Prompt: Quinn is picked off the streets by Clint Barton and brought back to Stark Tower

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Tonight was going to be snowier than usual. The food in the dumpsters would get cold very soon. I ran to the alley behind a nice bakery joint uptown. They always threw out the unsold product and all of it was wrapped, making it the perfect place to search for dinner. I filtered through the bread, tossing aside the things that were half eaten or bitten into, stuffing a small drawstring bag with whatever I could find.

"Loaf, loaf, loaf," I mumbled as I placed the loaves of bread gently into the bag. "Yes! Baguette!" It was still warm so I held it to my cheek, absorbing what I could before the sensation left. I heard footsteps coming from the end of the alley. Instinctively, I ducked behind one of the bins, unfortunately taking a very uncomfortable position.

"Thanks, Dan, it means a lot."

"Anytime, Clint, anytime." A man with blonde, short hair apparently named 'Clint' strides down the pavement. The second he passed me, I shifted ever so slightly, creating a muffled clanging behind the dumpster. He walked backwards looking for the source of the sound. I held your breath and squeezed I core like I thought if I tried really hard I'd disappear from sight.

"Hey, kid, what do you think you're doing here?" he lifted me up by the collar of my green army jacket. I slipped out of the jacket and snatched it from his hands so I could put it back on again. I wore a lot of clothing; a long sleeved white shirt with a thin, worn-out red sweater on top, then a cardigan, a grey hoodie, and finally my green army jacket. I wore skinny jeans and black converse sneakers that looked like they were about to fall apart. To complete the ensemble I wore woolly fingerless gloves and a beanie.

"Look in that bin," I pointed towards the large green container, he did as I said, "You see all that bread? I'm not letting all of that go to waste." All the bread in that bin could feed me for about a month but I wasn't about to tell Clint here that I didn't have anything else to eat.

"Alright, you're coming with me," he reached out a hand. From the way he was dressed I prejudicially decided he was a cop.

"Hey," I defensively backed up a few steps, "The last I checked, dumpster diving isn't a crime."

"Kid, if you're gonna eat, you're gonna eat proper food. Now come." He started to walk off, thinking I'd follow. I didn't. I stood rooted to the spot with my arms folded across my chest. I bent down for the drawstring bag and baguette, both of which ran out of that lovely bakery heat. I was about to take a bite from the baguette when Clint walked up behind me and slapped it out of my hand.

"Oi, what was that?" I said with a rather annoyed tone. The baguette landed in the snow and was deemed inedible by the five second rule. Clint picked up my collar again, making sure this time to latch onto all of the layers of clothing. I couldn't really escape this time. I tried pulling out of his grip but to no avail. He began to drag me along the concrete ground. I gave up trying and put all my weight into his hand.

"Kid, you're a little heavier than I thought you'd be." he grunted.

"Gosh, thanks," I grumbled, slightly offended, "All right. I know you mean well, but I best be on my way. My parents will be worried sick," I lied. What parents? I killed them when I was a child. An infants and fire makes for a terrible combination.

"I can see right through you. You don't have parents. You don't live anywhere. You haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks." He lugged me further and further away from the bakery.

"You can't really prove any of that, now can you." he was totally, completely, one hundred percent correct but 'fake it 'till you make it', right? I was sick of being dragged around, literally, so I removed my fingerless glove and took hold of his jacket sleeve. I let my hand heat up and ignited his trench coat. He dropped me in an instant. I put my glove back on and watched him freak.

"Ah, Oh. My. Gosh. Help. Gah," He threw off the coat and stomped on it until the flames diminished, "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" I smirked.

"That," he pointed to the black bundle of jacket on the ground, "You set it on fire." He looked me up and down, checking for a heat source.

"Like this," and in one swift motion my glove was off again and there were flames dancing from the heel of my palm to the tips of each finger. I threw a ball of fire at Clint's face and right before it could reach him I clenched your fist tightly, causing the flames to vanish. I began to step back slowly, with every intention of leaving him there, a chuckle escaped my lips.

"Wow, did you see your face because your eyes were like....and then your mouth was like....." I did my best to imitate his expression as the distance between us grew. Clint suddenly realized I was trying to get away. He broke into a sprint and threw me over his shoulder, his shoulder digging into my stomach as he adjusted the way he carried me. I moaned in my discomfort.

"Now I have to take you to Stark Tower," he laughed, "Bruce and Tony are gonna love this."

"I will burn you." I threatened. He just started laughing at me. He begins to jog, making my stomach turn sour with nausea, and my face red with bloodblush.

"I'm taking the risk."