Never Learned to Accept

Notes: Thinking this ends the first arc really. Anything after this will happen after a few years.

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Bruce is both surprised and completely unsurprised when he wakes up and finds he's not alone.

They're in a shack of some kind. Maybe a barn. Whatever it used to be, it's empty now. Clint is sprawled out on his stomach. The coat spread out under him and his wings splayed out haphazardly like the rest of him. The very picture of lazy teenagers all over the world, and Bruce helplessly smiles at the bizarre image.

Two packs are lined up against the far wall. Bruce's own looks worse than it had before, and that's not very surprising. The men who had attacked him had been after its contents after all. They would have been disappointed by the clothing and food inside, but obviously they never got far enough to even open it before Hulk came out.

He's down to his last change of clothing, and will have to get more somehow. For himself and Clint.

Bruce sighs and walks over to the boy on bare feet. Clint's back moves slowly with deep and even breaths. He's stubborn and persistent. Bruce had thought leaving him with Lesley and her husband would be enough to shake the kid. To get him placed somewhere better, but Clint obviously had taken issue with that plan.

"You would have been better off there," Bruce mutters and leans down to get one hand under a wing. Straightening out the heavy appendage from an angle he knows from their time together will make Clint wake up aching. Clint mumbles a little and stirs a bit before settling back down again. Completely unconcerned that Bruce is touching him.

Not the least bit afraid to fall asleep around the Hulk.

Bruce has no right to feel as grateful for that as he does. Not after all that the Hulk has done, and not after Bruce has done his best to leave Clint behind. He doesn't have the right to feel grateful, but he does anyway.

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"You're an idiot," Clint says around a mouthful of bread. He'd woken slow and groggily, and had wasted no time at all in making his feeling on being left behind very clear. "What the hell was I supposed to do? You said it yourself, mutants aren't welcome in Mexico."

"Lesley operates as more than just a safe place," Bruce doesn't bother deflecting Clint's grumbling anger. It's not sharp and pointed like Bruce would expect, and that makes it both amusing and saddening. Clint's upset, but it's clear that he's far too used to being abandoned to take it personally anymore. "Some people don't want to stay in Mexico, and she helps move them where they won't be in as much danger. She works with an actual school in the States that takes in mutants."

"A school?" Clint's face screws up incredulously. "Really? That's the second stupidest thing I've heard today! Let's put all the muties together in one big school and see how long it takes someone to come by with a pipe bomb or two!"

"The security there is very good," Bruce has been told that often enough to know that scenario probably has happened a time or two. "And it's not that bad of an idea. They teach kids how to cope and anything else they need to know."

"So it's a school school?" Clint doesn't seem mollified as he stuffs more bread in his mouth. It's a slightly crusty roll he produced from his pack that has a little bit of sweetness to it. "Yeah, that would have been so much fun for me. I'da been running out to turn myself over to the Army after a week."

"What's wrong with learning?" Bruce asks with a chuckle. He's never objected to education, but he knows all too well how odd that had been growing up. "I spent nearly twenty years in school, and I'm still learning new things even now."

"Yeah, well you're a doctor or something. Smart guys like you can get away with liking school," Clint waves his comment away and then glares at him hard. "But you're still an idiot, and I'll do something really annoying to your pants if you try to leave me behind like that again. Hulk agrees with me and won't even stop me."

Hulk. Again, Clint speaks about him casually, and with the kind of familiarity that means there was an actual conversation. A back and forth exchange of information that didn't end in Clint being hurt. Bruce still doesn't know what to think of it. Once is coincidence, twice threw him, and three times? Three times still throws him, but Bruce is starting to wonder if maybe Clint doesn't have a better idea of the other guy than Bruce does anymore.

"Hulk agrees?" Bruce echoes and he's done with the bit of bread Clint had made a show of grudgingly handing over, but it still feels like he's chewing something hard and dried.

"Yeah, the big guy's not happy with you right now," Clint says with a grin that's too genuine to be real. His wings flare out, and he almost looks like a strutting rooster from the angle of them. Smug. "He agrees you're an idiot for leaving me behind, and promised to come find me if you do it again. So, don't try it, alright? Not sure how the big guy'd handle coming to alone again."

It's blackmail. Unintentional though, because Bruce knows that Clint's not thinking about the things Hulk would tear apart in his search. The people who would be hurt and the cities that would be destroyed. Because Bruce rather believes Clint, that the Hulk would go looking for the boy.

Bruce rubs at his eyes, at the strain that's eased slightly since he woke up, and laughs. Helplessly charmed at that thought even as he knows that this is probably one of the worst ideas he's ever agreed to. "Yeah, alright. I won't try to run again."

"Pft! Like hell you won't," Clint snorts, unconvinced as he starts repacking his bag. One eye glumly looking at his coat and the bindings laid out on it. "I know you now, Bruce. You can't help running. I'm just saying that you can't outrun me so don't try leaving me behind when you do run."

It's a simple request, but the insight in it hits Bruce hard enough that he doesn't have a single word to say for a good while.

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They work their way south steadily. Walking when they have to, hitching rides when they can. Bruce does consultations and minor checkups when he can in exchange for food and some money. Clint proves himself able to work a wide variety of labor intensive jobs with no or little complaints.

"I've been working a circus since I was ten," Clint admits with the smug smile that Bruce's still not sure he should trust. There's enough of an oily salesman in it for Bruce to take what the boy says while wearing it with a hefty grain of salt.

"I was the star attraction in the last one, the Amazing Hawkeye!" Clint does a complicated and showy looking flourish with the pitchfork. Simultaneously tossing more hay down and making the loft look like a stage until he overbalances and his wings flap awkwardly to right him. His smile slips a bit as he goes back to the slow and economic moves he'd been using before. "Anyway, yeah, I can shoot a bull's-eye from any distance and with any obstacle, but a circus still needs work to run right. Pitching tents and pulling up stakes aren't easy. I'm used to it, is all."

There's enough grace in that bow before the weight of Clint's wings dragged him down to make Bruce think there' might be some truth to the statement this time. Maybe.

"You shoot?" Bruce picks out some more hay to toss down to the cart below. A little more and they'll take it all out to feed the cattle. About three more loads and they'll have earned the meal and night in the loft promised them.

"Bow and arrow," Clint says and there's enough pride in the odd statement that Bruce decides to believe him. A bow isn't something Bruce would think anyone should be proud of being able to use. A traveling circus would also explain a lot about the boy. "I can shoot guns too, throw knives. The usual kind of stuff, but the bow is what I'm best at."

He's not sure what the 'usual stuff' should entail, but doesn't ask.

"That might actually be useful," Bruce remarks and rolls a still compacted cube towards the edge. Wildlife is scarce where they are right now, but the further they travel the lusher the vegetation will get. Being able to catch something when between places will make things much easier. "I'm reasonably good at cooking small game."

"You want me to hunt?" Clint asks. A little startled and it's clear the boy's never thought about that before. His expression eases a bit into thoughtfulness though. Maybe at the thought of food, because he's a growing boy and food will always be a top priority to him. "Yeah, I can do that. Might take me a bit to relearn a few things though."

Clint shrugs and the wings flap, batting against Bruce in a way that he knows is deliberate. He's been forcing Clint to spend time every night working with the wings. Taking any time possible to stretch them and the scars on his back. Building up the muscle there and learning to control them. The effects are obvious, and Bruce has been impressed with the rate that Clint is learning to adjust.

"We'll keep an eye out," Bruce promises, because a bow and set of arrows isn't exactly something that'll be easy to come by. It'll be worth it though in the end. Bruce tosses more hay down and lets the pitchfork fall with it to land in the full cart. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Clint sighs and tosses his down as well before going to shrug on the coat. Not bothering with the shirt at all before swinging out to climb down the ladder. "This dinner better be worth all this work though."

"It is," Bruce promises because it always is. Even when it's not enough to completely silence the grumbling in Clint's stomach. Any meal they can earn gets them further south and away from the danger that Bruce knows is following them.

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Clint's life comes out in bits and pieces. A line here, an amusing story there. All little things that don't tell a whole lot until Bruce starts to piece them together into one coherent story.

"I don't like drinking," Clint says one day after an unwary drink of tequila had sent him sputtering and hacking much to the delight of the other men they're working with that day. "The old man drank enough for the whole family."

There's a hunch to his shoulders and a look in his eyes that Bruce knows well enough that he has to walk away for a bit. Breathe slowly and evenly until he can go back to the ribbing Clint's taking over not being able to handle the drink without turning green.

"They passed away," Clint explains to a kindly woman dishing more than the fair share of food on Clint's plate at another place. His words are a little confused, but the boy has picked up on the language fast. "Wrapped their truck around a tree."

Clint can fake sorrow like nothing else, but Bruce can tell when an act is being put on. It wins the woman over and leaves Bruce wondering how long after that accident Clint had run to a circus.

"My brother had crazy ideas like that," Clint says on another day. Eyes narrowed and unhappy as they pretend not to listen to the two brothers inside the cab of the truck they're riding -who clearly don't think their Spanish is that good- argue about selling them to someone. Bruce estimates they can get a good thirty miles more out of the ride before he has to consider the downsides of losing control on them. "Get rich quick, and damn whoever else got hurt in the process. Nearly got my ass handed to me a few times for that."

That Clint is good at jumping off a moving vehicle is a benefit of those plans no doubt. So are the lock picking, and the casual way Clint can lift things out of people's pockets.

"Barney wanted to do bigger things," Clint says one night when Bruce gets up to wander in the dark. Eyes up on the moonless night and thoughts turning to how very easy it would be to slip away before the boy woke. "Bigger than a little brother hanging around would allow. I got pretty good at chasing him down."

Clint walks with him on soundless feet, and doesn't look accusing or angry. Only patient because he expects this. Has grown up with it seemingly. Clint just looks up at the dark sky with a thoughtful look. "I'll bet he thinks he finally managed it this time."

They're little things. Insights into a life that don't mean much by themselves, but mean everything when placed side by side.

"Maybe you should surprise him one day," Bruce offers because he can't not try. He knows the answer already and doesn't need the glare he gets to drive the point home.

"Hell no. He'd never-" the wings rustle loudly in the night. The way they do when Clint's thinking about them and about how they've ruined his life. When his thoughts turn especially dark. Clint sighs and cracks his neck before turning back to the shack they're sleeping in. "Forget it. I gotta stick around and watch out for you anyway. You sure as hell aren't doing it yourself."

Bruce is putting together Clint's story in bits and pieces. He wonders what kind of story Clint is putting together of him in turn.

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Bruce finds his way to a small university eventually. A privately funded one filled with young people looking to learn all they can from the too old equipment in the labs. Bruce walks into one with a smile as all eyes turn his way. He starts talking before questions can be asked and it's not long before he's surrounded by bright-eyed students avidly taking in every word he says as he walks them through the steps of using the dusty machine he needs.

They really honestly want to learn and Bruce regrets that he can't stick around a few days to actually teach them some of the things he knows. He does his best with the time he's allotting himself as he runs the blood samples he took from Clint through just about every test he can manage with the equipment. The students are so absorbed with learning how to actually use them that it's easy to pass off the results he's getting as normal.

Odds are they won't ever have the need to analyze blood and DNA in their lives, and if they do Bruce is sure they'll get a better lecture than what he's giving them now. It's enough to assuage some of the guilt as he folds up all his results and destroys every sample he used. He smiles his way out of the place as easily as he got in.

Clint's still in the small room they paid money for as they wait for the ship that's promised to take them to El Salvador or even Nicaragua if they're lucky. He looks up quickly when Bruce comes in, and his wings fluff up. The left one quivering a bit with restrained nerves that don't show at all on Clint's face. Bruce is silently amused by the disparity of his poker face with the way he hasn't quite mastered his new appendages and all their tells.

"So, what's the prognosis, doc? Are my dreams of having an even dozen squealing brats shot?" Clint's grin is meant as a joke but the ways his wings twitch scream how anxious he is.

"Hm, I'm afraid it's much worse than that, Clint," Bruce takes his time to settle down onto the other cot in the room. Folding himself into a cross-legged seat and flipping through the printed results for a minute until the feathers on Clint's wings start to ruffle out and his eyes narrow with impatience. "I'm afraid you're more than capable of being sued for child support from at least a dozen women."

"Oh, haha. The doc has jokes," Clint rolls his eyes and the feathers seem to bristle even more. Sticking out in a crazy pattern. Like a bird puffing itself up to appear bigger and more threatening. The comparison is apt and makes Bruce smile a little. "Come on Bruce! What's really up? I didn't get all that blood sucked out of me for nothing did I?"

"It's never for nothing," Bruce stacks the papers on his knees and mulls the results over. There's still a lot he doesn't know, and quite a bit he's guessing at. But it's probably the best they're going to be capable of for a while. "You've got a radiation signature. Not like I do, but enough that you really should be sick and dying from it."

"I feel fine though!" Clint immediately protests. Like Bruce has said something that will happen to him.

"Yes, and that's part of the serum they gave you. A side effect that goes with those wings," Clint's immune system is crazy, and it's been long enough since they escaped for the wounds on his back to be completely healed. There's no reason for it to being going so strongly still. Even the radiation it's countering can't account for it. "There are people in the world who have enhanced healing. I've heard there's a man capable of regenerating his hand seconds after its been cut off, and can't die no matter what is done to him. You're certainly not on that end of the spectrum, but your body is healing much faster than any normal person's should."

Clint grimaces at the phrase 'normal person.' Still not over the fact that it can no longer apply to him. "Alright, but what about the wings?"

"They're part of your body, Clint," Bruce says. Gently because he can't help it when those wings go stiff and Clint's face gets blank. "They're already fully grown, and your body has accepted them. They're not going to be something you can just get rid of."

The blood samples Bruce had extracted solely from the wings were off the charts in just about everything. Clint might not be able to get a hand back, but Bruce has a hunch that the wings will come back if the boy tries something drastic. A fear that Bruce can see play out in the blank face before him as Clint seems to hunch over himself.

"You can't fly," Bruce continues to state what he's known from only physical examinations to give the boy some time to adjust. "Your bones aren't hollow and the wings aren't big enough to lift your mass. You could probably glide if you wanted to, but I wouldn't recommend giving me a heart attack so soon. I'm only in my thirties."

It gets a weak smile from Clint before the blank look wavers, and Bruce is looking back at the cocky kid he's been traveling with. "I'll save it for the big guy then, bet he'd love to see that. So, is that it? I don't bruise so easily anymore, and I'm always going to have to wear that damn coat? I was expecting worse when you started scanning me with that counter thing."

"Geiger counter," Bruce corrects and rolls the papers up to stuff into his pack. He'll keep them for a while, until he's got the readings memorized. Then he'll destroy it like he destroyed the blood samples. "It might not be all, but it's all I've been able to see so far."

It's good news. As good as it can get when Clint has essentially been turned into something he was never meant to be. Branded with gamma rays, and damned by association to Bruce. "On the bright side, I'm reasonably sure you won't pass anything on to any future little Bartons."

"I was joking. I'm not ever having kids," Clint announces with an eye roll, like all young people do. Amazed at the stupidity Bruce is displaying in insinuating Clint's future might include a few babies. Clint stretches back out on the cot and puts his face in his crossed arms so his voice comes out muffled. "Wake me up when it's time to go be fishermen."

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Clint takes to the boat with the same minor difficulty he has when he can't take his coat off. The captain doesn't ask him to either. In fact, the man doesn't ask any questions period.

It's money well spent. Or will be just as soon as the man proves he's not taking everything they have just to sell them out, or try to drop them in the sea later. Always a risk in these ventures. Though Bruce is more worried at how Clint will handle Hulk punching a hole in the boat than for his own safety now.

Funny thing. Bruce has spent so much time worried about what the Hulk will do to the world in general that having one specific point -one person- to focus that worry on feels odd. The fact that Clint seems to be the one person in the world who doesn't have anything to fear does not actually do much to ease the worry.

"So, what's the plan when we land?" Clint asks during a short break. They both stink of fish from the traps they've been pulling up and putting back down. A smell that Bruce has thankfully gotten used to as the hold of the boat fills with fish.

"The same as we've been doing," Bruce nods back to the frothy water left in the wake of the boat. "We keep going south. Until we finds someplace where there's a lot of people who don't look anyone in the face."

Because small places are close knit, and word spreads in those places. There's nowhere to hide there at all. Bruce has learned that it's easiest to hide where there's too many people. Where people go missing all the time and no one cares.

Clint's not convinced going by his grimace, but he doesn't say anything against it directly. "Man, how many languages am I going to have to learn?"

"As many as you need to," Bruce smiles at the little groan that gets him, and wonders if he shouldn't also start thinking about other things that Clint should be taught. Just because he's lived in a circus doesn't mean he hasn't had some education, or that he shouldn't continue to receive it.

It's an oddly warming thought. Bruce hasn't taught anything in a long time. Well before the accident that changed him. It used to be something he enjoyed. Maybe, Bruce watches Clint walk to the side of the boat nearing the next trap, it's something he might get the chance at again.

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