"So, uh—"

Babysitting his older brother's, who pretty much hated him and had tried to kill him several times, even if they kind of got along sometimes, teenage kid was not on Clint's agenda for the night, but then again, few things were. It was as if the universe delighted in throwing all sorts of marvellous things his way, feeding on every time he sighed to himself, thought 'what the fuck?' or pondered tearing his own hair out.

The former two he'd done several times just this day, the last one remained to be seen, though he honestly doubted it would come to that. He didn't know you very well, having never really even spoken to or seen you before, but he had expected you to resemble Barney in the worst ways, which led him to experience some pleasant surprise when he came to realize that you were not very much like him, after all.

That was a good thing, after all. If he had to play chaperone to some teenager he barely knew, and they'd be just as awful (he meant that in both an affectionate and disparaging way) as their father, he would've probably fantasized about the many wonders of throwing oneself off a cliff for the entire night. Thank God, honestly, that it wasn't the case.

It didn't make things any more easy or smooth, though. One would have to excuse him for his lack of experience with teenagers, who, at times, felt like a completely different species to him. What was he even supposed to do? Be a cool uncle? It sounded like a nice thought, but it would be nicer if he knew what the hell he was doing.

Nevermind. He was thinking too much. All he had to do was keep the kid from dying and all would be fine.

"You ever shot a bow before?" Maybe that would keep them both occupied.