Author's Note:Hello! I'm still here! So sorry that this chapter is coming a few weeks late. With all the craziness going on in the world right now, it's been harder to concentrate than usual. I appreciate your guys' patience and support and I promise I'll keep working on this story and getting chapters out as quickly as I am able! Huge thank yous go out to BrokenKestral; Sage Nicholson; Katie MacAlpine; Katie (guest); nogoodidealist; digedag; and TactfuLizard for taking the time to leave a review on the last chapter! It is so very appreciated, especially these days! You guys are the best!

DISCLAIMER: (I would have made this statement earlier, but I didn't want to spoil anything) I am a hearing person writing a deaf character. Although I have done a TON of research into ASL and Deaf culture and hope to do Clint's character as much justice as I am able to, ultimately please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and not intended to be taken as any kind of authority on any kind of subject matter within this story.

Chapter Six

Doctor's appointments were rarely simple and placid affairs for the kids in Phil's care. So many had been so abused or neglected that invasive doctor's appointments tended to be stressful, and for others it was simply a foreign and strange activity that they hadn't been subjected to before being placed in foster care. Even Steve, admittedly one of Phil's more well-adjusted cases by this point, suffered from medical anxiety after all he had been through with both his and his mothers' illnesses.

Phil had expected no different from Clint and was prepared for everything from anger to confusion to relief when he told Clint about the appointment. He still was not used to Clint's unreadable demeanor. Phil honestly wasn't sure whether the kid was just that apathetic about what was going on around him or if he generally didn't really comprehend what was happening and was just prone to go along with things.

Despite finally getting some answers, Phil found that now he only had more. The main one that Phil was wondering about more and more was about Clint's reading ability. At the moment, their main avenue for communicating with Clint was to write things down, but Phil had no idea what Clint's reading ability was actually like at his age, especially given that he had an extremely spotty record of formal schooling. Was he really able to read every word that was written on that white board? When Phil prompted him for a response by writing down do you understand? and Clint nodded his head despite the distant, almost detached look in his eyes… did he really understand, or was he just doing what he thought was expected of him?

And as they finally headed for their appointment with the audiologist, Phil wasn't really sure if he were really going to get any more answers that day or if this kind of appointment would be more of a simple check up to see what needed to be done. He had never been to an audiologist before or needed to take any of his kids to one, so he honestly just didn't know what to expect at this point. It had been a very long time since he had felt this way.

The trip to the doctor's office was almost uneventful. Clint appeared familiar with the process of riding the subway, silently taking his ticket when Phil offered to him and without any instruction scanned himself passed the security gates. Clint kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets as they moved through the station, his eyes constantly darting around as he seemed to try and take in everything and anything around him. On the train, Phil led them up to the front of the car where there was a cluster of empty seats. Clint sat stone still through the whole trip, though Phil didn't fail to notice that his gaze remained trained on the doors in the middle of the train that would let people on and off the entire time.

When they reached the closest stop to the doctor's office, Phil led the way off the train. Even though it was past rush hour and the bulk of the commuters were long gone, the station was still fairly full. Phil put a hand out, beckoning Clint closer and willing him not to lag behind as they moved through the crowd. He hovered a hand behind Clint's back in order to keep track of him as they headed for the exit.

When it happened, Phil initially just assumed that Clint had tripped. One moment they were walking side by side and in the next Clint was stumbling into Phil, his shoulder jamming into Phil's side as Clint threw out his hands in an attempt to steady himself. On instinct, Phil grabbed Clint's arm in order to steady him.

"Are you okay?" Phil asked quickly before not only did he remember Clint couldn't hear him, but also realized Clint wasn't even looking at him.

Everything about the kid came to Phil slowly. First, he saw the way that Clint's head whipped around, almost like he was searching desperately for something. Next, it was the panic that shined brightly in Clint's eyes - so drastically different from his normal apathetic gaze - like he had seen something terrible. And finally, it was the way that Clint gasped desperately for breath, as if he had just surfaced from underwater.

More confused than anything, Phil gently led Clint off to the side of the station so they wouldn't be in the way of people heading to and from the trains. When they reached a relatively secluded area next to the wall, Phil reached into his pocket and pulled out the small notebook he had brought with him.

Are you okay? Phil scribbled on the pad quickly.

He had to reach out and place a careful hand on Clint's arm in order to draw the kid's attention to the message. Clint's gaze snapped to the notebook, paused as he read, and then did another visual sweep of their surroundings. It was almost as if he were searching for something…

"Clint," Phil spoke out loud out of habit, tapping Clint's arm in order to draw his attention back and pointing to the message.

Clint looked at the notebook again and then swallowed thickly before he gave a small nod. Phil studied him carefully. The kid's breathing was calming down, but his eyes still darted around anxiously. Phil looked around himself, looking for anything that appeared threatening or out of the ordinary. But he couldn't see anything unusual.

Phil flipped the page of the notebook so he could write a new message. Let's go, we don't want to be late. Please stay close. He gave Clint time to read the message and waited for the kid to nod before he began to lead the way back out of the subway, keeping a closer eye on Clint as they moved.

Despite the breakthrough they had a few days ago, Phil still felt like he was flying blind with this kid. They still had no idea what Clint had been through, what kind of traumas he's endured in his short life. Could something in his past explain his behavior? After all, there was still a four year gap where they had no idea where this kid even had been.

Figuring out the best way to communicate with Clint was only going to be the first hurdle they were going to have to overcome.

Thankfully, the doctor's office was only a short few blocks from the subway station. Back above ground, Phil could see Clint's muscles relaxing and his breathing slowing back to normal. Whatever kind of episode he had back down in the station, it seemed that it had passed. For now, anyway.

As was the norm, despite getting to the doctor's office the recommended fifteen minutes early, the office was running behind. Phil and Clint sat quietly, side by side in the waiting room for twenty minutes and Phil couldn't help but notice the way that Clint glanced around at the various adults and kids that passed through the room, his eyes lingering on the ones that had visible hearing aids or cochlear implants. Phil wished he knew that Clint was thinking.

They finally were called back into the exam room. There were two normal chairs pushed up against one wall, a wheeled stool next to the doctor's station and an upright exam chair in the middle of the room.

Phil took one of the normal chairs, but Clint eyed the chair next to him distastefully. Instead of sitting, Clint wandered around the room, looking curiously at the various equipment. Phil left Clint to his own devices, honestly relieved that Clint was showing any interest at all in what was going on. It was a vast improvement from Clint sitting completely still with a blank, apathetic look on his face.

After a few minutes, Clint settled himself leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room from where Phil sat. Phil shifted uncomfortably in the silence. He always prided himself with being able to talk to these kids and the silence in the room was grating.

"Good morning." Clint visibly jumped as the door finally swung open fifteen minutes later and a female doctor with dark hair swept up into a bun walked into the room. "Thank you for your patience, we're running a little behind this morning." She closed the door and then turned, looking from Phil on one side of the room to Clint on the other, giving each a warm smile. "My name is Dr. Helen Cho."

"Phil Coulson," Phil greeted as he stood and shook her hand. "This is Clint Barton." He motioned to where Clint stood. Unsurprisingly, Clint made no attempt to approach the doctor, but he did pin her with a hard, almost calculating stare that seemed out of place on such a small child.

"Hi, Clint," Dr. Cho said with a smile, unconcerned with Clint's lack of response to her. As she took a seat on a wheeled stool, Phil followed suit and sat back in the chair. She took a moment to check a few things in her chart and then she turned her head toward Phil though kept her shoulders angled toward Clint. "Why don't you tell me what brings you in today?"

"Well," Phil hedged. Honestly, he wasn't sure where to begin. "I have been fostering Clint for a little over a week now. He hadn't spoken at all until a few days ago when he told me that he's deaf. So, we'd like to get his ears checked out and see what we can do for him."

Dr. Cho nodded. "That sounds like a good plan." She turned back fully toward Clint. "Clint, could you tell me how long you've had trouble with your ears?"

Clint eyed her skeptically.

"He has spoken," Phil felt the need to point out after a minute of awkward silence. "But it's been very rare and he's spoken to one of my other kids more than he's spoken to me."

"That's okay," Dr. Cho said. She balanced the chart in her lap so that she could raise her hands up in front of her. Then she started moving her hands in careful patterns as she spoke to Clint again. "Do you speak any sign language?"

And just like that, there was a spark of life in Clint's eyes that Phil had yet to see from the kid and he was suddenly standing up straighter. Clint raised his fist up to shoulder height and then bobbed the fist up and down like a head nodding.

"That's wonderful," Dr. Cho said, moving her hands while she spoke. "We can communicate in sign language if you're more comfortable with that."

One corner of Clint's mouth twitched up. A ghost of a smile? He bobbed his fist again and then ran his flat hand in a circle over his chest.

"Great," Dr. Cho said as she continued to sign. "Can you tell me how long you've had trouble with your ears?"

Clint considered this for a moment before he responded, Dr. Cho thankfully translating verbally so that Phil could keep up. "'Since I was about three or four years old, I think.'" Clint's hands moved steadily and confidently, like this was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Dr. Cho nodded her understanding. "Can you tell me how your hearing was damaged? Did it happen slowly over time or did something specific cause it?"

At that, Clint hesitated and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He didn't quite meet the doctor's eyes as he signed his answer and she translated out loud. "'I hit my head and my hearing went away.'"

Phil had known enough abused kids to recognize the look on Clint's face when he gave the vague answer. That wasn't anywhere near the whole story. But for the moment, Phil was just relieved to be getting anything at all out of the kid after over a week of almost complete silence. He leaned forward in his seat, taking in every word as Dr. Cho translated it.

"Alright, that's something we see here a lot and can help with," Dr. Cho assured him patiently. "What I'd like to do to begin with is test your hearing to see what the best course of action will be. It's a very quick and easy test that will give us a baseline to work with." She paused, but when Clint only looked at her skeptically she went on. "It's a very simple test and not at all painful. I'll put you in a room with some headphones and play some noises for you, to see if there is any range of sound you might be able to hear. Would that be okay with you?"

Clint eyed her for another long moment while Dr. Cho waited patiently. Finally, he nodded. And, for the first time since Phil had met him, Clint didn't look apathetic or skeptical. He looked just a bit…. Phil couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Cautious and wary, but there was definitely a note of something lighter in his gaze. Hopeful? Relieved?

"Okay, if you want to come with me, we can get this done right now," Dr. Cho spoke and signed as she stood up. She looked over at Phil, continuing to sign as she spoke. "This will only take us about ten to fifteen minutes. You can wait here and we'll be back after the test."

"Okay," Phil said with a nod.

He watched as Dr. Cho opened the door to the exam room and bid Clint to follow her. There was only a small hesitation before Clint moved after her. Dr. Cho closed the door behind them and Phil was left alone.

Phil leaned forward and clasped his hands in between his knees. He had come to this appointment with very little idea of what to expect. He hadn't even imagined that the key to communication with Clint had been sitting right there for the right person.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Phil quickly straightened.

"Where's Clint?" Phil asked with concern as Dr. Cho entered and closed the door behind her.

"He's speaking with one of our hearing aid specialists," Dr. Cho assured him. "While they're talking, I thought this would be a good chance for us to talk, given the circumstances." Phil nodded, feeling relieved. "The hearing test revealed basically what we already know. Clint has profound hearing loss in both ears. He can detect some very low pitched sounds, but for the most part his hearing is very insubstantial. Based on what he's told me about the cause of his hearing loss, I strongly suspect that he has what we call traumatic sensorineural hearing loss. We're going to go ahead and get his specs and put in an order for hearing aids so that we can get those as soon as possible, but I'll also want to do an MRI just to be sure there isn't anything more serious going on. We can schedule that for later this week."

Phil nodded, his head spinning a bit from the onslaught on information.

"I know this is a lot," Dr. Cho acknowledged sympathetically. "We'll know more specifics after the MRI. Now, what questions do you have?"

Phil huffed a light laugh. He could be here all day with the questions he had. He decided to start with what he felt was the most pressing question.

"So… you spoke to him using sign language?" Phil said, even though the answer was obvious. "That's something he's fluent with?"

"Yes, he seems quite fluent with sign language," Dr. Cho confirmed. "He even spoke so quickly that one of our newer techs couldn't keep up."

Phil blinked in surprise. "His file has no records of any kind of schooling. I guess I just assumed that he wouldn't have learned any kind of sign language."

"He told me that his brother taught him," Dr. Cho said.

"Oh," was all Phil could think of to say. In all honesty, he had completely forgotten that Clint had a brother. The only time Clint's brother had come up was when Maria had initially pitched the case to Phil months ago, and even then it had only been an offhand comment about how he would have aged out of the system by now.

Dr. Cho pulled a few pamphlets from her folder and held them out to Phil. "I took the liberty of pulling a few brochures for some adult ASL classes with a variety of times and locations. There's also options for some online classes too."

Phil accepted the pamphlets. "Thank you."

Dr. Cho paused, thinking something over, before she took the seat next to Phil. "You know, I've seen a few other kids come through here who are in the foster care system. One in particular seems to have a different guardian every time she comes in. I've done some outreach myself with a lot of these kids. I know it can seem daunting, especially because I know you didn't know about his special circumstances when you took him in. But please… put in the time. Learn the language. And if you do, I promise you it will mean the world to this kid."

Phil gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I plan on doing exactly that."

Clint hated the air in the city. Any big city, really. It smelled of exhaust with a glaze of sewage. The air felt heavy and seemed to push in around him, vibrating uncomfortably. It only got worse down in the subway, with the notable difference of the exhaust smell being replaced by a mix of urine, vomit and body odor. The smell was often so potent that it made him dizzy and gave him a headache.

So, when they finally reemerged above ground at the station near Phil's house, Clint took a deep, relieved breath. Phil's house was located far enough from the city that the air smelled marginally cleaner, though the exhaust stench was still ever present. There was less traffic out this far, but there was still a constant stream of cars rumbling by as he and Phil made their way down the sidewalk, which caused the air around him to pulse and the concrete under the thin rubber of his sneakers to feel unstable.

There were very few things he missed about Iowa. The smell of clean, rural air along with the peace and comfort of a stable atmosphere was one of those things.

As they made their way the three blocks back to the house, Clint followed a careful step behind Phil so he could keep one eye on Phil and the other eye on the area around him. He was still a little thrown off by what he saw - or thought he saw - in the subway on the way to the appointment, so he took extra care to keep tabs on the people out and about that day. He was so focused on the task that he almost missed when Phil turned and started up the stairs to the front door of the house and Clint had to scramble a bit to catch up.

Clint ducked a bit as he passed Phil holding the door open for him and deliberately pretended not to notice Phil reaching for the small notebook he had been writing messages in as he headed for the stairs. Clint felt a little guilty - after all, so far Phil had gone far above and beyond what Clint ever expected from anybody - but so much had happened today that Clint was just desperate to get some distance in order to absorb it.

At some point, these stairs had become familiar, almost comforting. Something deep inside him twisted at the thought and he pushed it away before he could even consider what that meant.

As Clint reached the top of the first set of stairs, he did a quick scan of who was on the floor. He spotted Steve and Thor over by the television, so deeply invested in some kind of video game that they didn't appear to even notice him pass by. Clint continued up to the third floor and on his way down the hallway he glanced into Bruce and Tony's room to confirm that they were occupied with one of the many disassembled computers they had laying around.

Feeling secure in the fact that he knew where everyone was, Clint ducked into the room at the end of the hall. The room that Clint had been staying in for about a week and a half now. The room that Clint referred to in his head as Steve's room.

Was it supposed to be his room too?

Clint crossed the room and immediately leveraged open the window. A breath later, he had the screen popped out and he was leaning out the opening, looking down at the sidewalk below critically. Satisfied that there weren't too many passersby, Clint stepped up onto the window sill and carefully slid outside, wedging the screen back in place as he went.

After that, it had become a familiar path. He hooked his hands on the overhang above the window and hoisted himself up, swinging one foot up on top of the small ledge. Above the window was an ornate cornice molding - parallel beams arched inward and reached up to support the roof that jutted out and created an overhang in front of the house. It had initially been a challenge for Clint to figure out how to get past that obstacle, but at this point he could do it without hesitation.

Between each beam was an indented square with ornamental moldings within. It was just big enough for Clint to hook his fingers into. His next move had to happen quickly and perfectly, every move critically dependent on pressure from the one before. He hoisted himself straight up, bracing his sneakers against the brick and then quickly moving his right hand to grasp an outcropping on the side of the beam directly above him. He immediately pulled himself up as he pushed up with his toes and brought his left leg straight up in front of him, his knee almost hitting his chin in order to catch on a small ledge, which gave him the boost he needed to lunge up with his left hand and hook it up and over the edge of the cornice. From there his right hand followed and it was a simple pull up until he could hook his knee up and onto the roof and hoist himself the rest of the way up.

The roof had a basic trapezoid shape to it. Just above the cornice molding there was a steep incline that ran up to an edge that flattened out, and Clint knew the back of the roof mirrored the front. The attic window was placed in the middle of the slanted part of the roof, popped straight out from the rest of the angled roof. Clint used the corner between the adjacent side of the window and the roof to spider-crawl the rest of the way to the edge of the top of the roof and pull himself up and over.

The whole thing took Clint less than a minute, minimizing the window of time where a passerby on the street could glance up and see a thirteen year old kid climbing on the outside of a four story brownstone.

Clint moved a few feet away from the edge of the roof before he dared to stand up. By now, this had become a familiar view. He could see several rows of brownstone houses stretching out in either direction and several blocks over he could just glimpse the open area where a park was located. A slight wind helped to taper the harsh New York summer sun that was high overhead as Clint inhaled deeply.

And all at once, he felt so much lighter.

Ever since he was little, he had been drawn to heights. There had been a large tree in the yard of his childhood home that he would climb when he felt overwhelmed. Up in that tree no one could sneak up on him because he couldn't hear them, no one could yell at him even though he couldn't understand a damn word they said, no one could grab him and throw him around when he didn't follow orders that he didn't know were given. When he was up above the chaos of the world, he finally felt like he could let his guard down.

Throughout his time in the foster care system, he was always looking for something to climb. At his and Barney's first foster home there was a similar tree to the one that had been at their childhood home that he could escape to. The second home had posed a challenge in the middle of a suburban neighborhood with trees that were little more than flimsy twigs. It took him a month to finally figure out he could drag a chair outside and balance it on top of the trashcan next to the detached, one story garage and pull himself up onto the roof. Of course, it had taken a couple falls and a possible twisted angle that was never properly treated before he really got the hang of it.

From there he got more and more daring, until now when he didn't think twice about climbing up the outside of a four story brownstone.

For several long minutes, all he did was breathe. The entire trip back here, his mind had been racing with too many thoughts to count. But now, when everything finally was still and steady around him, he suddenly found that his mind was completely blank. He could hardly comprehend the events that had unfolded that day. Was there any chance it hadn't happened? Maybe he had finally fallen, hit his head and sent himself into a coma just like Barney was always telling him he would if he wasn't more careful.

But the roof under his feet felt solid. The wind ruffled his hair, tickling the back of his neck. He took another deep breath through his nose, still able to smell the exhaust that rose up from the traffic below.

This was real.

"Wow," Clint breathed on an exhale.

He looked down and flexed his fingers experimentally. There was a strange tingling in his hands that he wasn't quite sure what to make of. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden too. It had been a long time since he had been able to speak freely in sign language. It had been like a breath of fresh air to be in the doctor's office and not have to struggle to read everyone's lips and to be able to communicate clearly with the people around him.

He had never experienced anything like that in his life. He barely remembered losing his hearing when he was barely more than a toddler and he really couldn't really remember what it was like to hear anything at all. What he could remember vividly were the deep vibrations that would rumble through him when his father would yell at him, as if he could bully his deaf son into being able to hear what he was saying. Clint could practically feel the frustration that radiated out from the man when he would go on his tirades in those days.

But he could also still remember what it was like to curl up in his mother's lap, her thin arms wrapped around him as she gently rocked back and forth. He could remember burying his face in the crook of her neck, squeezing his eyes shut and being able to completely block out the world. And he remembered the little notes that she used to write for him… despite the fact that he couldn't read. But her watery, red eyes and her bruises always told Clint that she was doing the best that she could.

Barney had been the one to start teaching him sign language when Clint had been around five years old. It had just been the bare minimum at first, enough for Barney to be able to translate what their father wanted Clint to do. It wasn't until their second foster home when they started expanding on the basics. Barney would borrow ASL books from the public library - "borrow" being a figurative term, as he would sneak them out so that they wouldn't have to return them. And it was after they left the foster care system for what they thought for good when Clint became obsessed with learning as much as possible.

But up until now, sign language had only been a means for significant communication between Clint and Barney. The idea that complete strangers would use sign language in order to speak with him had barely crossed Clint's mind as anything more than a passing fantasy.

Don't get comfortable, Clint reminded himself silently. This won't last. It's only temporary. It was nice of Phil to take me to the doctor, but this is just a temporary place for me.

Clint turned to look at the large HVAC unit that was on the roof of the house, eyeballing the large, purple bullseyes that he had spray painted on the side of it on his second day here. It was the signal that Clint and Barney used in order to find each other whenever they were separated. It had been up for over a week. He really expected Barney to have found him by now.

Of course… Clint had spent several months in juvie. Was it possible that Barney wasn't looking for him anymore? That he had moved on without him?

Clint shook the thought away. He and Barney may have their ups and downs, and they may have had their worst fight in years before Clint had been arrested… but no matter what, Barney always came for him. It was the one thing in Clint's life that he could count on… right?

Clint knelt down and dug out his backpack from where he had stashed it in the small gap under the HVAC system. He pulled out the can of spray paint and shook it up. The can was getting pretty light, probably getting close to empty. Clint carefully sprayed around the bullseye, making the lines thicker and hopefully easier to see. After eyeing his work, he walked around to the other side of the large box and went about painting another bullseye. He got the outer circle done and half of the inner circle before the spray of paint petered out.

Clint sighed heavily as he threw the empty can down harder than strictly necessary. He blinked hard as his eyes suddenly stung for some weird reason.

He took in an unsteady breath, assuring himself that he'd sneak away tomorrow and acquire a new can. It would be okay. Barney wouldn't leave him here. Phil did seem nice enough, but he wasn't family. Barney always told Clint that Barton's stuck together.

And if Clint really had glimpsed Jacques Duquesne in that subway station earlier that day, he was going to need Barney sooner rather than later.

Clint's stomach roiled uncomfortably as he forcefully pushed away memories of the man that he wished he could pull out of his brain and burn them from existence. He walked back around to the original side of the HVAC and settled himself down underneath the bullseye, pulling his knees up protectively to his chest.

The sign for family was made by making the sign for F with both hands, then circling both hands around to show a group of family members. Clint and Barney had altered that sign to be made with the sign for B instead of F in order to create a unique ASL sign for Barton. Absently, Clint made the sign for Barton, put out his thumbs and pinkies and moved his hands down, and then brought his fists together and moved them in a horizontal circle. It was the set of signs that Barney probably used the most.

Bartons stay together.

Barney would come for him. Barney would always come for him.