Archive of Our Own ^beta

Clint lets Steve pull them into his bedroom after the whole ordeal where they managed to get their feelings out onto the table, despite the fact that it was hardly three o’clock in the afternoon and the idea of sleep frightened him to the core. He didn’t want to scare Steve off with his issues, his inability to trust, the nightmares that shook him more than he’d care to admit.

Steve was having none of it. He tugged the archer down the hallway, ordering Jarvis to tint the windows in his bedroom so that the room was reasonably dark. The perfect atmosphere for just laying there and enjoying each other’s company. He wouldn’t have minded if the shorter man slept, in fact, he would have preferred it judging by the dark circles under his eyes, but he didn’t push. He had a feeling that getting the archer into his room and laying with him was enough of an exercise in trust as it was, he didn’t want to push the guy away with orders and pushy suggestions.

The two were holed up in the super-soldier’s room, in his bed, to be more accurate. The room was comfortably cool (thanks to the Tower’s rockin’ AC), and dark (but not too dark). Clint was tired, even though he was trying to convince his body that ‘no, I’m perfectly awake and alert.’ Truth was his eyes were slipping shut faster than he could snap them back open and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the game without having to get up and move around.

“You can sleep, you know.” Steve murmurs into Clint’s hair. The archer’s eyes snap open wide once again before drooping slightly. He mumbles something unintelligible and shifts in Steve’s arms slightly, resigned to staying awake.

“I’m not going anywhere.” the haze in Clint’s mind had grown thicker, but the words murmured into his hair somehow keep him from surfacing. It was a reassurance that somehow relaxed himself enough to just give in, and he shut his eyes and didn’t force them open again.

Steve listens as the other man’s breathing evens out and smiles slightly. He takes the time to study Clint, to really look at him. When he was asleep, the lines in his face smoothed out significantly, the smile lines nearly disappearing, which made him looking incredibly younger. It made him think about how much Clint had actually been through. Steve hadn’t been a soldier for very long, and something about the other man’s face spoke volumes about how long Clint had been knee-deep in the agent business. He wondered about when the point in Clint’s life was when he stopped trusting people, because as much as Clint would deny it to anyone who asked, he didn’t do it often.

When he’d first met Clint, Steve had thought that him and Natasha had been together. The two were closer, closer than anyone Steve’s ever seen around Clint before. Speaking of Natasha, it seems Steve would have to start worrying about her finding him and threatening his life should he hurt Clint. That is, whenever she got back, another thing Clint seemed to be worried but wouldn’t let on about.

Clint shifted slightly in his sleep and Steve held his breath, hoping against hope that he’d stay asleep. He shifts again and then sucks in a breath before curling in tighter to Steve’s body, one of his fists curling tightly in the soldier’s shirt before he falls quiet and still once more.

Steve lets out a heavy breath of relief. The archer could use the sleep. Everybody in Avengers tower could, if he was being honest. They had all been through a lot, even Thor who popped in and out on occasion. Steve had heard Pepper and Tony speaking in low voices, her telling him he needed to stop going days without sleeping. He had seen Bruce in the common area kitchen late at night when Steve himself grew tired of staring dully up at the ceiling. For Steve it hadn't exactly been nerve wracking night terrors, but more along the lines of insomnia at its finest. He wasn't entirely sure about Natasha because she had been gone since the Battle, but if she was hanging around Clint and could say they had a certain degree of shared life experience, then she was no better than the rest of them. It’s not a thing they talk about, not a thing any superhero talks about, the fact that saving the world usually comes with a lot of backlash, not on the world, but yourself. It's not something anyone forgets, the horrors they all face day to day. It's ingrained, and as much as they all suppress it when it’s time to heroic and professional, it’s still there.

* * * * *

Steve falls asleep sometime after Clint’s minute shifting, the bed too comfortable and the room too cool to keep him awake. He wakes up when Clint is pressing against his chest and then pulling on his arms. Steve realizes that the archer is trying to free himself, doesn't hear the desperate rumbling slipping from other man’s lips as he scrambles away.

Steve sits up immediately, watches the panting figure standing a few feet from the side of his bed. Clint turns away from him then, runs his hands through his hair and then curls his fingers around a few strands and pulls painfully hard.

Clint backs himself into a corner of the room, pulling his knees to his chest. Steve pushes back the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his movement slow and deliberate so as not to startle the other man in his fit of panic.

Steve creeps closer to Clint, getting down on his knees so they’re at the same level. He makes an abortive movement toward Clint before his jaw sets in a determined way and he lays his hands gently on the archer’s forearms. The figure freezes completely, the incoherent mumbling ceasing and the fingers tugging at his hair stopping. He continues to shake as Steve brushed his thumbs over his arms, not entirely sure of what was going on.

“Clint?” Steve says quietly, not ceasing with the movements of his thumbs. Clint doesn’t reply, continues to shake but doesn’t start mumbling again or yanking at his hair again which Steve figures is a step in the right direction.

“Clint? Do you know where you are?” the question is soft and when he doesn’t get a reply he moves closer, slowly pulling himself around so he is sitting beside Clint, his back to the wall with Clint on his right. He still has hold of one of the hands, which he brings to his lips and barely presses them against it, just enough to feel pressure and contact.

“Fuck off, Barney.” Clint hisses under his breath and Steve sucks in a breath. He had no idea who Barney was, but the words that just left his (new) boyfriend’s mouth mean that he truly isn't in the room with him, not mentally.

“Not Barney, Clint. It's Steve.” Steve says, his hand tightening slightly around the other man's.

“I said go, Barney! Or are you here for a round, too?” he shouts, pulling his hand away sharply, “I’m sure all of the blood will make it easy for you.” he adds, voice shaking slightly as he rakes his fingers back through his hair again.

Steve suddenly feels sick.. Really, really sick. He hasn't known Clint for very long, but he knew that the archer struggled with nightmares and things from his past. The reasons behind why Clint didn't do well with relationships had never crossed his mind, he was too busy trying to convince Clint that none of it mattered, because it didn't.

It didn't matter, no. But that doesn't change the fact that Steve wishes he could go out and find everyone who hurt Clint and sort out the situation with his fists.

“Just go, Barn-” Clint glances up sharply for the first time since he had curled up in the corner, the end of his brother's name suddenly caught in his throat, because the man looking back at him is most certainly not his brother.

Steve stares back as Clint snaps his mouth shut and confusion and sudden panic clouds his eyes. His eyes flick around the room quickly before he meets Steve's eyes.

“Clint.” Steve says firmly, and something about the tone of his voice registers in the archer's head.

“S-Steve.” Clint breathes, and something breaks in his eyes as recognition crosses his face.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, cautiously placing his hands in the archer’s, “yeah, it's me. It’s Steve.” he nods.

Clint is barely remembering where he is but he’s back in the present enough to cringe as tears streak down his cheeks. He’s been crying far too much lately.

“Steve-” he stutters, pulls his hands away and placing them on either sides of the soldier' face.

“I got you,” Steve reassures, and Clint lets him pull him around so that the archer is leaning against him, wrapping comforting arms around the other man, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Steve lets the other man shake through sobs and mumbled words demanding him not to leave. Clint struggles to pull himself together again for what be the hundredth time this week He finally starts to settle down, choking sobs settling down to noisy tears and then to hiccups. Clint rubs at his eyes hastily, leaning back into the stable body behind him.

“I’m sorry.” Clint whispers, voice hoarse from crying for so long.

“Don't apologize for this.” Steve replies firmly.

“I-I don’t-” Clint starts and then lets out a heavy breath, “I haven't gotten like this in a while. But I woke up with some guy in my bed and I guess I panicked before I realized it was you.” Clint explains, limbs tightening and then loosening again.

Steve isn't sure what to say to that. He isn't sure he should announce that Clint had said some personal things when he was still in a different world.

“You said some stuff. When you were...yeah.” Steve finally decides to come right out with it.

“I would be surprised if I didn't,” Clint runs a hand through his hair, “I just get lost in my own head sometimes. Can you-what did I say?”

“You said something about someone named Barney. And….you asked if he wanted to go a-a round. You said there was enough....blood.” Steve recites quietly.

Clint seizes up in Steve's arms at the words that leave his, not just because of the other period of it life it thrusts him back into momentarily, but also an overwhelming sea of shame and disgust washes over him like a wave of salty ocean water.

“I-Barney was my brother. We ran away to the circus when I was younger and one of the guys there,” Clint swallows bitterly, “my mentor, actually, he-um, used to take advantage of me. Once we got to the circus Barney stopped really caring about me, this- what I said actually happened.” Clint’s voice drops off at the end, and he is suddenly exhausted, tired of talking.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says.

“Eh,” Clint tries to shrug but can't muster the energy past a faint twitch of his shoulders, “What can you do?”

“Before you even say it, because I know it's coming, I’m not going anywhere. No matter what. You're stuck with me.” Steve says forcefully. Clint shifts slightly.

“Okay,” he agrees, “can we…go back to bed? It’s only, only five AM.” he asks.

“You read my mind.” Steve jokes, and Clint moves off his lap so the soldier can stand. Clint glances up and lazily holds up his arms and Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing his hands carefully and hauling him right back into the bed. The blankets and sheets had gone cold due to the lack of inhabitants, but Steve, the ever-so-present furnace, warms it up rather quickly.

Clint tries to ignore the fact that the only thing he seems to have done the past few days is sleep and freak out and then go back to sleep afterwards. It seemed like Steve’s cure-all, but that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. Something about the Star Spangled Man With A Plan made Clint safe, and the less time he spent questioning it, the more time he could just appreciate it in the moment.

“Sleep, Clint. I got you.” Steve says. Clint closes, because he didn't need to be told twice.

* * * * *

“We should go on a date.” Steve says suddenly a few days later.

Him and Clint are seated at the breakfast bar on Clint’s floor, picking their way through a plate of bacon and French toast situated between them on the table. Clint’s eyebrows go up slightly as he rips a piece of one of the toast slices and dips it into some maple syrup.

“Oh?” he replies, licking syrup off of his lips in a way that made Steve want to devour the archer, “What did you have in mind?”

“That's the thing.” Steve sighs, breaking pieces off of a bit of bacon and bringing the food no where near his mouth.

“Well, Coney Island was around back in the 40s, right? It’s still there, maybe that could be it.” Clint suggests, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't really mind what they did, so long as they did it together.

“Coney Island?” Steve echoes.

“Yeah. Ferris wheel, carnival games, Cyclone, you know.” Clint waves a general hand around as he speaks.

“I guess...yeah, that would be nice.” Steve agrees.

“When should we be taking part in this awe-inspiring date extravaganza?” Clint inquires.

“Maybe this weekend. Not Saturday, too many people,” Clint nods his head, because the life of a spy has him surveying everyone and everything at all times and it tended to get tiring after a while, “Sunday, then.”

“Okay.” Clint agrees, flashing a smile at the super soldier which spreads a wide grin across Steve's face. It's been a while since he’s seen a genuine smile like that, the few he remembered being from pre-Loki. It warmed Steve in a way he didn't quite understand fully to know that he himself played a part in putting it there.

Steve calls a team night like he has done every week since they all got there, but it’s different now because Clint will actually be there with them and not hiding away on his floor. The idea of many people around isn’t exactly as appealing it as it used to be, but he knows he’s getting better.

They make it to the common floor, where Bruce and Tony are talking in science terms that the rest of them are always struggling to understand. They don’t stop when the pair step off of elevator and it’s clear that their opinion towards them has not changed. Not opinion, more like knowledge of their relationship statuses. A lot had changed in the last few days, but the world had indefinitely continued to spin and life went on without them (not that either man was complaining).

“Well, if it’s Legolas and our favorite resident Capsicle.” Tony grins at the sight of the two of them. Tony doesn’t say anything about the fact that Clint is here, in the flesh, not hidden off somewhere like he had been for so long, avoiding the team and human interaction in general. Clint rolls his eyes and plops himself on the comfortable couch, which seats Bruce at the other end. Steve smiles at them all in greeting.

“I’m the only Capsicle, Tony.” Steve jokes, disappearing into the kitchen as he tosses the playful words over his shoulder.

“True, true.” Tony agrees. He sits in the recliner to the right of the couch and eyes Clint curiously. Bruce taps away at a Starkpad, seemingly ignoring the lot of them.

“So, how’s things been, Katniss?” he questions casually.

Clint shrugs.

“Been okay.” he replies.

“The hearing aids?” Tony adds. Clint’s eye brighten slightly and Tony almost breaks out into a grin. The look was there for only a second, but it had been that of a little kid getting just what toy they had wanted, except Clint was an adult and they were hearing aids and not action figures.

“Great, actually. I can’t believe how awful the Shield ones were.” Clint replies. Banner looks up at the start of the conversation curiously.

“You’re deaf?” he inquires.

“Yeah. Since I was a kid. Sucks.” Clint picks at a loose thread in his t-shirt absentmindedly and Steve shouts suddenly from the kitchen.

“I’m making popcorn! Any other specific requests?” he calls.

“Ice Cream!” Tony shouts at the same time Clint says “Hot Chocolate!” in a slightly quieter voice. Bruce just smiles and shakes his head, amused, looking back down at the device in his hands.

“Got it!” Steve acknowledges, and Tony pulls up Netflix as they wait. They look for a movie for a while, getting input from Steve in the kitchen and Bruce on the couch as they browse. They eventually settle on a horror movie, Dark Skies, and Tony queues it up and pauses it at the very beginning, awaiting Steve’s presence

The super-soldier comes hobbling into the living room, carrying three full bowls of popcorn, a bowl of ice cream, and a mug of hot chocolate, somehow managing to steady every item and skillfully sets it all down on the coffee table without dropping it. Clint knows if it had been him he would have taken one step out of the kitchen air, tripped over his own feet, and landed on the smashed remains of the blue ceramic mug.

Steve plops down heavily beside Clint, the side of his body pressing slightly into him as he gets settled. He retrieves one of the three bowls of popcorns and leans back comfortably into the material of the couch, waiting for Tony to press play.

The movie comes and goes, Clint taking the occasional sip from his mug until it’s all gone and he places it silently on the floor by the couch. The room is dark and everyone is engulfed completely into the movie, for once it’s one all of them haven’t seen yet. Granted, it’s usually Steve who has missed out on the movies they’ve seen, but Clint had never seen Lord of the Rings until he was badgered into it.

Steve leaned his left side against the arm of the couch, and slowly but surely throughout the movie, Clint had managed to meander his way to pressing against the soldier’s right side. When the movie finally ends, Tony just clicks some other one that the rest of them hasn’t seen, a slightly longer one, and lets it play. None of them make it through the whole movie. Bruce is out, slumped against his edge of the couch, Tony nodded off in the chair, head tilted back and mouth slightly open. Clint is the last one to fall asleep, some instinct he’s fought hard to get rid of but never really managed to do, and when he finally does it’s a restful sleep. No being jolted awake. No fitful tossing and turning. No nightmares.

* * * * *

Clint doesn’t wake up until there’s what he recognizes as sunlight streaming into the living room from the massive windows of the Tower. For a second he’s not sure why he fell asleep on the common floor, but then he remembers the day before. Movie night was fun, he decides.

It was only him and Steve, he realizes suddenly. Someone had draped a large blanket over the two of them. They both must have shifted in some time during the night, because Clint has his back resting on Steve’s chest, the super-soldier having loosely tossed a protective arm across the archer’s front. Steve is still asleep, breathing deeply, eyes shut. Clint smiles to himself at the sight of the soldier’s face. Clint someone imagined there were worry lines etched in Steve’s face, the lines that would be there if not for the Serum. Steve was sometimes like a mother hen, he worried an awful lot about an awful lot of people, and Clint knew that the stress sometimes got to him no matter how hard he attempted to conceal it. Clint was very observant.

A quick glance at the clock tells Clint that it’s ten o’clock in the morning. Clint’s surprised that Tony isn’t waiting around to wake them up and tease them about how their position makes them total ‘lovebirds’ and that they’re ‘totally gay for each other’. Now, while this may not be wrong, it doesn’t mean Clint wants anyone else to know, especially not Tony. Well, not yet, at least. Soon, he knows, because he likes Steve and doesn’t particularly want to hide their relationship, but it’s new and part of Clint is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Steve to realize just how awful Clint is, or how awful Clint thinks he is.

Clint lets himself grow limp again, closes his eyes but doesn’t make any particular effort to fall asleep. He lays, comfortable and warmer than he’s felt in weeks, not wanting it to end. He doesn’t fall back asleep, and at around eleven, he cracks his eyes back open. The common area is still suspiciously empty, but he chooses to ignore it, pushes the idea of Tony having a window of the surveillance of the floor open in his workshop to the back of his mind.

Clint twists around in the arm holding him slightly, just enough to reach up and poke Steve in the face. He pokes the blond on the cheek, and repeats the action a few times until Steve stirs slightly, muttering garbled words. Finally his eyes flicker open and he takes in the sight of Clint before grinning goofily.

“Hey, babe.” he whispers, and Clint settles back in as both of Steve’s arms reach around his front and hold him tightly.

“We fell asleep.” Clint says dumbly.

“Yes, I can see that. Where is everyone?” he inquires, glancing around the wide expanse of the common floor.

“I don’t know. But someone put a blanket on us before they left.” Clint replies, shrugging slightly.

“Oh,” Steve laughs lightly, “Okay. Do you want to make breakfast or get an early lunch?” he questions.

“Lunch?” Clint suggests, his answer in the form of a question.

“Sounds good. We should probably get dressed, then, huh?” Steve remarks, not making a move.

“I guess so.” Clint agrees.

Neither of them move. They just lay there, enjoying each other’s company for as long as physically possible before it is absolutely necessary that they have to get up from the warm, comfortable couch. Clint rubs his cheek affectionately against Steve’s chest and he responds by tightening his hold slightly.

They finally get up at around noon, which includes Steve practically dragging the archer off of the couch feet first and to the elevator. They split to go to their own separate floors to get dressed.

Clint takes a shower, a quicker one than he’s been taking for the past few months, because suddenly he has something to look forward to. He still doesn’t look in the mirror, just runs his fingers through his wet mop of hair and drying off, putting on street clothes and exiting the only slightly steamed up bathroom in under ten minutes.

He goes back to Steve’s floor, not bothering to inquire before entering. Jarvis lets him up just fine, so he figures Steve told him to always let Clint up. Clint sits on the edge of Steve’s bed, the bedroom still dark from before when Jarvis had dimmed the lights and tinted the glass. He can hear the shower running, and waits, fiddling with his Starkpad absently until he hears the shower shut off. He place the tablet to the side of him on the bed and looks up when Steve open the door.

The super-soldier emerges in nothing but a white towel wrapped tightly around his waist. Steve notices Clint and his ears take on a redder tint, his cheeks flushing slightly as he shuffles across the carpet to the dresser and pulls open one of the drawers.

Clint stands as the blond begins rifling through it to find a suitable shirt, moving up behind to man and wrapped his arms around the larger man’s frame. Steve drops his hands into the drawer, ceasing the search for a shirt as Clint smirks slightly.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” Clint murmurs into the dip in Steve’s back and the soldier vibrates slightly as he rumbles out a laugh.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Steve remarks and Clint rolls his eyes, letting go and side stepping Steve so he can have a look into the drawer of shirts. He plucks one out at random, a plain white t-shirt and thrusts it into Steve’s face. Steve glares at him playfully and shoves the drawer shut, pulling open the one under it, grabbing a pair of dark wash jeans before Clint can even reach his hands towards it.

“You gonna stay for the show?” Steve jokes, plucking a pair of boxer briefs out of a top drawer before turning around to face Clint. Clint glows red for a second before shaking his head, smiling nervously.

“I’ll go wait in the kitchen,,” he decides, making his way to the door, “stay sexy.” and he winks, pulling the door closed slightly and meandering over to the kitchen area. He opens the fridge while he waits, pours himself a glass of Coke and hops himself up onto the marble counter top, kicking his feet ever so often.

Steve emerges with damp blond hair and comfortable clothes on, smiling when he sees the archer sitting right on the counter without a care in the world.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” he jokes, maneuvering around the other man’s legs and grabbing his own drink from the fridge. He cracks the can open like he’s been around the whole time and not off frozen in an ice cap for seventy years, leaning back against a cabinet with an easy smile.

“Yeah, well.” Clint shrugs and lets his words drop off.

Steve glances at the kitchen around them lightly.

“Maybe today can be an ‘us’ day.” he suggests, his eyes falling back to Clint. Clint nods in agreement.

“Sounds good.”

They land on the couch, Clint curling close to Steve under a warm blanket as Jarvis queues up a movie on the TV. Clint’s face heats with a happy blush when Steve presses a lovingly protective kiss to the top of his hair.