Chapter Text

in case one of you gets home before I get back: taking Lucky to the dog park be back soon! 
Buck do we need anything for dinner

My Sun And Stars: 🍅
My Sun And Stars: But not shitty tomatoes, the good beefsteaks from that place I like!

im confused are we talking abt steak or tomatoes

My Sun And Stars: Actually I can go myself. 
My Sun And Stars: Also, A+ communicating there ⭐️ thank you for following protocol. 

Moon Of My Life: Explosions. Gearing up. 

My Sun And Stars: Is this a Hood thing? 
My Sun And Stars: Either way I’m going to go help. 

Moon Of My Life: Not sure yet. Clint are you good? 

atthe dog park theyre all scared :(

“If it’s after school, you gotta do the secret knock: skunk-in-a-barn-yard, P-U!” 

Lucia raps her little fist on the door as she says it, and a couple seconds later, the door is yanked open a couple inches; the security chain is still in place, but Clint can make out a tiny woman with a messy purple bun and a slightly wild-eyed expression through the opening. 

“Hey, honey,” she says, voice remarkably steady; Clint can hear the strain in it, but he doubts a kid would. “Oh, wow, am I glad to see you.” 

She closes the door to unlock it and then opens it a bit wider, but Lucia doesn’t make any move to go into the classroom. She seems to want to stick with Lucky. 

“Hi, Miss Andie. This is Kint, he found me,” Lucia says. 

“Clint,” Clint says, with an awkward wave. “Technically my dog found her.”   

“Good dog,” Andie says. She glances to one side and says, “Rowan, if you want to lick something you can eat your snack.” Then she turns back to Clint, eyeing him up and down suspiciously. “Do I know you?” 

“Um. I’ll just — go,” Clint says apologetically. “Stranger danger, I know, I just —” 

“Wait, no, don’t go!” Lucia says, and steps back from the door to fling her arms around Lucky’s neck. “I want you n’Lucky to stay!” Her big brown eyes well up with tears all over again. 

“Hey, gentle hugs with the dog, okay?” Andie tells her, and Lucia gives her a pleading look before loosening her hold a fraction. 

Clint’s 90% sure that Lucky is the only reason Lucia’s not demonstrating more signs of shock, and he winces at the prospect of prying her away. Apparently Andie comes to the same conclusion. 

“Is he okay with kids?” she asks, gesturing to Lucky. 

“Oh, totally. But you don’t have to — I get it, we can get out of your hair.” 

“Let me see your hands,” she says calmly, and Clint holds them up. “I should get your information anyway, in case her mom wants to talk to you, if that’s alright. I’d love to be able to say the police will want a statement, too, but I couldn’t even get through to them when I tried. Look, I’ve lived here long enough to trust my instincts about people, but you should know, I have a mini taser in my pocket right now, and if I get even the slightest feeling that something’s not right, I will use it without a second thought.” 

“Okey dokey,” Clint says, because it seems like the only appropriate response in the face of a stun gun threat from a five-foot-nothing woman wearing a fuzzy yellow cardigan. 

Andie steps back warily to let him inside. She does in fact have one hand in the pocket of her pineapple-patterned skirt, but when Lucia finally detaches from Lucky to hug her around the legs, she drops to a crouch and wraps her arms tightly around the girl. There’s another teacher across the room who gives her a wave and a very shaky smile, too, but she’s got her arms full with a younger kid who’s starting to cry. 

“I got confused, Miss Andie,” Lucia says. “I ran the wrong way, I went through the hole in the fence, and then it was loud again, and I hid, and —” 

“You did great, sweetie,” Andie says quietly.  

There a couple overjoyed shrieks as some of the children spot Lucky. Clint’s a little overwhelmed by the wave of tiny humans that suddenly surround them; the room isn’t full by any stretch of the imagination, maybe a dozen kids total, but they’re making enough noise for easily twice that. 

“Whoa, hey,” Andie stage-whispers. “Remember how we talk to animals? Let’s use our gentle voices, please, we don’t want to scare him.” The mini mob quiets to a dull roar. Only a couple of them seem to have even noticed that Lucia had been missing, and she immediately brushes off the questions in favor of introducing her new doggie friend.  

“We just got out of lockdown mode a minute ago, they’ve got some pent-up energy,” Andie says by way of explanation. “Hey, Jules, if you need to wipe your boogers, please do it on a tissue, not the dog, okay?” She’s keeping an eye on the cluster around Lucky, but she steps back when she sees that everything is under control; she’s also rapid-fire texting. 

“Her parents?” Clint asks. “They must be freaking out.” 

“Her mom won’t even hear the bad news voicemail until she’s already seen the good news text, which is — yeah. Small favors, right?” She huffs out a relieved sigh. “She’s an ER nurse, she won’t turn her phone on until the shift’s over.” 

“No wonder the kid’s tough as shi —” Andie raises her eyebrows in a way that makes Clint feel like a preschooler. “Uh, shiitake mushrooms,” Clint finishes. Andie nods approvingly. 

“There was a shootout last week and some, ah, silly goose drove through our playground fence. We don’t have the funds to replace it right now, and I knew something like this would happen.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Welcome to Gotham.” She shakes her head, then signals for the other teacher’s attention and asks, “Sarah, you want to do you-know-what?” 

“Freeze dance!” the other teacher announces brightly. A few of the students cheer and dash after her to an open space on the other side of the room. 

“Can Lucky stay for a book?” Lucia asks hopefully. “I’ll show him the quiet reading corner!” 

“Oh, I bet he would love a book.” 

“Sure you don’t have anywhere to be?” Andie says, giving him a laser-sharp look. Clint has a feeling that if he lies, she will know and she will be severely disappointed. 

“Nah, all good. This is — I mean, kid’s been through enough today, if Lucky can help…” 

“Thank you, by the way,” Andie says, and then she leads Clint over to a messy desk and hands him a piece of paper. “I don’t think I said that. Here, write down — Quincy, Miss Sarah is not a jungle gym, please ask before you jump on her.” She barely glances in that direction, and she manages to project her voice without sounding anything other than perfectly pleasant. Clint’s impressed. “Here, write down your info. Her mom should be done pretty soon, actually. At least it’s almost the end of the day. It’s always rough when we have an — Rowan, I can see you! What did I say? — an incident in the morning, it throws off their routine.”

“Yeah, I imagine it might,” Clint says, thinking of all the wild events he’s seen since he moved here. “Kinda surprised you get anything done.”  

“You and me both.” 

He writes down his name and number while she keeps an eye on the controlled chaos around them; five or so students are still playing freeze dance, but the rest are playing in the kitchen, building with blocks, or just milling around aimlessly. One of the kids bangs a pot and a pan together loudly, and Clint winces. 

“Sorry, it’s sorta just that time of day when everybody hits a wall.” She glances down at her phone quickly. “Harper, your mom says she’s a couple minutes away, honey, could you get your shoes on and get ready to go? Simon, walking feet, please!” 

“Are they always here this late?” Clint asks. “I was wondering if it was just because of the lockdown.” 

“This is our afterschool program,” Andie explains, waving her hand at the room. “What’s left of it, anyway. Usual hours for the school are 8:30-3:30, but obviously that doesn’t work for most working parents, so we have early drop-off and late pick-up options too. Simon! Walking feet!” 

“I never thought about that,” Clint says. “Huh.”

“Yeah. But space is limited by staffing, and ever since the last aftercare teacher got jumped on her way home one night, Sarah and I are the only ones who are willing to stay. I keep petitioning for hazard pay, but — please don’t grab, Cassie! Let’s use our polite asking words.” 

“You don’t get hazard pay?” Clint asks. 

She gives him a look that clearly says, Don’t ask stupid questions, but what comes out of her mouth is, “Nobody teaches pre-k to get rich, and nobody lives in Gotham for the peace and quiet. Simon, buddy! Walking inside, not galloping, okay? Anyway, it’s a nationwide problem, really, but full-time daycare options in this city are — no thank you, Quincy! Excuse me for a second.” 

She bolts over to the other side of the room, where two kids are locked in a screaming tussle over a toy.  

In a shocking twist of events, Simon trips and eats it in spectacular fashion a couple feet away from Clint. He props himself up on chubby arms, looking down at the traitorous ground and then up at Clint like he’s expecting commiseration. 

“Let me guess, didn’t see that one coming?” Clint says. 

Simon stares at him curiously as he gets back to his feet. “What happened to your face?” 

“Oh, that? I got in a disagreement with a very angry raccoon,” Clint says, crossing his eyes to look at his bruised nose and the butterfly bandage it’s currently sporting. Simon giggles. 

“Sorry about that,” Andie says, as she comes back over. Another pair of voices start to escalate, and she sighs. “Don’t suppose you know any magic trick that’ll distract kids for a full thirty seconds while I chug the rest of my coffee?” 

She says it like it’s a rhetorical question, already heading in the direction of the bickering pair, but Clint says, “Well, it’s not magic, but I can juggle? And walk on my hands?” 

She looks at him and blinks a few times. “This is a terrible idea.” 

“I get that a lot,” Clint says amiably. 

Unknown number: Hi, this is Andie. Apologies for the wall of text, I would’ve called but I saw the hearing aids; I figured this might be easier, sorry if that was presumptuous. A few things: 

1. Thank you again for everything yesterday. 
2. Lucia’s grandmother is making you her famous tres leches cake to say thank you, she’s going to drop it off at the school tomorrow morning for me to give to you, she will be very sad if you try to turn it down so you shouldn’t do that. If you’re vegan or something, don’t worry about it, I will happily take the cake off your hands.  
3. Lucia’s mother wants me to ask if you’re single, and if so, what gender you prefer to date, and can she set you up with either her sister or her cousin depending on the answer there.  

Thing Two: J, you coming home? 

Thing One: Yeah, what’s up? 

Thing Two: I wanna have a family mtg before patrol tonight. nothing bad, good news. 

C and I are here now but no rush

 

Thing One: Of course. Be there soon.
Thing One: Anybody need anything? 

Thing Two: grande cinnamon dolce latte with extra whipped cream an extra shot and caramel drizzle :) 

🤢

Jason does a double take. “Whose blood is that,” he growls, crossing the room in two stomping paces to inspect Clint.   

“Oh my god it’s paint,” Clint says hastily. “There was a fingerpainting situation. We’re fine! We’re fine.” 

Jason runs his fingers through Clint’s hair at the temple, where it’s streaked with red, and they come away flaky. He huffs out a sigh and hands Clint his sugary coffee monstrosity. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Warn a guy.” 

“Sorry,” Clint says sheepishly. He flops down on the couch and takes a sip, letting out a happy sigh. “There’s cake in the fridge, if that helps?” 

“It absolutely does.” 

“Not just any cake, the best cake I’ve ever tasted,” Bucky adds. He sits next to Clint, who is now nursing some brainfreeze. 

Jason takes a tentative bite, makes an obscene noise of appreciation, and then cuts himself a generous slice before sitting on Clint’s other side. “So? What’s the big news?” 

“Remember how I sorta helped that kid get back to her preschool? 

“Oh, you mean when there were explosions for hours and you just stopped answering your phone? It rings a bell,” Jason says dryly. 

“Well, uh. The cake was like a thank-you present from her grandma, she dropped it off at the school for me, so I went to go pick it up, and like… all the kids remembered me, which I hadn’t expected, and they asked me to show the rest of the class some of the flips and stuff, so I did, and then I just kinda… ended up hanging out for a little while.” 

“Fingerpainting,” Bucky says, eyes crinkled at the corners with his grin. 

Clint shrugs, but he’s smiling, rubbing the back of his neck in the stupid-cute way that makes Jason feel awful mushy sappy things. 

“It was fun,” Clint says, almost defensive about it. “And then Andie told me that one of their afternoon floaters had just quit, and also they’ve been looking for an aftercare assistant for a while, and they’re super short staffed — I mean, I can see why, holy shit, she was telling me about all the Gotham crazy they have to deal with on top of preschool crazy, and — anyway. She told me I should apply for a job there.” 

“That’s awesome, sweetheart,” Bucky says. 

“Can you get paid in cake? This is amazing.” Jason takes another bite of cake and groans his appreciation. “So are you gonna do it?” 

Clint’s mouth works silently for a moment before he shrugs again. “I mean, I was thinking about getting a job anyway… and if it’s just afternoons, that’d be nice.” 

He pulls one of Bucky’s throwing knives out of the sheath that’s on the coffee table and flips it between his fingers, a sure sign he’s got something on his mind. Jason and Bucky exchange a look. 

Clint and Bucky are basically retired, aside from their nighttime gigs as Jason’s lieutenants. It’s been suiting Bucky just fine; he loves staying home and taking care of the domestic side of things, acting as their building’s handyman but also cooking and reading and basically doing all the relaxing he didn’t get to do in the last century. Clint’s been getting restless, though, and he’s been talking for a while about getting a part-time day job — he just didn’t know what he wanted to do. He had mentioned archery lessons and animal shelters, but never seemed particularly lit-up about either. 

“Do you want to work with kids?” Bucky asks gently, like he read Jason’s mind. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but… I didn’t think that was something you’d ever expressed interest in before.” 

“It’s not something I’d ever even thought about,” Clint says hesitantly. “Never really spent much time around kids; I didn’t figure I’d be any good at it, but, I dunno, Andie says I’m a natural.” 

His smile is shy, a little self-conscious like he’s afraid to admit it, and Jason gives in to the urge to lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth. He says, “Of course you are.” 

“It was fun,” Clint repeats. “And it just felt really… really good, I guess? Being able to sort of just play for a little while, and —” He frowns, clearly searching for the right words, and twirls the knife over his knuckles. “A kid broke Andie’s coffee mug, like elbowed it off the desk accidentally, and it went everywhere, and Tommy started to cry, and the first thing she said was, ‘Is your body hurt?’ Like, without even raising her voice. And when he said no, she said, ‘Okay, why don’t I get the broken pieces and then you can help me clean up the spill.’ And that was it.” 

He trails off, blinking rapidly, and sets the knife down before burrowing into Bucky’s side. 

“Oh, baby,” Bucky says softly, and runs his fingers through Clint’s hair. 

“My therapist and I had a whole long talk, a while ago, about how it’s never too late to heal your inner child,” Clint mumbles, turning into the touch and kissing Bucky’s palm. “I had no fuckin’ idea what she was talking about. But I think — yeah.” 

“I think you’ll be a fuckin’ amazing teacher,” Jason tells him. 

Clint smiles and then says, “Hey, have you heard anything about the Sunrise School? Y’know, crime-wise.” 

“I mean, no, but daycare isn’t generally the epicenter of the criminal underworld.” 

“Think you should go check it out. Sounds like they’ve had a rough time of it; safety issues, teachers getting mugged on their way out at night… I mean, that kid I found, she literally just ran off the playground when she heard the first bomb because there’s a big-ass hole in the fence — it’s right on the edge of that disputed turf you just took over and they’ve been getting caught in the crossfire.” 

“Yeah, not on my fuckin’ watch,” Jason says. “I’ll go talk to ‘em at some point. Kids around here got enough to worry about. You guys ready to be gay and do crime?” 

Clint says, “Not exactly gay though. Be bi and intimidate bad guys?” 

“Be pan and make nefarious plans?” Jason counters. 

“Be queer and inspire fear?” Bucky says. 

Jason shrugs. “Whatever. Crime!”  

“Let me make sandwiches first, can’t do crime on an empty stomach,” Bucky says. 

so I think I am going to apply 

Andie: Great!!!! When you finish with the application, come by and drop it and your resume off in person, I’ll introduce you to the program director.

about the application… what’s the background check? 

Andie: It’s pretty straightforward, but there’s a national fingerprint check and a state-wide registry search, will that be a problem? 

thats… sort of a good question?

Andie: If you have a record, just tell me now. Obviously anything related to children is a no-go, but there are certain issues we can get around with some extra paperwork.  
Andie: Don’t worry, you’re not going to shock me. It’s Gotham, I’ve seen everything. 

the thing is I dont exactly have fingerprints. 

Andie: Huh. 
Andie: I stand corrected. 

Clint tosses the list down in front of Bucky. “This is hopeless. I’m hopeless. There’s no way this is going to – ” 

“You’re not hopeless.” Jason points the spatula at him, a bit of tomato sauce flying to interrupt Clint mid-sentence, right as Bucky says, “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”  

Sighing, Clint drops into a chair, head resting resignedly on his palm. “I’m filling out the job application,” he says, and waits patiently for both of them to think it through. He sees the lightbulbs go off and nods emphatically. “My career highlights include learning how to pick pockets at age eight and going Dark Side to help an emo demigod incite intergalactic mayhem.” 

Jason leans down to wipe a speck of sauce off Clint’s cheek. “That ain’t so bad. Imagine writing my resume. Highlights: Removed all of the Batmobile’s tires, decapitated eight mob bosses in one night. Yeah, I win.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Pal, do I need to bring up 1963?” 

“Goddamnit, you can’t pull out JFK every time.” 

“I dunno, I think JFK is a trump card if there ever was one.”

“I’m serious,” Clint whines. “This isn’t going to work.” He extends a single finger, pushing the list closer to Bucky. “Look at my resume.” 

Bucky frowns at him and picks up the list. “No,” he says after a few seconds, “we can make this work.” 

“You think?” 

“Definitely.” 

Jason circles around the table, leaning forward over Bucky’s shoulder. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Yeah babe, let the octogenarian and wannabe lit major take over. We’ll have you all country club ready in no time.” 

And that’s all good and fine and dandy, he does trust them for that, but, “Even if you can get my resume looking decent, do you know what I need now that I’ve never fucking needed before in my life?” 

“Fingerprints?” 

“Besides that.” At their collective shrug, Clint leans back in the chair. “References.” 

“Yeah, nope, I’ve never needed those either,” Jason says, returning to the stove. “Guess our work tends to speak for itself.” 

Clint groans. “Andie said I could just get someone I work with now as a reference, but somehow I’m thinking that listing my crime lord boyfriend and one of his co-lieutenants isn’t really going to fly.” 

“Notorious Brainwashed Killer and Legally Dead Wayne Adoptee might look a little suspicious,” Bucky muses. 

Jason snorts. “And god love ‘em, they’re good guys, but hell knows I wouldn’t trust any of the crew to say the kind of things about you that a school board would wanna hear.”

“They’d say good things!” Clint objects, offended. “They like me!” 

“Good things, sure,” Bucky chuckles. “Like how great a shot you are.”  

“Or how you’re excellent at breaking and entering.” 

“Totally good around blood and other body fluids, stomach of steel.” 

“Once he made a grown man piss himself by whispering how he planned to torture him. Nobody knows what he actually said, but hot damn was that impressive.” 

“Okay, okay, I see your point!” Clint gives a wry laugh, then exhales explosively. “So then, what, I call up one of the Avengers? It’s not like I can call up anyone at SHIELD, may they rest in motherfucking pieces.” 

“Amen,” Jason says, touching the spatula to his forehead, his sternum, and the left side of his chest before miming slicing his own throat. 

Bucky gives an inelegant snort. 

“Good one,” Clint says, “but I liked the noose version better.”  

“It’s a work in progress.” Jason does a half bow, then says, “But yeah, one of your Avengers. People seem to like ‘em.” 

“One could argue that superheroes are more appealing than vigilante crime lords,” Bucky admits.

Bolstered, Clint leans forward. “Okay, yeah, yeah I can use one of them. But lots of people don’t like Natasha –”

“Yeah, us ex-KGB assassins really get a bad rap,” Bucky says, eyes glimmering. “I can’t imagine.” 

“And Tony isn’t exactly a safe bet, the abrasive asshole.”

Jason snorts. “Remind me to tell you about the time he pissed off the whole-ass Justice League by hacking into the Watchtower. Fuckin’ A, I’m so glad we had cameras in there so we got to catch Supes’ meltdown. Nothing quite like a bunch of puffed-up self-righteous superheroes yelling at each other.” 

Across the table, Bucky looks like he already knows what the logical answer is. 

Clint grimaces apologetically. 

“So that means –” Jason turns around from the stove at their continued silence. “What? What’s wrong?” 

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, speaking of people Tony has pissed off… I mean, I guess I had to tell Stevie sometime.” 

“What’s the problem?” Jason asks. “You don’t have to get involved, it can just be between Steve and Clint.” 

“Yeah, but there’s zero chance of him being contacted by a fuckin’ New Jersey preschool and then not immediately calling Clint to ask what the fuck he’s doing in New Jersey.” 

“He’s gonna have questions,” Clint says grimly. 

“So don’t answer them,” Jason says, in the same patient tone one of the preschoolers used to remind Clint that dogs aren’t the same as cats. “Is he gonna fuckin’ waterboard you or some shit?” 

“I can’t lie to him,” Clint says, making a face. 

“Bullshit, you’re a great liar,” Jason says encouragingly. 

“Aw, thanks, babe.” Clint blows him a kiss. “No, it’s just… Captain America, you know? If it was anybody else, I’d lie through my teeth and not even think twice, but. I can’t.” 

“So what, you’re gonna get all hung up on his opinion just because he’s your mentor and he’s got a fancy outfit?” Jason says, voice dripping sarcasm. Clint and Bucky both turn to him in unison, Office-style, and a beat later Jason says, “Yeah, fuck off, point taken.” 

“It’s a Steve thing,” Bucky explains. “You’ll get it when you meet him, he’s just — he gets all earnest and makes a face like a kicked puppy.” 

“You wanna do the right thing when he’s around,” Clint agrees. “It’s like how Ivy gives off pheromones, except instead of a sexy thing he infects you with the urge to rage against the machine and protect the downtrodden.” 

“I already have those,” Jason says. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and puts his whole palm over Jason’s face to give him a gentle push. Jason licks his palm, and Bucky wipes it down Jason’s shirt before saying, “Anyway, it should come from me. I know I need to tell him at some point, and… now’s as good a time as any, right?” 

“Okay, so, Captain America as a reference, that solves one problem,” Jason says. “Doesn’t help with the fact that you burned your fingerprints off with acid because your best friend thought it was a good idea. Didn’t anybody ever teach you about peer pressure?” 

“You haven’t met Nat,” Clint says. “Coal into diamonds with one look, I swear.” 

hey so quick question 
if i needed to pass a background check 
would that… happen?

Natty Ice: Federal? State? Purpose? 

to work at a preschool 

Natty Ice: I have follow-up questions. 

Hey, can we do a video call soon? Wanted to catch up. 

Captain Dumbass: Of course, Buck! 
Captain Dumbass: This weekend? 
Captain Dumbass: Just let me know, I’ll make time. 
Captain Dumbass: Love you. Can’t wait to talk to you. 

👍🏻

Andie is breaking up an argument in the mud kitchen when Clint arrives, looking weirdly shy and slightly less scruffy than usual. 

Lucia notices him and screams, “Kint!” She leads the charge, and Clint’s swarmed in seconds, kids asking about Lucky and requesting tricks. 

Quincy is escalating quickly, throwing himself on the ground and trying to kick her, so Andie tells him, “Okay, buddy, this isn’t safe, so I’m going to pick you up and move you somewhere safe until you’re ready to control your body.” She scoops him up, ignoring the tiny flailing fist that almost catches her nose before she can get Quincy's arms under control, and on her way inside, catches Clint’s eye to gesture and mouth, “Five minutes.” 

She takes Quincy inside and sits with him quietly while he thrashes around in the reading corner and then cries it out. Poor kid’s been having a hell of a week, with his parents separating, and he’s had more meltdowns in the last ten days than in the previous year put together. More eager for cuddles, too; he’s not usually one of the huggers. 

When they’re done talking it through, she carries him back outside, letting him cling koala-style and wipe his nose on her shoulder. It seems like the crowd around Clint has died down a little bit, and he seems to be having a blast, juggling a few bouncy balls while Sarah looks on skeptically. He’s got a way with them, gentle and genuine in a way that no amount of education or training can really teach, and she can tell he’ll fit right in. 

Andie sets Quincy down and crouches in front of him to ask, “One more hug?” He nods, so she gives him a careful squeeze and a kiss on the top of the head. Then she says, “Wanna go ask Simon if there’s anything you can do to help him feel better? Kind words this time, right?” 

Quincy goes running off, and Andie looks down somewhat ruefully at the patch of snot and tears left on the shoulder of her hot pink cardigan before standing up. 

“Chia pet, I’m gonna have to borrow Mr. Clint,” she says. “He’ll come out to say bye when we’re done, okay?” 

Lucia tackles Clint around the kneecaps and says, “Love you!” before running toward the swings, and Clint stares bemusedly after her, looking surprised. 

“Lucia’s a hugger,” she says casually. 

“A frickin’ limpet,” Clint confirms. “Yeah, I can tell.” 

“If you ever need space, it’s okay to tell them that. I ask, unless I know it’s one of those kids who always wants a hug. Bodily autonomy is important.” 

“It’s not that,” Clint says. 

“Be back in fifteen,” Andie tells Sarah and the other aide, and leads Clint into the classroom. 

He’s got a funny expression on his face, maybe a little bit nervous, definitely a little bit uncomfortable, so she pauses. 

“Give me a second to clean up after Hurricane Quincy,” she says, gesturing around at the mess. 

“How’d you get him to calm down so quickly?” Clint asks. “Seems like he was on a rampage.” He kneels beside her, accepts the copy of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom she hands him, putting it back on top of the shelf. 

“He just needed a little extra TLC,” she says, and then studies his face for a moment, wondering if she should let it be. But he should know what he’s in for. “I tell the kids I love them at least once a day, but he needed to hear it even more than usual today.”

“Oh.”  

“Some of them are sort of in the habit of saying it, too. Don’t feel any pressure to say it back.” 

Clint looks surprised, which makes her think she hit the nail on the head. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and says, “Just sorta surprised me. I barely know the kid.” 

“I think grownups get hung up on that sometimes,” she says. “The idea that love is something you save for special occasions, or special people, or… only when somebody earns it.” 

Clint fidgets with the shoelace of his purple Converse, visibly uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact. 

“It’s the first thing I say when somebody’s upset, or lashing out,” she says. “Like with Quincy just now. That’s always the first thing I remind them of. ‘I see that you’re upset, I still love you, and I’ll be right here when you’re ready to talk.’ Honestly, a lot of the time, that’s enough.”

“Even when they’re —” He gestures helplessly. “Y’know, not being… good?”  

“Especially then.”  

“But he was hitting you,” Clint says bluntly, frowning. 

“Oh, we’ll talk about it,” she assures. “Believe me, physical violence isn’t okay here. But that’s a whole other conversation, once he’s calmed down enough to hear it. And I think there are a lot of conversations that would be a whole lot easier if everybody started with the baseline understanding of unconditional love. Right?” 

Clint’s caught off-guard by that. He mulls it over for a moment before saying, “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Kids are doing the best they can with what they’ve got, as they develop,” she says, and tries to figure out the simplest way to explain without going too deep into the developmental psychology tangent. “Every behavior is a response to an unmet need. There are no bad kids, no good kids, just kids who are responding to the world around them in whatever way they’re capable of. And one of the first needs that develops is love. Knowing that there’s a caregiver out there who will come when you call, every single time — knowing that you can trust them to be consistently gentle, no matter what the circumstances — that shapes your fundamental understanding of the world around you, and so it shapes the way you behave, too.” 

Clint’s eyes have gone soft and far away, like she might be poking a flashlight around some corners of his brain that haven’t seen the sun in a while, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with whatever he’s finding there. He picks up a tattered copy of Where The Wild Things Are and puts it back on the shelf. 

“There are some kids that don’t ever hear that they’re loved, from anyone. Some people’s cultures aren’t big on affection, sure, and some parents aren’t into compliments, or… like I said, they think love is something you have to earn. I hate thinking about it, that some of our kids go home, and nobody says ‘I love you’. No four-year-old deserves that. Nobody does. That kinda thing, it hurts something important inside people.” 

“Yeah,” Clint says quietly. “Yeah, I guess it does.” 

Andie picks up the last book on the ground, hands it to him. “I can’t control what happens outside these walls. But I’m gonna do my damndest to make sure that none of our kids go a day without knowing they’re worthy of somebody’s love, and that I’m here to love them. Some of them are always going to have a hard time trusting that. But the more they hear it, the easier it gets, and sometimes that makes all the difference in the world.” 

Clint’s watching her with a small, crooked smile now, and he nods, almost to himself, before saying, “I bet you do.” 

There isn’t much she can say to that, but Andie gives him a look that hopefully conveys how much that means to hear. She gets up, brushing off her skirt. “Lemme introduce you to our program director, Carina.” 

“You really think I can do this? Because I know there’s gotta be people who have more experience and stuff, and I’m not — I mean, when I tell you I’ve had a weird-ass life…” 

“Unusual work experience on your resume?” she asks wryly as they head down the hall. 

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Yeah, that’s not nearly as important as your general attitude. You’re patient, and you’re gentle. You look at the kids when they talk and treat them like real people. You’d be surprised how many people don’t.” 

Clint reaches into his back pocket and pulls out what looks like a resume. It’s been folded longways, presumably to fit while he had his hands full juggling, and it has a muddy streak on the back; he looks at it in dismay. 

“Footprint?” Andie asks sympathetically. He wrinkles his nose and tries to brush it off, and she pats him on the shoulder, reassuring. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Just wait until you have to play the ‘poop or dirt?’ game.”

I love you guys 

My Sun And Stars: ❤️ 

Moon Of My Life: What’s wrong? 
Moon Of My Life: ARE YOU OKAY

By the time Andie finishes up incident reports, lesson planning, and logging another complaint with the administration about staffing shortages, it’s almost nine at night. She gets her taser in one hand before she walks out, and then double-checks that the door is locked behind her. 

She heads out the front, where she promptly stops short at the sight of Red Hood lounging against the gate. 

“No thank you,” she says calmly. “Nope, this is really not the time. Not today, Satan. I am not in the mood.” 

“I promise I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, flat and menacing through the stupid helmet. 

“So you’re just here to rob me? You might want to reconsider that. Do you have any idea how much preschool teachers make?”  

“Nowhere near enough,” he says. “No, that’s not —” 

“What is it, then? Go ahead, spit it out. Is this another protection racket? You want student files so you can blackmail a rival gang? I’m sure it’s a very creative idea, sweetheart, and absolutely not one that I’ve heard a dozen times already. Come on, use your words.” 

He stares at her for a moment, or at least she assumes he does. “I’m… sorry?” 

“Are you?” she says. “Because you should be.” 

“Sorry,” Red Hood says again, only this time it sounds like he’s laughing a bit. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I want to make this place safer.” 

“Oh, that’s right, you’re the good guy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Not like the rest of the crime lords, is that it? Look, if you care so much about safety, how about you keep your goddamn gang war away from my playground, okay?” 

“I heard there’ve been some issues with teachers getting mugged on their way home at night. I’m going to have a talk with the locals about that, but for now, can I walk you home?” 

She puts the non-taser hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow at Hood. “I am not walking anywhere with some wannabe mobster in a mask.” 

“That’s fair,” he says, hand going to the side of the helmet like he’s vaguely offended on its behalf. “We’re on the same side here, okay? I don’t want another generation of kids growin’ up with all the shit you and I grew up with. Tell me how to help.” 

“It’s Friday. It’s a full moon. There’s been a bout of norovirus going around all week, I had to keep a classroom of preschoolers calm through yet another terrorist attack the other day, and to top it all off, today I lost one of my favorite rainbow earrings. Right now, you are the last thing standing between me and my wife, who is at home waiting with a box of wine. The most helpful thing you can do is to get the hell out of my way . Am I making myself clear?” 

She waves the taser for emphasis, and he holds his hands up in surrender, making a noise that might be laughter. 

“Sorry,” he repeats, and gets the hell out of her way. 

By the time she gets to the end of the block and glances back, he’s strolling down the sidewalk. A few seconds later, she hears a motorcycle start up and roar off in the opposite direction. 

Finally omw. Got that wine ready? May need to stand under the spout while you pour. 
Just out of curiosity, we updated our wills recently, right?

Wifey: Andie we talked about these kind of texts...
Wifey: but yeah, I'll even put a second one in the fridge to chill. get home and you can tell me all about it.

This is why I married you. 

Moon Of My Life: I see what you mean. She threatened to tase me. I’m leaving you both. 

wow babe u don’t have a type or anything 

My Sun And Stars: 🔪🤷🏻‍♂️

It’s not that Bucky’s not talking to Steve. It’s just… he hasn’t talked to Steve in a while, at least not about anything that matters. 

They text about silly things — movies on their respective “catching up with the future” lists, random thoughts that nobody but another grouchy octogenarian would appreciate — but Steve’s been mostly abiding by his agreement to give Bucky some space. 

After the Triskelion and the rest of that mess, he told Steve that he needed time to “find himself,” maybe travel, maybe live a peaceful civilian life, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He needed some time to recover on his own without the influence of Steve’s particular brand of near-obsessive, occasionally-smothering affection and support. Bucky needed to start processing his own guilt before he could even begin to handle the complex and layered nuances of his Steve-centric emotions. 

Steve sees the best in Bucky, without fail. Steve believes in him. Aggressively . And no matter how much Steve would claim otherwise, if he knew Bucky’s whereabouts, he would be physically incapable of not checking up on him regularly, hovering in an attempt to “support” (read: carry) him. 

In other words, they’re codependent bastards and always have been. 

But it’s like a goddamn flaky-ass baklava situation of PTSD and shame up in his head, and Steve has the emotional palate of an eight-year-old sometimes. If it’s not chicken nuggets and a bomb pop — if he can’t punch it or puppy-eye it — he’s just gonna stomp his foot and turn up his nose. 

So… boundaries. Boundaries have helped. 

Of course, instead of finding himself, Bucky found two reckless idiots with pasts checkered enough to rival his own. Instead of traveling, he moved to goddamn Gotham . In New Jersey. Instead of putting his Winter Soldier days behind him, he leaned the fuck in as enforcer-in-chief for an increasingly notorious crime lord, and for the first time, he almost enjoys going out as his alter ego; there’s something to be said for name recognition and the way he can scare hardened criminals straight without actually having to get violent. Bucky spends his days baking and his nights terrorizing the Gotham underworld with his two morally gray boyfriends, and he’s really goddamn happy. 

It’s not the sort of happiness Steve wanted for him. 

Instead of acting like the century-old adult he is, he’s been avoiding the entire subject of where he is, who he’s with, how he spends his time, etc., but he knows it’s time to fess up. So he makes himself a cup of chamomile tea, does his yoga breaths, and calls Steve. 

He had planned to sort of… ease into things? But Steve gives him a huge, thrilled smile and pins him with all the laser-sharp force of his American-goddamn-hero stare, and Bucky blurts out, “I shacked up with Clint Barton and an undead vigilante who’s barely old enough to drink, and I don’t think I actually want to stop being the Winter Soldier any time soon.” 

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Then Bucky panics and ends the call without another word. 

“Shit,” he mutters, and takes another deep breath before dialing again. 

Steve picks up right away. He has his fake Cap grin on, which is a sure sign that he’s freaking right the fuck out. 

He asks jovially, “Hey, Buck, wanna run that by me one more time?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky sighs, and starts at the beginning. 

He makes a point of not looking at Steve for a while, focusing instead on his hands, picking invisible flecks of dirt out of the grooves in the metal arm. He dances carefully around the subject of Batman and severed heads and focuses on the “helping the poor” part of Jason’s whole agenda. 

By the time he rambles himself to a stopping point, Steve’s gone utterly still, utterly silent, but the clench of his jaw is giving everything away. Bucky’s stomach flips. 

“Anyway,” he says. “The point is, uh. Clint listed you as a reference for a job, and he figured you might want to know why he was applying for a job in Gotham, and we thought that — that you should know the whole truth, if you were gonna hear any of it, so. Yeah.” He stops and swallows hard. 

“Wow,” Steve says faintly. Bucky hasn’t seen him this bowled over since he was gearing up to instigate the Troy Avenue alley brawl of 1938. 

“C’mon, Stevie, you gotta say something,” he says hoarsely.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Steve says, quiet and earnest, and the knot of anxiety in Bucky’s chest loosens slightly. “That’s the most important thing. You know that’s what matters to me. But—” 

“Yep. There it is.” 

“I just — this isn’t really—” Steve shakes his head and swipes a hand over his face. “Shit, just give me a second to process, okay?“ 

“Look, I know it wasn’t okay when we were kids, but I thought you knew I was gay.” 

“God, give me some credit, Bucky, that is not what I’m upset about!”

“I know it’s not the most conventional arrangement —” 

Steve huffs, “Like I give a fuck about conventional.”

“So, what, is it because of the whole vigilante thing? Because if we’re gonna talk about skirting the law to do what’s right, I gotta say, you are camped out in the world’s most fragile glass house there.” 

“No.” 

“Okay, what the fuck, then?” 

“You’ve been living in New Jersey! That was like… the one thing we swore a solemn oath about, and—” 

“It was a pinky-swear. We were thirteen.” 

“An oath is an oath,” Steve says, deadpan, and Bucky almost throws his phone across the room. 

Natty Ice: Re: background check, it’s handled. 

do i wanna know

Natty Ice: Do you trust me? 

duh. 

Natty Ice: Enough said. 
Natty Ice: I know I said I wouldn’t snoop, and I haven’t. But do I get to meet the other boyfriend soon?  

yeah, I miss you. maybe you can come visit?

Natty Ice: Say the word and I’m there. I’ve been practicing my shovel talk.

wow ok
i cant decide if i need popcorn or a bomb shelter

Natty Ice: Both_is_good.gif

When Andie gets to school on Monday morning, the fence is fixed. Nobody seems to understand how or why; the teachers are content to write it off as a parent Good Samaritan, or something. 

When she goes to sit at her desk, she finds a small jewelry box on it, wrapped in red paper. She stares at it for a full five seconds, waiting for some sort of ticking countdown to start, before deciding that if she’s gonna go, Monday morning is the perfect time to do it. At least this way she won’t have to sit through the staff meeting. 

When she opens the box, she finds her missing earring, as well as a handwritten note that says, “I’ll send somebody to keep an eye out at night. We’ll stay out of your way, but if you need anything, just shout.” 

She’s not sure this exactly counts as ‘getting the hell out of her way.’ But if there’s one thing trying to remain sane as a teacher has taught her, it’s the importance of not wasting emotional resources worrying about things she can’t control. She files Red Hood firmly in the “not my chair, not my problem” corner of her brain and gets on with her lesson plans. 

Andie is convinced her Monday morning can’t possibly get any weirder until roughly two hours later, during snack time, when her desk phone lights up with an intercom from the program director’s office. 

“Hello?” 

“So, uh,” Carina says, sounding dazed in a way that Andie has never heard her sound. “I had someone call to give a character reference for the guy you recommended. Barton?” 

“Uh-oh.” 

“No, that’s not — it was a glowing recommendation.” 

“Oh,” Andie says, and tries to figure out where the hell this could possibly be going. 

“It was Captain America.” 

Andie sits down hard and says, “What.” 

“Steve Rogers,” Carina repeats, which doesn’t make any more sense the second time around. “Steve Rogers just called me. I’ve only had one cup of coffee. Captain America. On the phone.” 

“Okay then,” Andie says blankly. “Uh. What?”

“I take it you had no idea about Barton’s last job?” 

“He said he had an… unusual work history.” 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna forward you a copy of his resume so you can see for yourself.” 

Maybe Andie did get mugged on Friday night. Maybe the Red Hood jumped her the second she walked outside, instead of offering to walk her home, and everything since has been some sort of coma dream. 

Andie: So when you said that you had an unusual resume… you weren’t kidding, huh? 

nope. 
for what it’s worth, it seems like your job is basically like the battle of New York. except it’s every day, and you have to be polite to the aliens the whole time. 

Clint’s proposed resume: 

Career: 

• Circus (performer/pickpocket) 
• Shady government agency that was later revealed to be evil (assassin) 
• Superhero (but the squishy human kind) 
• Red Hood LLC (Lieutenant) 

Skills: 

• Experience in battle fields 
• clumsy as fuck
• ADHD out the ass 
• immunity to most poisons 
• able to entertain myself on long ass stakeouts 
• long-distance shooter (paleolithic weapons incl.)
• exceptional eyesight 
• good observational skills 
• quick on feet 
• juggling 
• acrobatics
• generally nice to people 
• most people say i’m ok to be around
• abs of steel 

What the Sunrise School received:

Clint Barton

Career

Superhero | 2 years experience
Was instrumental in the Battle of New York. Worked closely with a team of highly-skilled individuals to ensure the safety and security of the world. Strengthened communication abilities. Utilized reflexes, quick-thinking, and planning abilities. Organized many interdisciplinary strategies that took into consideration a variety of moving parts. Refined multi-tasking abilities. 

Intelligence Agent | 5 years experience 
Adapted to a variety of unique situations. Developed significant patience and long-term planning abilities. Practiced and implemented field medical training. Honed observation and reaction aptitudes.

Circus Performer | 10 years experience 
Spent over a decade training in multiple skills, including archery, juggling, acrobatics. Collaborated with team to ensure group success. Maintained high-energy operation regardless of environment. 

Relevant Skills

• Cool head in emergencies 
• Experienced field medic 
• Excellent multi-tasking abilities 
• Great immune system
• Patient
• Juggling 
• Acrobatics
• Conversational Spanish, French, Farsi, ASL

Interests 

Dogs, Coffee, Pizza, Justice