A/N: The sequel is here! Two years after Sparrow finished. On its eighth version. I'm not very good at this.

Big special thanks to winter-is-ending and puffandproud on tumblr for giving this a read through and catching my spelling errors and such, I don't know where I'd be without you. And if any of you readers want to come hang out on tumblr, hit me up at sparrow-fic or herebesparrows.

Please remember to leave a review (the sole thing that keeps me going) and follow/favourite if you're enjoying! :)

Coming Home

The sound of a dog barking was what brought Imogen to consciousness.

Cracking an eye open, she glared at Lucky from where she lay curled up on the couch, silently vowing to kick him out every night from now on. He'd had his chance; never again was she being woken up at some random hour of the night by Clint's crazy dog.

What time was it, she wondered, groaning and forcing herself to sit up. It was still dark outside, the only light in the apartment coming from the TV, which was still playing the 24-hour news channel she'd fallen asleep to. She'd been watching the fall-out from the Avengers battle in Sokovia. They were still talking about it, even though the only live footage they had to show was a big, smoking crater in the middle of a crumbling city. The Avengers had left before she'd fallen asleep, high-tailing it back to America before another crazy robot could climb out of the rubble and try to kill them, and the Stark Relief Foundation had yet to set up any kind of visible camp for the media to stalk and spy on.

At the window, Lucky whined again, tail sweeping the floor. Sighing, Imogen pulled herself up off the couch and went to the window to see what his problem was. The street outside was deserted, one of the streetlights flickering intermittently as it had been for the past few weeks. No one was coming to fix it, not without Clint to bully them into it. Her eyes turned briefly to the sky and half asleep as she was, she almost turned away before doing a double-take.

You couldn't see much from her apartment but, being on the highest floor, you could just see the top of some of the skyscrapers in Manhattan. Including Avengers Tower. Where two bright lights were currently lowering themselves from the sky.

Not particularly stealthy for the Avengers, but it was three AM and they had just saved the world, so she could give them a pass. Besides, she wasn't going to complain about anything that let her know they were back.

Suddenly she was wide awake. "Good dog," she mumbled to Lucky, patting him on her way past. "Please don't start barking at every plane that flies over the city." He barked once more, just to spite her. She ignored him in favour of searching for her jacket, which it turned out had disappeared into the pile of clothes on her bed upstairs. Lucky was at the door before she could even put the jacket on, keys to the car that Clint had convinced Stark to loan to her in his mouth. "You think you're coming?" she asked him as she dressed.

His head tipped to the side.

"Give me the keys," she sighed in defeat. He dropped them at her feet, and she took the liberty of back-tracking to rinse them off in the sink. She was pretty sure Lucky chased rats and mice in his spare time, like his own brand of vigilantism. Gross.

The lights were on in the apartments right next to hers, she noticed as she crept down the hallway. She felt a little bit guilty about that, because the only reason they would be up at this time of night is Lucky's barking. Maybe she'd ask Clint to give his dog a dressing down about barking in the middle of the night, now that he was back. She only walked and breathed easily once she was downstairs, where everything was quiet and dark. At least he hadn't woken everyone in the building.

Outside was freezing, as you would expect of New York in the middle of Autumn. Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter and hurried to her car. Lucky, ever the opportunist, was in before she was, slumped in the passenger's seat like he was the one who'd been rudely awoken, not the other way around. Imogen rolled her eyes and climbed in, turning the heaters up as high as they could go. Thank god for Tony Stark's mindless generosity. The subway would have been a long, cold ride, and who knows what kind of creeps hung out down there at this time of the morning.

It was an easy drive to the Tower, the streets more or less deserted except for the ever-busy thoroughfares. Three AM was a terrible time to be awake, but a great time to go driving. She didn't even have to struggle to park right by the Tower. Park Avenue was just as cold as Brooklyn, she discovered upon getting out, closely followed by the dog, and had the added perk of a stiff wind blowing straight down it. She shoved her hands in her pockets and just about ran around to the back entrance Clint always told her to use in an emergency.

It looked like a heavy-duty door, sans locks or keypads or anything save a handle and the tiny eye of a camera above it. To her surprise, she met no resistance when she shoved it open, nor when she stepped into the small hallway beyond.

"Good morning, Miss Haylock," a disembodied Irish voice that wasn't JARVIS greeted her, echoing in the small space. She jumped and turned towards the ceiling, even though she already knew there would be nothing there. At the end of the hall, an elevator slid open.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked the walls, walking towards the elevator.

"My name is FRIDAY," the definitely feminine AI introduced herself.

"What happened to JARVIS?"

"That information is classified." Imogen huffed a sigh and ran a hand over her face. She was way too tired for this.

"Are you Tony Stark's?" she asked, just to make sure HYDRA hadn't killed JARVIS or something.

"I am a program created by Tony Stark, yes."

Good enough, Imogen decided, and stepped into the elevator.

"Where would you like to go, Miss Haylock?" FRIDAY asked.

"Wherever Clint Barton is," she replied, leaning against the wall. One of the floor numbers lit up of its own accord and the elevator began its smooth ascent, gentle music piping through a speaker in the roof as it went. Of course Tony Stark would have elevator music.

"Clint Barton is in the medical wing to your left," FRIDAY informed her as the elevator dinged and opened. It occurred to Imogen suddenly that Clint could be injured. Probably was injured, if he was still anywhere near Medical this long after the battle had ended. Usually he was out of there as soon as humanly possible.

And the news had been speculating about an Avenger casualty, she remembered with a sinking feeling. She'd ignored it before, because they had no evidence at all bar one shaken eye-witness, who claimed to see a body among the refugees SHIELD had picked up in a spectacular display of heroism involving and out of date helicarrier.

"Miss Haylock?" FRIDAY prompted, and with a start she realised she was still standing in the elevator like an idiot.

"Uh…thanks, FRIDAY," she forced out, getting out of the elevator.

"You're welcome," the accented voice replied, and closed the elevator behind her.

Almost afraid of what she might find, Imogen forced herself to follow the hall until she found a set of glass door leading into a very hospital-like area that she hadn't seen before.

She almost ran into Natasha on her way in, the spy stopping her with a hand on her shoulder just before she could. "Imogen?" she said and she looked and sounded exhausted, like she hadn't slept in a week. The shadows under her eyes told stories on their own. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Clint," Imogen replied, shrugging off her hand. "His dumb dog is psychic or something. Woke me up when you guys got back."

Natasha's eyes narrowed like she didn't believe her story, but she was too tired to argue. "He's that way," she said, gesturing behind her. "Across the hall."

"Is he-?"

"He's fine," Natasha interrupted her. "It's a long story. I'm sure he'll be happy to tell you all about it." She was very abrupt. Imogen caught her underlying message and got out of her way, watching her leave through the same doors she'd just entered. Then she wound her way through the medical staff, expertly avoiding the doctors and nurses rushing back and forth across the room, and found the hallway Nat was talking about.

It was easy then to find Clint, who wasn't in a hospital bed, to her relief, but sitting next to one, staring at the wall with an intensity she didn't often see from him. A girl was curled up in the chair next to him, fast asleep. She was completely unfamiliar, and young for an Avenger or SHIELD agent or whatever it was that got her access to the upper level sof the Tower.

There was a boy in the bed next to them, young like the girl, and deathly pale. The two strangers were brother and sister, she guessed; they looked similar, despite her vintage goth style of clothing and his shock of silver hair.

After a moment, Imogen knocked on the door, startling Clint out of his stupor and almost waking the girl. The boy didn't stir. "Imogen?" the archer said in a low voice, staring at her in disbelief.

"The one and only," she said dryly, letting Lucky in and then shutting the door. Clint held a finger to his lips, glancing pointedly at the girl next to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, leaning down to pat the dog. "What time is it?"

"You don't want to know how early it is," she replied, quieter this time. She followed the dog across the room. "Your dog started barking right when you guys got back to New York and woke up half the building, so I figured I'd make my escape before Simone came over to chew me out about it." Simone, single mother and pie-making extraordinaire, lived right across the hallway and practically ran the building when Clint was away. She was also basically a living complaints box for the building; Imogen was pretty sure the local mafia had given up on the building not because of Hawkeye's reputation but because they were scared of Simone.

"Pretty rude to your tenants to let a dog bark at all hours of the morning," Clint quipped with a grin.

"It's your building," she pointed out. "And your dog. He won't even listen to me. He just does whatever he wants."

"Lucky doesn't listen to anyone," Clint said affectionately, giving the dog a scratch. Lucky looked way too happy with himself.

"Only because you spoil him," she pointed out.

"I do not."

"Have you taught him anything except how to steal pizza out of a box?"

"Yes," he said unhappily. "He sits too. Lucky, sit." Clint looked at the dog expectantly. The dog stared back, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

"Impressive," Imogen said smugly.

"Aw, dog, no," Clint muttered and slumped back in his chair.

"So what are you doing in here?" she asked, looking around the sterile white room. "I thought you hated everything to do with hospitals."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Don't worry kid, I'd rather be anywhere but here. Promised Wanda I'd stay though." He pointed to the girl, who was still sleeping. "And this punk-" He gestured to the boy next, "-sort of saved my life, so."

"Sokovia was fun, then." It was supposed to be a joke, but her voice fell flat.

"Fun is not the word I would use," Clint mumbled.

"Want to tell me about it?"

He yawned. "Maybe tomorrow. When I'm sure I'm actually alive."

"You look pretty alive to me," she assured him.

He smiled. "Wish I was as convinced as you are."

Imogen pulled a face. "Will you at least tell me who these two are?" she pressed. "If I'm going to be replaced, I at least want to know who by."

"No one's replacing you," Clint replied. "They're new Avengers…if they still want to be when they wake up."

Imgoen cast a dubious look at the boy, who was a little too pale and still for her liking. There were a lot of machines by his bed too, more than you'd expect for someone who was just sleeping it off. "Is he going to wake up?" she asked pointedly.

"Pietro?" Clint hesitated.

"He will wake." Behind Clint, the girl opened her eyes. Imogen could swear she saw a hint of red flash through them.

"The doctor's think he's got a healing factor," Clint explained. "They're guessing that's why he's even still alive." He shot a glance at Wanda, who met his eyes and then turned her sharp gaze on Imogen in turn.

"Who is this?" she asked in a heavily accented voice.

"This is my friend Imogen," Clint answered. "Imogen, this is Wanda."

"You are an Avenger?" Wanda said before Imogen could say anything.

"No," Imogen hurried to correct her. "I just do some training with Clint and hang around and stuff."

"Imogen hasn't decided what she wants to do yet," Clint threw in unhelpfully.

She ignored him. "Are you an Avenger?"

Wanda hesitated, her eyes flicking to her brother and back again. "Yes," she said finally. "I think so. I want to be."

"You are," Clint told her firmly. Imogen was pretty sure this wasn't a new topic of conversation for them. Wanda graced him with a smile but did not reply, instead turning back to her brother.

Clint's attention moved back to Imogen. "You look tired," he observed.

"Not as tired as you," she shot back immediately.

"I've got a reason to be up this late. You're just irresponsible."

"I can do what I want."

He sighed. "Go and sleep, Imogen. I'll meet you upstairs later."

She considered staying a little longer, just to spite him, but the thought of crashing out in one of the Tower's guest rooms was just too inviting. "Fine," she acquiesced. "But you better tell me the whole story. The media don't know anything."

"I will," he promised. Satisfied, she nodded and left him to it, shooting one last glance at the injured boy next to him before she closed the door.