Aquaman? Whoops, Wrong Universe: A Percy Jackson Marvel Crossover

Chapter 7: Clint

Sometime later that day, Clint was in the training room, firing arrow after arrow into a dummy. Every single one arrived perfectly wherever he desired it to land. Clint was rapt with concentration, and the rest of the world seemed to disappear around him. 

That's why he didn't hear it when Jackson walked in behind him. Clint heard a low whistle of appreciation, and he whipped around, bow string drawn taut with his standard arrow locked and loaded. Percy put his hands up and smiled.

"Nice shot," he said.

Jackson perplexed Clint. Whenever he was around Percy, Clint felt kind of... drawn to him. He felt familiar somehow, although Clint had never seen him before in his life. A small, almost imperceptible buzzing sense in the back of his head went off when he saw him. There seemed to be an aura around the teen, making Clint yearn to learn more about him. If his supposed terrorist background wasn't enough of an incentive, that is. 

Sure, Stark had told them to all keep an eye on the kid, but Clint couldn't care less about what Stark had to say unless it was imminently life-threatening. And he was starting to get sick of Fury ordering him around. No, he would investigate for his own purposes and curiosity. He didn't want to give Nick or Tony the satisfaction of him doing as they say. 

Plus, he was a kid. Clint had his own children at home, and he knew intuitively that there was a near zero chance that Percy had done the things SHIELD claimed (Which would be... vague terrorism threats? Possibility of a budding supervillain? General suspiciousness?). He saw it in the way he held himself, the light in his eyes, his mannerisms around the team. He wasn't at ease, no, but there was no malicious intent. Clint just knew.

And Tony would be getting a talking-to, make no mistake. If not from him, then surely from Steve or Nat. Bruce had probably already forgotten the kid was there. He was a real absent-minded dude sometimes, but great nonetheless.

Clint lowered his bow and put the arrow back in his quiver, frowning slightly. "Thanks."

Clint looked Percy up and down, and realized he carried a bronze sword in his hand. It had the same pull, the same strange gravitation that made the archer feel a sort of kinship. Yet, it didn't feel natural, somehow. Something about it was off. Not human. Which was stupid, since of course a sword couldn't be human.

"Where'd you get that?" Clint asked, surprised and wary that he might've stolen it and had come to kill him efficiently. Maybe the kid was a little menace to society. He started to raise his bow again.

"Chill. I'm not going to hurt you or anything. This is my sword, Riptide," he said easily.

"Riptide?"

"Yeah. Big fan of... uh... water."

"How did Tony let you come here with that thing?"

"He didn't."

Clint raised an eyebrow. He noticed a gray streak amidst his black curls, and wondered why and how it was in his hair. However, Clint didn't ask any questions. He also didn't ask when he saw a strange tattoo decorating Percy's forearm.

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, sulking?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Might as well make the most of it. Your training rooms are sick," Percy replied.

Clint shrugged. He guessed that made sense. But as he studied the guy, he couldn't help but notice that same tension from earlier. 90% at ease—except for a tiny indicator in his posture that he was more tense than his initial appearance implied. His shoulders were back farther than they would've been if he was completely relaxed. His hands were also curled into fists.