And Then I Wrote Marvel

I Hate Tourists (dad!Clint Barton x Reader)

Round 4 of DisneyWorldInfoQueen 's contest.

"(Y/N), can I talk to you for a second?" your father asked you. He leaned on the doorframe to your room, arms crossed over his chest.

"Sure, Dad, what's up?" you said, closing your math book and setting it aside. You cleared a space for him to sit.

"Well, your mother and I have been talking..." he trailed off in a way that made you worried. Clint Barton had no lack of confidence, yet here he was, too nervous to tell his oldest daughter something.

"Yeah? About what?" you prodded.

"You and I, we don't spend a lot of time together. We haven't for most of your life. I've always been with SHIELD and the Avengers," he began to explain. "And I feel bad about that."

"Dad, really, it's okay. I understand. You're off saving the world. It's a good conversation-starter."

"The thing is, (Y/N), you shouldn't have to just understand. You're 16 now, and you shouldn't just have to live your life accepting that I'm never around," he argued. "And then when I am home, I give all of my attention to your younger siblings." Where was he going with this?

"Like you said, they're younger. They need more attention."

"You didn't get that amount of attention at that age, though."

"Okay, okay. You're a terrible person and I hate you," you deadpanned.

"My gosh, you're definitely a Barton," he muttered. "The point of all this is," he paused for effect, "I get to take you on vacation for a week. Just you and me."

"No way. Really? Just the two of us? That's it?" A smile began to form on your face.

"Yeah, just us. Nat's coming over to help your mom. We're leaving on Wednesday."

"This Wednesday? That's two days from now. I have school; I can't just go and skip it."

"Now you sound like that Spider-Man kid. You don't really care about school that much, do you?"

"Aw, heck naw! I wanted to make sure that you didn't, either," you laughed. He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "So, uh, where are we going?"

"Well, your mother suggested the beach, but that's definitely a no-go."

"Oh, yeah, definitely not. You--"

"I hate tourists," he groaned.

"Yeah, that." You wanted to go on, but he was in rant mode. Nothing could stop him until he was done raving about the horrors of tourists.

"They're everywhere, getting in the way of delicate operations, getting themselves injured, crowding around us, and they always want a picture. Do they understand that the only time we really care about them is when they're in immediate danger? No! They just have to brag to their friends that," his voice slipped into a falsetto, "'Oh, I met the Avengers on vacation, what did you do over the summer?' and they always say that I'm their favorite Avenger, when I'm definitely not, but I'm right there, so they can't very well insult me."

"'Cept Ellie," you reminded him. "And me."

"Well, of course, but you're related to me. Technically in Ellie's case. But anyway, beaches are the worst because there are tourists everywhere, clamoring to get a picture and an autograph from someone they don't even care about. I hate them."

"I didn't know that you harbored such feeling of resentment towards tourists," you commented sarcastically.

"Oh, no, I absolutely love them. Hands down, the best part of the day is taking a hundred different selfies with people I'll never see again."

"It's wonderful, I'm sure," you agreed. "But really, where are we going?"

"A little cabin in the Raggeds," he supplied.

"The whats?"

"This lovely little mountain range in Colorado that most Coloradans haven't even heard of."

"Safely tourist-free," you smirked.

"Exactly," he smiled diabolically.
--
It was fall already on the mountain, even though it was early September. The leaves of the aspen and oak trees had mostly turned yellow; they weren't quite ready to fall off, and there were still a few green ones. There was a lake right outside of the cabin that looked like a mirror in the mornings, and, if you were lucky, all day.

The only other people on the mountain were the caretakers, and they were an elderly couple that kept to themselves, minding their own business. You really felt like you were the only people in the world.

Though the nights were crisp, the stars were possibly the most visible that you'd ever seen them. On the farm, you could see them, but it was different in the mountains. They were sharper, more distinct. It was relaxing to sit by the lakeshore and watch them. You even saw a couple of shooting stars.

It was during the last of these stargazing sessions that your father broke the comfortable silence. "(Y/N), can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure, Dad, what's up?"

"Well, your mother and I have been talking..." he trailed off in a way that made you worried. Clint Barton had no lack of confidence, yet here he was, too nervous to tell his oldest daughter something.

"Yeah? About what?" Neither of you realized that you were recreating the conversation that had happened just over a week ago.

"Well, it's not just your mom and me. It's the Avengers, too. We're getting older, and it might be a good idea to start planning for the future, when we can't do anything to protect the world."

"That's pessimistic," you commented.

"Yeah, no kidding," he chuckled. "But, uh, as you might have guessed, there was an alternative purpose to this trip."

"And you're just bringing it up now, on the last night?"

"Yep. Let's get to the point, here." He turned to face you. "I'd like to talk to you about the Young Avengers Initiative."