"Dun, dun, duuuun. Dun, dun, duuuun. Dun-a," Clint hummed. He inched down the hallway with Steve and Bucky trailing behind him. "Duhnanana! Duhnanana!"

     "We're supposed to be stealthy, Clint. Your Mission Impossible music isn't helping," Steve chastised.

     "But it sets the mood," he argued. Clint crouched low and looked around a corner before rolling away.

     "Steve's right. We don't want Stark to find out we're following him. It won't help with Natasha's investigation." Clint peeked his head back around the corner with a frown. "Be serious, Clint. Something's wrong with Stark and we're here to help."

     Clint stood to his full height with his arms crossed. "That was me being serious. Now we don't have cool theme music. Plus, Stark isn't even around. We've lost him."

     Steve sighed and Bucky stuffed his hands in his jacket's pockets. The trio walked down the empty halls in silence. They only had forty-five minutes to find Stark. If they didn't, lunch would be over and they'd have nothing to report. Steve and Bucky don't have any academic classes with him, and Natasha said it'd be harder to check on Stark during finals. When fifteen minutes had passed and there was still no sign of the kid, they grew discouraged. Natasha couldn't find him, so what chance did they have?

     Clint stopped in his tracks, forcing the other two to stop as well. His eyes caught on a paper flapping in the crack between the door to the roof and the wall. It was out of place in the hallway. He glanced back at Steve and Bucky to continue forward. Clint shot Natasha a text before pushing open the thick door. He braced himself for the sound of an alarm, but nothing happened. He thanked whoever put the paper there. Bucky made sure the paper was still in the doorway as they headed up the long staircase.

     When they emerged onto the roof, Clint was attacked by the drop in temperature and the dreary darkness the clouds cast across the grey sky. He rolled his shoulders with a shake of his arms. He furrowed his brow, looking back at his friends. Steve rubbed his arms and shook his head with wide eyes. Clint knew his friend didn't like the cold, but they had to touch all their bases. Bucky was examining the area with his slate-blue eyes with an air of professionalism that made Clint snort. Bucky cocked his head at a soft sound drowned out by the wind. He signaled to Clint for him to check out the left side. Clint left the others to creep across the roof.

      He looked down past the railing keeping them from falling to their deaths. The rest of the town looked minimized from the top of S.H.E.I.L.D. It wasn't too high that he couldn't tell a Volkswagon Buggy from a Mini Cooper, but it was difficult to separate the buildings. Clint could barely make out his house or the nearest McDonald's. His stomach rumbled and he sighed through his nose. Whatever's wrong with Stark better be worth him missing lunch. His feet were silent on the concrete while he kept to the shadows. Clint moved closer to the HVAC systems on the left side of the roof. He observed through the gaps that someone was indeed up here. Clint didn't want to risk calling out and drawing attention to them. He whistled softly to grab his friends' attention with a jerk of his head toward the HVAC.

     Clint played the Mission Impossible theme song in his head as he shuffled toward the systems. He crouched to his knees and looked between one of the larger gaps. There lied Tony Stark in a messy heap. Clint almost rushed forward to help in case Stark had passed out again, but the even rise and fall of his chest suggested he was sleeping. Earbuds were pushed into his ears and Clint could make out the rock music blaring from them. He was definitely asleep.

     He pushed Steve back when he tried to circle around to Stark. Clint shook his head and pantomimed sleeping. Steve's face grew tight with worry but Bucky held him back. Clint wasn't stupid. Stark sleeping on the roof in the middle of winter could result in him getting a cold or worse, but the kid needed it badly if he was risking his health. The sunglasses from this morning were discarded in front of him. Dark circles that resembled bruises sat under his eyes. His sweatshirt was zipped up tight and puffed up around the center. Clint could see all the layers Stark was wearing. He narrowed his eyes at the pink marks creeping up Stark's thin neck from underneath his bunched up turtleneck. His layers had ridden up slightly. Clint knitted his brow at the discolored skin around his hips and side. Yellows and purples swirled across his fair skin (it used to be tan) visible underneath the stark bandages he wore.

     His nose and cheeks were pink and raw, and he was curled up in a tight ball. He murmured in his sleep and shifted slightly on the concrete. He pulled down his shirts and hugged himself tightly. Dried tear tracks glistened in the sunlight trying to break through the thick clouds. His face was pinched in pain and he was gnawing on his lip. Clint sighed and turned away. Nightmares are private.

He wasn't going to bother the kid any longer than he had to. People only come onto roofs when they want to be alone. Clint could respect that. He pulled Steve toward the roof's door with the help of Bucky.

     "We can't just leave him in the cold like that," Steve said in the warmer hallway.

     "He'll be fine," Bucky replied. Steve gave him an incredulous look. "Stark can take care of himself." He said it more in awe than contempt as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Stark slept on the roof. Even Natasha couldn't find him. "He'll be fine," he assured Steve.

     Clint nodded. "Yeah, he's a big boy. He's been handling himself this long, he can do it for two more days. Plus, he was having a nightmare. Those are private in my household. I wasn't going to intrude on that even if I don't like him."

     Steve gestured to the door. "All the more reason to stay up there with him! He'll wake up from that all alone..."

     Clint shook his head and frowned. "Nuh-uh. Nightmares are tricky and scary as shit. You either deal with it yourself or seek out help. Tasha and I choose all the time. If it's really bad, I'm sure Stark would go to Bruce or maybe that janitor he talks to. He has to have that choice."

      "If he woke up with us in his face, you know he'd be terrified, Stevie," Bucky added.

     Steve wilted and turned his back to the door. "Fine," he growled. "I get it. Let's just tell Natasha what we learned and leave this for another day."

     Steve headed toward the canteen and Bucky fell back beside Clint. "Did you see them too?" Clint asked. Bucky nodded. Those bandages and the pink marks had to be linked to something dangerous. Either Stark was in trouble or causing trouble, and Clint decided it had to be the former. The kid could barely hold himself up these days. "I don't know what to think anymore. Just last week I was ready to beat his face in for messing up Tasha's computer. Now, all I can see is this kid who's been hurt to his core and it's unsettling."

     Bucky nodded. "Very unsettling," he drawled.

     When they reached the canteen, the students were cleaning up their tables and trays. Bucky and Clint reached the table moments after Steve. Natasha waved her fork around her salad and Bruce bit into his sandwich. Thor was dozing softly on the table beside Bruce. The three angels regaled their search for Stark and what they'd found on the roof. Natasha never took her eyes off of them and listened intently to their every word, and Bruce had to habitually clean his glasses. Her green eyes had hardened to stone and her grip on her fork was nearly snapping it in two.

     "The roof." She scoffed. "I hadn't checked because the alarm would sound."

     "There was a little slip of paper in the door mechanism that didn't allow it to lock," Bucky explained over his shoulder.

     "He's having nightmares," Clint added when the others had left the table to scrounge up some food. "And he's got some nasty bruises. Neck and torso. Probably more under all those clothes."

     Natasha's eyes softened. "Of course. I...I need to think, Clint. I do not want to be wrong about this."

     "I know." Clint sighed. "Tash, I think it's really bad. Like, Ivan bad."

     Natasha's face darkened. "Do not..." Clint gripped her shoulder reassuringly. She took a deep breath and frowned at the table. "If it is as terrible as Ivan, then we must help him now." Her accent rolled heavily and Clint could tell she was trying to compartmentalize.

     He grimaced. "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry, Tash."

     She shook her red hair. "It is fine. He was a long time ago. It doesn't matter." Clint frowned. "We have bigger things to focus on. We only have today and tomorrow to figure out what's wrong before Winter break. I wish we had more time," she muttered. The bell rang and students began filing out. Natasha kicked Thor awake and he jerked. His blonde ponytail swished and his short beard had some drool. "Time to go, Thor."

     Thor wrinkled his nose and stretched. "Thank you for the reminder, Lady Natasha. I am, how-you-say, jetlagged from my flight. I shall see you at the end of the day."

     Natasha nodded and Thor headed out. Clint's stomach rumbled and he grimaced. His stomach was not happy about missing lunch. Though it had been worth it to see where Stark went during lunch. Natasha tossed him a sandwich encased in saran-wrap. "Let's get to class. You know finals are today," she teased.

     Clint groaned. "Don't start with me." He scarfed down the sandwich just in time to enter the class. Mrs. Hill raised an eyebrow and he smiled. They took their usual seats in the back as the class began to fill. Clint's eyes flicked over each student and he looked over at Natasha. He mouthed, Where is he?

     Natasha shrugged and her lips turned down into a frown. Mrs. Hill glanced between the empty desk in the second row and the door. She looked at her watch and shook her head. The door opened and Stark sauntered in. His shades were back on his face and his clothes were covering him neatly. His cheeks were still pink and he sniffed slightly to catch the mucus threatening to fall. His hair was flying every which way and his teeth were chattering softly. Clint watched Mrs. Hill ask one of the students to pass out the test and lead Stark behind her desk. He put his lip-reading skills to use.

     "You're late, Mr. Stark."

     "I know. I fell asleep."

     Mrs. Hill pursed her lips. "That isn't an excuse to almost miss your final. You know how important this test is for your grades."

     Tony shivered and nodded imperceptibly. "I know, Mrs. Hill. I'm just really tired."

     "I'm tired as well, but I still make it to class on time." Tony hugged himself. "Don't let this happen again or else I'll have to call home. Is this understood, Tony? You have been late to my class one too many times. I'm doing you a favor by not calling your father."

     Tony's flinch was almost undetectable due to his obscene amount of layers. "Yes, miss."

     Mrs. Hill jerked her thumb to his row. "Go to your seat, Tony. You're lucky you got here before I began."

     Tony scurried to his seat with his head down. Clint looked at Natasha from his peripheral. His test was placed in front of him and he had to take his attention away from Stark. He had a final to do. As Mrs. Hill began her spiel on the test-taking rules, Clint felt his mind begin to wander. Stark was no longer slumped awkwardly over the desk, but sitting up and staring out the window. His fingers tapped a stilted beat on his desk and he seemed to be ignoring Mrs. Hill.

     Her boots clicked quietly in the silent classroom. She glanced at Stark and said, "Begin."

     Papers shuffled and pencils scritched and scrawled in answers. Clint chewed on his eraser and squeezed his eyes shut. His blood was pounding in his ears and every harsh breath grated on his nerves. He tapped his desk twice to catch Natasha's attention and turned his hearing aid down. Now he could focus.

[--]---[--]---[--]

     Natasha nudged Clint and he jerked. Her hands signed that the test was over. Clint turned his hearing aid back on and looked around. Sounds drifted back into his ears and he listened to all the murmured conversations people were having. He felt bad Natasha had to listen to all the test-takers, but he knew she had better focus than he ever would. He glanced at Stark and frowned at the sight of him staring out the window again. Mrs. Hill was coming down the aisles and collecting the tests from each student. He slouched and kicked his chair back.

     "I never want to take another test again," he complained. Natasha rolled her eyes with her chin on her hand. Clint smirked. "I'm serious. Never again. Not even a little survey."

     "Have fun with that, Clint," she said. Mrs. Hill took their tests.

     Something moved in his line of sight and he stared at Stark's back. He suddenly stood up and headed to the door. Mrs. Hill shouted, "Where are you going, Mr. Stark?"

     "Out," he replied, quiet.

     "Come back to your seat or I'll have to call home."

     He slouched on himself. "Do it. I don't care," he mumbled. "I don't feel well."

     Mrs. Hill started to call after him again, but he was already out the door and heading down the hall. Natasha kicked Clint and tapped her ear. Clint furrowed his brow and shook his head. His hearing aid was fine. He didn't need to...Oh! Clint wobbly rose from his seat.

     "Mrs. Hill, I need to go to the nurse. Hearing problems," he said slightly louder than needed. He had to milk it if he was going to convince this woman. Mrs. Hill gave him a knowing look and he hoped his eyes could convey how important it was that he could leave. She nodded once and wrote out a pass for him. Clint smiled at her and raced from the classroom. His eyes caught on the dark MIT sweatshirt Stark was wearing. "Shit," he swore under his breath.

     Clint pressed against the wall of the hallway Stark had gone down. He sank to his knees with his phone pulled out. He switched it to the camera to watch it focus on Stark and the janitor. Clint watched through the camera with a somber expression. Stark was talking heatedly to the man with the peppered goatee and a dripping mop. He looked small and vulnerable beside the large man. Clint shook his head. He couldn't distract himself with his mixed feelings about the boy. He was here to make sure he's alright.

     Stark shook his head harshly and he pulled his hair. He whirled on Happy (the janitor, Clint remembered) and his small fists weakly rained on the man's chest. His breaths were choppy and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but the camera wasn't picking any up. Stark was distressed and hitting someone Clint assumed he cared about and vice versa. He dropped his hands and fell into Happy's arms, his body shivering violently and his eyes squeezed shut.

     Clint pocketed his phone and speed-walked in the other direction. He didn't know what happened next, that was between Stark and Happy. He couldn't deal with all this new information. His fingers twitched. He itched for his bow. Maybe if he shot enough arrows he'd be able to think clearly because Stark is an asshole and a jerk and a million other things Clint doesn't care to know. But he's also been childish and scared and nervous and a million other things Clint didn't know he had the capacity to be. Clint just wanted to go back to hating Stark, but now he's roped into this and he can't deny that he is curious. Clint ran a hand over his face. This was going to blow up in all of their faces sooner or later. He preferably hoped it was later. Way later.