Sanctuary

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers because if I did…..well let's just think about that for a second ;)

Authors Note: This story is an AU to my other story 'Father and Son'. Phil didn't go to the orphanage and adopt Clint, instead Barton ran away at the age of nine after his brother left him behind, abandoning him. Clint spends the next three years living in the streets, staying invisible and surviving. Fate decides to intervene, bringing Clint face to face with Agent Phil Coulson. Will the Agent be able to give Clint what he really needs...a family?

It's finally finished, woohoo! I'm so sorry for how long it's taken to get this story posted. Life as usual had gotten in the way.

I would like to say a huge thank you to my beta, DevinBourdain. You helped me make this story so much more than I originally planned. Thank You :)

Just to let you all know this story is already complete, a whopping 21 Chapters, and has the possibility of a sequel but I'm going to wait and see what everyone thinks before starting on it. *wink* *wink*

Hope you like!

"Fate is never fair. You are caught in a current much stronger than you are; struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself but those who try to save you. Swim with it. and you'll survive" ― Cassandra Clare.

The small, malnourished, dishevelled boy moved silently through the streets and back alleys. He was a shadow, a ghost in the darkness. No one even thought to look twice at the young boy as he skittered away behind dumpsters to avoid the passing lights of cars and restaurant side doors.

No one really cared. He couldn't remember if anyone had ever cared.

He waited pressed between the cold stone walls and industrial size dumpsters, for the hapless teenager to finish dumping the scraps from dinner service in the trash. As the back door slammed shut, taking with it the bright lights of the world belonging to the privileged, the boy cautiously crept closer to his goal. Hunger didn't allow for pride and the small child had to wipe the drool at the corner of his mouth from the sight of the feast that could be his. He hated what he'd been reduced to, but it was the only way he could survive. Not asking for help was something that was ingrained in him from a young age. He felt it meant you were weak if you had to ask, so he just soldiered on.

The scruffy youngster had managed to find a few good spots where lots of scraps of food could be found, he would change his routine every few days, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself.

There was one place in particular he found himself coming back to week after week, Antonio's. The owner of the small family owned restaurant never spoke to him, not wanting to throw off the fragile balance of trust that had been built between them, though he couldn't hide the sympathetic look that graced his features when he placed the pizza box on top of the trash. It was a look that was heartfelt with notes of understanding and all too familiarity that screamed the man understood. It became a ritual of sorts, the pristinely white pizza box settled on top so as not to touch the ravaged remnants of other's feasts. It bore what was the highest treasure a street kid could dream of, fresh untouched slices of pizza.

The skinny boy's mouth watered at the thought of the cheese pizza with pepperoni, beef and mushrooms from Antonio's. Sadly, tonight he was on the other side of town. Gangs had started moving into his usual spots and he didn't want any trouble. He was invisible for a reason, he hated confrontation and if it were possible he would run away every time. That wasn't always possible though.

The young boy rubbed his sore ribs as he thought of his last run in with the gangs. They'd chased him out of their neighbourhood and while Clint Barton had managed to survive this long by being fast, almost slippery, managing to disappear before they caught up with him, he hadn't avoided the collision with a car as it pulled out of a side street. The driver hadn't been going very fast, which probably saved him from being taken to the hospital. Not counting the fact that he didn't have the money or insurance for a trip to the hospital, but hospital's brought official looking people with good intentions that always placed Barton in more precarious situation.

Clint crept closer to the trash can and pulled out a container with what was left of a burger and some fries. He moved quickly back to his hidden corner and sat down, pulling his knees up balancing the container on top, then took a bite out of the burger. He hummed in pleasure as he swallowed the food, it was pretty damn good, especially since he hadn't eaten much in the past few days.

Living on the streets had taught Clint that if you found food you ate it right away or you wouldn't eat. The others living on the streets fought over food or drugs, all the time.

Clint finished the burger and the few fries putting the empty container back in the trash. He scurried back into the shadows making his way back to his hide out. It was about a twenty minute walk to the abandoned building. But before he reached the end of the street that would take him onto the main road, the youngster heard sirens and ducked back into the shadows of a nearby alley. Breathing a sigh of relief as they zoomed past, then frowning as he realised they had turned the corner heading towards his sanctuary.

The boy moved closer to the corner and peeked his head round and groaned when he saw two fire engines already there fighting the fire that was spreading quickly through the building. The police officers had jumped out of their cars and were moving any passers-by back and out of the way. An ambulance was present just in case but Clint knew the building was empty.

Clint leaned back against the wall and banged his head against it, great. All his stuff was in there, hidden. It wasn't much but it was all he had left from his time at the orphanage. The little keepsakes he had managed to keep hold of from before his parents died were in there. He angrily wiped away the tears that had fallen, he wasn't a baby anymore and it was only stuff, but to him they couldn't be replaced. A picture of his mum and dad from before he was born, a well-worn copy of Robin Hood that his mother used to read to him and a pocket knife his brother had given him. The knife was the last thing and only thing Barney ever gave him before he ran away leaving Clint alone at the orphanage. He had wanted to throw away the knife with the hawk engraved on it, his anger at being abandoned by the only person he had left demanded it, but in the end he couldn't bear the thought of throwing away the only thing he had left of his brother. Clint loved Hawks. He loved the idea of being to fly away, fly away from all hurt, sadness and pain, fly away to some imaginary place where he could be safe and loved.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, the scrawny kid headed away from the fire that had now destroyed any physical memory of his parents and brother. Maybe it was for the best, he was a ghost after all.

Clint wasn't sure how long he'd been walking but at some point his clothes had become soaked from the downpour that had flooded the street and filled the air with a wet earthy sent. He needed to find shelter. He glanced around and noticed that he had ended up in one of the nicer neighbourhoods, but that also meant it would be harder to find someplace uninhabited. It was late, so most of the lights in the houses were off. Walking stealthily down the street, hiding behind bushes and cars he searched for a good place to hide.

He spotted a nice house at the end of the street, the garden was taken care of, there were no kid's toys lying about and no car in the driveway. Clint moved quietly, his ears attuned to any danger. Once he made his way around the back of the house he smiled in relief at the shed that sat at the end of the garden. He stopped in front of the wooden door, pleasantly surprised to find it wasn't locked. Such a classy neighbourhood didn't have to worry about vagrants or other unsavoury characters helping themselves to the bountiful loot each house possessed, people of that clavier stood out like a sore thumb.

Clint pushed the door open and stepped inside the dry hut. Peeling his wet jacket off, he hung it on top of a broom sitting in the corner. He glanced around the small space and noticed a shelving unit with various tools for gardening and smiled when he spotted the large dust cover folded up in the corner. It was dirty and covered in dried paint but it was dry and would keep him warm, well, warmer than sleeping outside. He stripped out of his soaked trousers and hung them next to the jacket, then settled in the corner pulling the cover around him. He hadn't realised how tired he was until his head touched the floor and he was out for the count.

When Clint finally came to, it was early morning. Light was creeping in from the small window and made him groan and pull the cover over his head. He hated day time, and wondered if he would be able to hide out in here for the day and start moving again at night. Standing and stretching the kinks out of his back from lying on the hard floor, Clint wondered if he would ever get used to it. Probably not.

He checked his jacket and trousers, pleased to feel that they were only a little damp. He sat in the corner and pulled the cover back around him. When he heard voices coming from outside he almost jumped in surprise. Scrambling quickly to his feet he listened at the door.

"Just get the ball, David. Mr Coulson isn't in."

"You go get it!" Came the squeaky reply from a younger boy.

"Fine….whimp," was muttered back.

Clint shook his head and leaned against the door, just kids getting a ball. He sighed and moved away from the door. Clint could vaguely remember his dad taking him to the park with Barney and throwing a ball around, or playing baseball. His dad had told him he would sign him up for the kiddie league because he had talent. Two weeks later everything changed, playing sports had been the last thing on his mind. He'd just wanted his parents back.

Clint waited till the voices disappeared before peeking outside. He stared at the house and noticed for the first time that there was a dog flap, he arched an eyebrow; he could fit through that. With a quick glance at the driveway he saw that 'Mr Coulson' still wasn't home. He could risk going in just for some food and get back out again. Nodding to himself and grabbing his trousers, he pulled them back on. Pocking his head outside for any sign of those kids, he moved quickly towards the back door. He pushed the dog flap open and stuck his head through first, making sure a dog wasn't there. He hadn't heard any barking and he didn't think the owner would leave the dog by itself all night. He climbed through easily and looked around, everything was neat and tidy, nothing seemed out of place, kind of OCD, Clint thought. He'd just have to make sure he put everything back the way he found it, just in case.

Once he found the kitchen he walked over to the double sized fridge, he couldn't believe the size of this place. It was huge, and one guy lived here? Clint shook his head, he was lucky to have a roof over his head most nights while this guy was living in luxury and wasn't even here to enjoy it. Well, he thought, I'll just have to enjoy it for him. He opened the fridge and felt his jaw go slack at the sight of all the food that filled it. There were tubs of what he assumed to be takeout food, a plate of cooked chicken that was wrapped with cling wrap, lots of different meats and a drawer of salad at the bottom.

Clint clamped his mouth shut and started pulling stuff out. He grabbed one of the tubs of noodles, two pieces of cooked chicken and some ham. He could already feel his mouth watering. Taking small enough portions that no one would notice their absence, he wrapped everything back up and placed it back where he found it. He snagged a can of Pepsi before closing the door. He opened a few other cupboards until he found a plastic bag and put the food inside before heading back towards the door. He stopped and took one last look around then climbed through the flap. Some people just didn't realise what they had.

Clint vanished back inside the shed and pulled out the white tub filled with left over noodles from the bag and used his fingers to drop them into his mouth. Man they tasted good. He realised he'd ate the whole lot when his fingers touched the bottom of the container. He cast a look inside just to make sure there were no noodles hiding from him and sighed when he didn't see any. He eyed the other food in the bag but decided to leave it for now. That food would keep him going for a few days and he was pretty sure no one else here would be trying to steal food from him. The people here most likely threw out copious amounts of food. He might even stick around for a little bit, get some decent grub for a change.

Clint sat with his back against the door and pulled the cover back around himself. He'd try and get some rest and go hunting tonight. He smiled as he imagined the goodies he might find. This could be the best place he'd found by far, he just hoped no one else thought to try it. He didn't need the competition.