**Chapter 3: A Strange Visit**
The next morning, Natasha woke up early, already aware of the task ahead of her. She had spent the night in one of the guest rooms with Baby Clint tucked beside her, his tiny body warm and comforting as he snuggled against her. After yesterday's incident, Natasha couldn't shake the nagging worry that something might be wrong. Clint's sudden bout of spit-up, while not unusual for a baby, had rattled her more than she cared to admit. If anything was off, she wanted to be sure.
The idea of taking Clint to a regular doctor seemed... impractical. After all, this wasn't just any baby; this was Clint Barton, one of the Avengers, temporarily stuck in toddler form due to a botched experiment. A standard pediatrician wouldn't know how to handle a situation like this. No, she needed someone who could look beyond the physical and see if there was anything magically or mystically wrong.
That's when Natasha decided to pay a visit to Doctor Stephen Strange. If anyone could determine whether Clint was truly okay—or if there were any lingering effects from the experiment—it would be the Sorcerer Supreme. Besides, Strange had dealt with weirder situations than this before.
After gathering the necessary supplies—diapers, snacks, a change of clothes—Natasha bundled Clint into a small carrier. He was surprisingly cooperative, contentedly sucking on his thumb as she secured him in. The rest of the mini-Avengers were still asleep, each one looking impossibly peaceful in their own little worlds. She made sure to lock down Stark Tower's security systems, just in case any of them woke up before she returned.
With Clint safely in tow, Natasha headed out. She made her way to the roof of Stark Tower, where one of Tony's specially designed Quinjet shuttles was waiting. It was a small craft, sleek and fast—perfect for a quick trip across the city to the Sanctum Sanctorum.
The flight was short, and before long, Natasha was descending onto the roof of the Sanctum. She gently lifted Clint out of the carrier, cradling him in her arms as she approached the ornate door. It swung open before she even knocked, as if anticipating her arrival. The Sanctum always had a way of knowing when visitors were expected.
"Welcome, Natasha," a familiar voice greeted her as she stepped inside.
Doctor Stephen Strange stood at the top of the grand staircase, his crimson Cloak of Levitation fluttering slightly as if acknowledging their presence. He descended the stairs with his usual grace, his expression calm and composed as always. But when his gaze landed on Baby Clint, the corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Strange asked, his voice carrying a note of dry amusement.
"Morning, Strange," Natasha said, shifting Clint slightly in her arms. The baby peeked out from the folds of the blanket, his big blue eyes locking onto the sorcerer with curiosity. "I need you to take a look at Clint. Yesterday, he had a... a moment, and I just want to make sure he's okay."
Strange nodded, his demeanor immediately becoming more serious. "Of course. Come with me."
He led Natasha through the labyrinthine halls of the Sanctum, the dim light casting eerie, elongated shadows on the walls. The Sanctum was a place where the lines between reality and the mystical blurred, where the ordinary became extraordinary with every turn. Natasha had been here before, but it never failed to unsettle her just a little.
Eventually, they reached a chamber lined with ancient books and mystical artifacts. In the center of the room was a large table covered in intricate designs, glowing faintly with arcane energy. Strange gestured for Natasha to set Clint down on the table, which she did carefully, keeping one hand on him to ensure he didn't squirm away.
"Now, let's see what we have here," Strange murmured, waving his hands in a slow, deliberate motion. As he did, a soft, golden light emanated from his fingertips, bathing Clint in a warm glow. The baby stared up at the light, completely fascinated, his little hands reaching out as if to grab it.
Strange's eyes narrowed in concentration as he examined the child. The golden light swirled around Clint, pulsing gently as it moved from his head to his toes. Natasha watched in silence, her nerves on edge as she waited for Strange to speak.
After a few tense moments, the light faded, and Strange stepped back, his expression thoughtful. "Physically, Clint is perfectly healthy," he said, looking up at Natasha. "There's nothing wrong with him on a biological level."
Natasha let out a small breath of relief, but she could tell by the look on Strange's face that he wasn't finished.
"However," he continued, "there is still residual magic from the experiment that turned him into a child. It's not harmful, but it's... unstable. His body is still adapting to the change, which is likely why he had that episode yesterday. His system is struggling to reconcile his adult essence with his current form."
Natasha frowned, her mind racing as she absorbed this information. "Is there anything you can do to help stabilize him?"
Strange considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I can perform a spell that should help. It won't reverse the transformation, but it will calm the residual magic and make him more comfortable until the effects wear off naturally—or until Stark and Banner find a way to reverse it."
Natasha nodded. "Do it."
Strange moved quickly, gathering a few items from around the room—a small vial of shimmering liquid, a crystal that glowed faintly with inner light, and a piece of parchment covered in runes. He arranged them around Clint, who was now babbling happily, seemingly unfazed by the strange objects surrounding him.
With everything in place, Strange began to chant softly, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. The room filled with a soft hum as the magical energy gathered, focusing on the tiny figure in the center of the table. Clint's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he might cry, but Natasha quickly reached out and stroked his cheek, murmuring soothing words to keep him calm.
The energy swirled around Clint, forming a protective cocoon of light. It pulsed gently, matching the rhythm of Strange's chanting, until finally, the light began to dim, sinking into Clint's body. The glow faded, leaving the room quiet once more.
Strange stepped back, letting out a small breath as he finished the spell. "There. That should help."
Natasha picked Clint up, cradling him in her arms again. He seemed calm, his little body relaxing against her. "Thank you, Stephen," she said, genuine gratitude in her voice.
Strange nodded. "Keep an eye on him, but he should be fine now. The magic will take some time to fully dissipate, but he won't have any more episodes like yesterday."
Natasha gave him a small smile. "You have no idea how much easier you've just made my life."
Strange allowed himself a faint smile in return. "I can imagine. If you need anything else, you know where to find me."
With Clint safely in her arms and a newfound sense of reassurance, Natasha made her way out of the Sanctum. As she stepped back into the Quinjet and prepared to return to Stark Tower, she couldn't help but feel a wave of relief wash over her.
As she strapped Clint back into his carrier, she looked down at him and smiled. "Looks like you're going to be just fine, Barton. But don't get any ideas—this doesn't mean you get to slack off when you're back to normal."
Clint responded with a soft gurgle, his tiny hand reaching up to grasp one of her fingers. Natasha's heart softened as she looked at him, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing moment.
With a final glance at the towering silhouette of the Sanctum Sanctorum behind her, Natasha set the Quinjet to autopilot and began the journey back home, ready to face whatever came next.
