Work Text:
“I’m never trusting him with anything ever again,” Clint muttered to himself.
The sun beat down through the skyscrapers on a this particularly and disgustingly hot July afternoon. There’d be nothing better on a day like today than to be air condition away from a bunch of other equally sweaty people. Natasha was walking a few inches in front of him with a look on her face that stopped anyone even thinking of colliding with them. Lucky was keeping pace with her and looking equally determined.
“You shouldn’t have let him go get pizza by himself,” she chided. “You and he have something in common, you’re both easily distracted.”
“It’s a two-minute walk in broad daylight.” It sounded simple enough, he told him to take an immediate left and keep walking straight. But he should know better, with Jack he might as well have sent him packing to Ottawa for the weekend.
“How long’s he been missing?” Natasha asked.
“He’s not missing,” Clint said. He can’t be missing. Missing means multiple people looking and something terrible happening to him. Missing means breaking news. He doesn’t have it in him to maintain that high a level of stress without a nap first. Not with Jack, not with anyone for that matter.
Natasha snorted, “do you know where he is?”
Clint knew where she was going with this. “No,” he pouted.
“Then he’s missing. How long has it been?”
Clint looked down at his phone, “twenty-two minutes.”
They went inside the pizza shop, the air conditioning was appreciated. Both of them scanned the room for Jack, he has a habit of messing with the jukebox whenever they’re in here for longer than 30 seconds. It’s broken but he likes to press the buttons anyway and pretend something’s playing. His head bobs and he hums to imaginary music while they wait for their pizza.
It never fails to make Clint smile.
Mr. Panucci looked up from the register. He’s a plump, red faced man with slicked back hair and olive skin. Clint’s been trying to teach Jack not comment on how much he looks like Mario, he’s been failing so far. “Hi,” Mr. Panucci’s eyes slid toward Natasha and the vexed expression her face. His smile faltered, “what’s the problem? I didn’t give you all the wrong pizza?”
“Has Jack come by?” Natasha asked. Only Clint can see it in the slight tenseness of her shoulder’s but generally, she looks calm. Pissed, but calm. She’s doing a lot better than he is.
“Oh yeah,” his frown grew, “did he not come back?”
“No.”
He looked around the counter like he might be still lurking around and did the same thing they did, looking over at the dusty jukebox in the corner of the room. “I didn’t see him leave, but I know he came here. I’ll ask my sons in the back if they saw him.”
“Thanks, Mr. Panucci.” He waddled back behind the door and disappeared. “So we know he was here,” Clint said. “The question is where the hell did he go after that.” He looked down at his phone for the time. They’ve got probably another hour before it starts getting dark out. Not that it’s going to take an hour to find him.
It won’t.
Mr. Panucci came back out from the back again looking annoyed. “Neither of the ingrates back there have seen him,” he’s cheeks looked especially red. “I wished one of them would disappear and come back with a brain. If I see him or hear anything, I’ll let you all know.”
“Thanks, Mr. Panucci,” Clint said again.
“Have a good night,” Natasha said.
They both exited the store and looked around. Clint chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Bobby takes him all over this place, at this rate he probably knows the city better than I do.” That only adds to list of disadvantages.
“He’s smaller, he could’ve climbed up somewhere,” Natasha said scanning the rooftops.
Clint shook his head. “Not with a pizza. He’s still kind of…” he wasn’t sure what the word would be except weird. “He’s still kind of...iffy about rules, he’d think he’s in a world of hurt if something happened to that pizza. There’s no way he’d risk it.”
Natasha thought for a moment. “Could that have happened? He’s hiding now because he thinks he messed up?”
Lucky started whining and tugging Clint in a diagonal across the street. His one eyed lab isn’t a hunting dog by in any means. Natasha guesses in a past life he was probably a little lap dog or a vacuum, but he’s got one hell of a nose.
“You lead me to the kid, biggest slice of pizza you’ve ever seen,” Clint said grinning. “I promise. Huge, ginormous.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. She not getting her hopes up, but she’s ready for this to be over and to have Jack home and safe again. If that means following a one eyed dog, it’s worth it. Lucky pulled them over to a musty music store down the street from Mr. Panucci’s.
They both knew they were in the right place. Jack loves nothing more than he does music, especially rock n’ roll.
The glass door buzzed when they opened it and music flooded out. They’re columns of vinyl in the front and guitars hanging on the walls. Every single one of them has a shine despite probably hanging there for years. Lucky keeps whining and tugging towards the back of the store and they follow him.
A woman with long graying hair and a stained glass t-shirt approached them. “You must be his parents,” she eyed both of them with a knowing smile. “Nobody else comes walking in here lookin’ so stressed without a missing kid. I’ll take you to him.”
They followed the woman to the back of the store where the volume got louder. They realized it was live music, sounded more real and more grounded. “You know he’s really talented. What’s he eight, nine?” She asked.
“Eleven,” Clint answered.
“Small fella,” she tittered. “Well, he knows his way around six strings that’s for sure.”
“Jack’s never touched a guitar.”
Clint and Natasha blinked at the sight in front of them. The few patrons of the store were sitting on boxes coupled with subs and beer bottles while Jack played Jukebox Hero on the electric guitar like he’s known it since birth.
He hasn’t seen anything so trippy since his stint in the Amazon in 2006. “Jack’s never touched a guitar,” Clint repeated again.
Natasha didn’t say anything.
The woman looked at two of them. She scratched her head a little. "Huh, that's funny. Well then, either he’s been possessed or he’s hiding something from ya.”
It looked like he was possessed, by what Clint's not exactly sure. He played like it was an extension of himself. He’s ever seen him radiate like that, even when he’s angry. The kid’s never looked so in control in his life. The song ended and they all clapped for him. Jack put the guitar down and smiled sheepishly.
“If you want, I can play something else," he said quietly.
“I don’t think so kiddo,” the woman said, “your parents are here to get you.”
Jack looked up at Clint and Natasha and his eyes widened. “The pizza!” He hopped down from the boxes and grabbed it off a rickety AC box and brought it over to them. That’s the Jack they recognize: shy, nervous and eager to please. “I put it on there so it’d stay warm. 'M sorry I got distracted, I--”
“Jack,” Natasha said. “Where’d you learn that?” He turned around to look at the guitar like he didn’t understand let alone know what guitar is or why he’d ever touch one. "You never mentioned knowing how to play guitar."
“I learned from the TV,” he said quietly. He turned back to them. “I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.”
“You learned that just from watching TV?” Clint asked.
He nodded, “Victor only let me watch one channel, they had a lot of tutorials and music videos.” He looked between the two of them with his wide and scared eyes, “you’re...you’re not mad at me?”
“A little,” Natasha said and Clint nodded. “You ran off without letting either of us know and we were worried out of our minds looking for you, but...we both know you’re genuinely sorry and it’s fairly uncharacteristic of you.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good. Second thing,” Clint said. “Seriously, even if it’s around the corner, don’t leave your phone home.” He handed it back to him, “keep it with you, always.”
“I will.”
“Thank you…” Natasha trailed off.
“Name’s Sheila,” she filled in for her. “And I should be thanking y’all, this punk’s welcomed here anytime as long as y’all are okay with it.” Something told them that even if they weren’t okay with it, she’d still let him play around in her store.
Jack tried to hide his smile by chewing on the sleeve of his shirt, something he’s got a terrible habit of doing when he gets skittish. “We’re fine with it, as long as he tells us where he’s going next time.”
“I will,” he mumbled.
“Welcome to the Grand Jam then, kiddo,” Sheila said.