Clint, good person that he is, is - again - responsible of taking care of you.

You’re little kid saved (or maybe kidnapped, you never know with him) by Scott a few weeks ago. You don't talk much. You don't eat much. Traumatized, a new burden for Tony who reluctantly paid for the therapy sessions - still saying they just needed to wait a bit for you to open up.

You both sat on Clint's bed while he cleaned his bow. You didn't look like you wanted to have fun anyway.

After a few moments of silence, Clint turned to you "Would you like to make a cake?"

There you are a few minutes later, in the spacious kitchen, cooking. It was a simple chocolate cake, nothing special.

But Clint had finally seen a smile on your face. How you seemed to glow with joy, having fun putting flour everywhere, licking the chocolate, or how you ate small squares of chocolate thinking that the archer didn't notice.

“Are you having fun, kid?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips as he ruffled your hair with his clean hand.