Clint's mouth dropped open and his skin paled, silently breaking John's heart as the boys eyes widened in fear.

"But…"

John watched his son grow silent as he stared down at his hands picking at the corner of his shirt.

"There are people out there that go after them, Clint, to stop them from hurting others… That's what I do, that's why I disappear for days and don't speak about where I've been." Clint stared at him blankly, speechless, not knowing what to think, not knowing where to start in forming a sentence that actually made sense. "That's why we travel around the country so much."

"Is Bobby a hunter too?" He eventually asked after several seconds, his eyes flicking towards the house in search of the other man. John followed his line of site.

"Yeah he is, kiddo. You've got us both looking out for you," John said and not knowing what else to do, John pulled Clint into a hug, comforting the child. "I'm not gonna let anything get near you." Clint, still shocked by the unbelievable revelation, didn't hug John back straight away, his mind not registering what was happening. However, when he realised what John was doing the eight year old wrapped his arms around John in return, not realising how much the small action settled John's suddenly nervous stomach.

The two stayed like that until Clint pulled away from his dad. John didn't want to be the one to pull away first after seeing the fear shining in Clint's eyes, it was better that he comforted Clint now and stayed with him for as long his son needed. After all, he'd been both shocked and silently terrified when he'd found out about the other, more secretive half of the world, and he was a grown man who'd already seen more than most people. Clint was a kid.

What had he done? What had he just told his son? John ran a hand over his face. He understood where Bobby was coming from, and he'd confided in the man in the past about his fears of Clint finding out. Bobby had told him exactly the same thing then too but he hadn't listened. But seeing his son looking at that book, staring at the rough drawing of the Wendigo like it was about to jump out of the page right there and then. He couldn't not tell him. What if Clint had found out himself but couldn't be honest about it with him. His son would be left feeling alone as he learnt the truth about the existence of monsters. The oldest Winchester couldn't take that risk. "You alright?" John asked his son to fill the silence, immediately regretting it as the realisation of what he'd asked Clint sank in. Of course he wasn't alright.

But Clint nodded his head, not willing to admit that he really wasn't. He looked up at his dad, his brow creased. "How do you hunt mo…" he stopped midsentence, looking into the distance to avoid his dad's face.

"How do I hunt them?" John asked to which Clint nodded again. John picked Clint up and lowered him to the ground. "I'll show you."

Clint hovered behind John as the older man pulled out his keys and opened up the back of the car, watching in curiosity. The fear was still there but for a slight moment he was distracted and after John lifted up the bottom of the trunk he peered over the side to get a better look at what his dad was staring at. His eyes widened. "There's something to kill everything," John explained, hoping to dispel some of his sons fear. Or most things, he silently added. For now he'd keep Clint thinking you could kill everything and he would let him know of what you couldn't in the future.

They spent almost an hour going through the contents of John's weapons arsenal. Clint listened to him closely, taking everything in that his dad told him. Occasionally he'd interrupt, asking John a question or picking up one of the weapons gently, each time giving John a miniature heart attack before he realised that he'd gotten himself into this mess.

Eventually though, John decided to call it a day, telling his oldest son to go back inside and keep an eye on his brother. Clint did as he was told, only putting up a bit of a fight when he saw a black crossbow half hidden under one of his dad's old coats. When the two returned to the living room they arrived to the site of four year old asleep on the couch, two plates with the bare remnants of his and Clint's lunch by his side.

John looked at Dean, an amused smile working its way onto his face before he gently nudged Clint in Dean's direction. "I'll make you something else," he said and Clint grinned, running over to the couch and immediately switching the channel on the TV.

-o-0-o-

That night, John, woke with a shooting pain running down his back. Mumbling something under his breath, he rolled his shoulders in their sockets to try and push out some of the aches and pains. He was getting too old to be sleeping on the couch, especially one like Bobby's which was probably older than both men put together. Then he squinted at the window on the other side of the room in an attempt to figure out what time it was. The darkness behind it telling him it was still late at night. He frowned in confusion. It was too late for his kids or Bobby to be wondering the house and unless Bobby had a new pet dog that he hadn't been told about then something else had woke him up. Within seconds of that final thought his hand had quickly slid under the couch cushion, only stopping when it came to rest on the hilt of his silver blade knife that he'd hid there before he'd gone to sleep several hours ago. It was a reassuring feeling, knowing that the weapon was quick to hand if he should need it.

It was then that he heard someone mumble from close by and John looked to the foot of the couch at a dark shape curled up in a ball on the floor, a pillow at one end and wrapped up in a blanket. It was clear, even in the barley lit room, the person there had attempted to create a make-shift bed on the floor, and by the way the figure's chest was slowly moving up and down in sleep, they'd succeeded. Gently, he shook the figure, the child quickly waking at the contact and rolling over in the 'bed'.

"Dad?" Clint questioned, looking around confused until he remembered why he was downstairs.

"Yeah Clint," John replied casually, letting go of the knife and sitting up, making room for the eight year old on the couch.

Clint shook his head, sleepily. "Nothing," he mumbled, climbing onto the couch beside John and wrapping himself up in the blanket again. John carefully draped his own blanket over the child too, putting one arm around the boys back and letting him nestle comfortable into his side. "I couldn't sleep," the eight year old muttered under his breath, his sleep muddled mind not registering he was talking out loud. Within seconds Clint had closed his eyes again, leaving John to his own thoughts.

"That's alright kiddo," John said quietly, a knot of guilt forming in his stomach as he pieced together why he son couldn't sleep. "I'll be here of you need me."

"I know," Clint replied, his voice barely a whisper and forcing John to strain his ears. He wasn't expecting an answer from the child but the two words had him staring at the boy, a warm and loving glint in his eyes. "Good night, dad."

"Good night, Clint," John replied. He stayed awake for the next half an hour, his eyes glued on Clint and waiting until the boys breathing evened out, telling him that his son was sleeping peacefully. He didn't ask Clint the next morning why he couldn't sleep and Clint didn't mention it, neither of them needing or wanting to mention hunting and monsters that day.