Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clint woke up, and he was in pain. So much pain. His everything hurt, worse than he'd ever felt before, and as he opened his eyes, he cried out.

There was a voice, muffled without his hearing aids. He couldn't see yet, his vision was blurry. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and all that came out was a hoarse cry.

His sight came back in time for him to see someone walking towards him on the bed. On instinct, he threw his arms up protectively, but all that did was make him cry out in pain again. Tears clouded in his eyes, and he tried to furiously blink them away, knowing he was in the company of somebody else. Someone he assumed was an enemy.

There was the muffled voice again, talking to him, and he wondered what they were saying. He wondered if it was even English. But the person continued towards him and grabbed something off the nightstand. They turned towards him, hands extended towards his head, and worked to do something. Clint tried to thrash around, but it only caused him pain, and he couldn't really do much.

He relaxed as soon as a familiar object was placed near his ear, and the person gently worked the hearing aid in, making sound rush back to him. Without a word, the person put the other one in, too, then stepped back in view of him.

"Can you hear me now?" the man spoke and signed at the same time.

Clint tried not to let his surprise show. Most people didn't even know sign language, much less were they fluent. But the man's hands moved with precision, his facial expressions on point, and he was so clear with his signs. It was definitely a shock. 

"Yeah," Clint replied while nodding, his voice barely discernible.

"Don't move. You're hurt badly," the man said sternly.

Clint frowned, but otherwise obeyed, laying down in the bed and staying still. He wasn’t really sure why, but if the man wanted to hurt him, he would’ve done it already, so Clint knew he would be ok for now.

"Who are you?" The man asked, his voice gruff and low. He was wiping off a pistol with a cloth, seemingly very meticulous about it. He had long dark hair that almost curled at the ends, reaching all the way down to his shoulders. His eyes were dark and solid, an incredible absence of life behind them, and he was built. No doubt he could easily hurt Clint. Yet, he didn’t.

"I'm Clint Barton. Hawkeye. I'm an Avenger," Clint replied with a cock of one eyebrow.

"You work with Steve?" the man asked. He cocked his gun and moved it around a little, feeling it in his hand with a sort of pride.

"Yeah. Great guy. Super chill. Hey, so, who are you? Because you didn't kill me, and if you wanted me dead, I would be already. You don't seem like someone who'd have trouble putting me down. And how do you know Steve?” Clint tried to sit up against the pillows, but as he did, sharp pains shot up all around him, and he gave up and sunk back down into the bed.

"I told you to stop moving," the man said sharply. He barely looked at Clint as he spoke, almost like he was bored of him.

"You didn't answer my question," Clint said defiantly. He sounded more confident than he felt at the moment. Just because the man hadn't killed him yet, didn't mean he wasn't going to, and he was scary. Tall, quiet, and brooding. The makings of a terrifying man.

But Clint watched him move, watched him mess around with his guns, and as he did so, he caught the glimmer of silver from his left hand, peeking out just under his sleeve. A metal arm.

And suddenly, it all clicked into place for Clint. "You're the Winter Soldier," he said, eyebrows raised.

The Winter Soldier ignored him and continued his tasks, cleaning all his guns, checking the chambers, then setting them down. When he was done, he got up and left the room without a word, and Clint was left alone, wondering what the hell was going on.

He had been rescued by the Winter Soldier. And now he was looking after him in some old house in the middle of nowhere.

A few minutes later, the Winter Soldier returned, a can in his hand. He passed it to Clint, who took it curiously. He stared at it, unwilling to eat, knowing the Winter Soldier was just staring at him.

"Eat," he commanded.

"Did you poison this or something? Is it drugged?" Clint asked.

"It's beans," the soldier replied with an unwavering expression.

With a half-shrug, Clint moved to pick up the spoon, remembering how much he hated the stuff. Years in the circus had taught him that, while some foods were edible, they were far from enjoyable. But as he tried to will his arms to move, he was only met with an immeasurable amount of pain. He cried out and dropped the can, which was quickly caught by the soldier.

Clint leaned his head back against the pillows with a sigh, closing his eyes and trying to will the pain away.

“Open your mouth,” the soldier commanded.

“What? Why?” Clint asked dumbly. He opened his eyes to find a spoonful of beans sitting in front of his mouth, held up by the soldier's metal arm. “Oh hell no.”

“Open your mouth,” the soldier repeated, a little more sternly this time.

Clint frowned and prepared to protest some more, but he knew there was no way in hell he'd be able to do it himself, and his stomach started hurting from hunger. 

With a sigh, he opened his mouth, only for the spoon to be shoved forcefully in his mouth. He ate the beans off of it, and the soldier pulled it away, readying another bite, but not before Clint had some things to say.

“Jesus. You could be a little more gentle, you know,” he chastised.

The soldier dropped his head and opened his mouth, almost like he was going to retort, but then didn't say anything as he brought the next spoonful up to Clint’s mouth, far more gentle and considerate this time.

By the time they finished the can, Clint felt both embarrassed and relieved. He willed himself to get better quickly so he didn't have to keep doing that. 

"You think we could order a pizza next time?" he joked, trying to cure the now unbearable silence. The Winter Soldier was quiet and still, no doubt a very focused and dedicated soldier. He was good at what he did, and Clint wondered what he sacrificed to do that.

"You are in a secure location. I will not compromise the safety of this place just so you can eat what you desire," the soldier replied, not even looking in Clint’s direction.

Clint rolled his eyes, wondering how long he was going to be stuck with this party pooper. "Hey, how long are you going to keep me here?"

"Until you are fully healed and it is safe for you to depart."

"How long is that going to take?" 

The soldier almost seemed annoyed, the first emotion Clint had seen from him, and he had to bite back a smirk. "Not sure yet. You got yourself injured pretty severely."

"Have you just been watching over me like this?"

"I have been keeping watch to make sure you don't get killed."

"How long was I asleep for?"

The soldier clenched his fists, the only visible sign of his annoyance, and Clint was proud of himself for pushing him so far already.

"6 days. 9 hours. 42 minutes"

"Hmm." Clint put a hand on his hip and shifted a little uncomfortably. "Ow."

"How many times do I have to tell you? Stop moving." The soldier came up to him and pushed him down onto the bed with his metal arm. Clint could feel the coolness through his bandages. He wasn't wearing any kind of shirt, but most of his chest and torso was wrapped up. 

He threw his arms up in defeat, if only minutely. "Fine. I surrender."

The soldier backed up again, back to the corner, and he stared at Clint like he was studying him. "Go back to sleep. You need to rest," he said quietly.

Clint mumbled something incoherently and painfully tried to roll onto his side. He gave up quickly, though, and sighed heavily, regretting it instantly. No matter what he did, it hurt, and he was not happy about it.

"You got any pain meds?" he asked as he looked up towards the ceiling.

He listened to the soldier shuffle out of the room without a word, returning a minute later with a glass of water and some pills. He silently walked up to Clint and stood beside him, a little bit of hesitancy in his movements.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

Clint blinked and didn't react for a second, but then he did as he was told. The soldier dropped the pills inside his mouth, then pressed the rim of the glass against his lips. As he tilted it back, he said, "drink." Once again, Clint did as he was told and let the water flow into his mouth.

"Swallow," the soldier said, watching Clint hold the water in his mouth for barely a second.

Clint swallowed the water and the pills then smirked. "You know, there's a very funny joke I could make about that, but I won't."

The soldier's expression didn't change as he backed away from the bed, and Clint wondered if he understood the innuendo he was making or not. Who knows what this guy could and couldn't remember, or even knew in the first place.

"Sleep," the soldier said again.

Clint closed his eyes, listening to the wind outside and the faint shuffling of the soldier moving around. "Hearing aids," Clint muttered.

He opened his eyes as the soldier walked up to him. Without a word, he very carefully took his hearing aids out and set them on the table. Clint was surprised at his gentleness, especially with something like his hearing aids. He must've known what they were worth and how delicate they were. Someone like him didn't seem like someone capable of being so gentle, given what Clint had picked up from him already and the stories he'd heard about the infamous Winter Soldier.

The soldier returned to his corner- he really liked standing there- and Clint realized how tired he really was, despite having been knocked out for days. He shifted uncomfortably on the pillows and felt his eyelids droop, letting sleep pull him in.

When Clint woke again, he was alone. The soldier wasn't standing in his corner, and without his hearing aids in, he couldn't tell if he was anywhere else in the house.

With a shuffle and a groan of pain, he gave up on trying to move. He'd been asleep for a while, he assumed, but he didn't feel much better. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle of his body, and every tiny movement he made felt like hell.

The house smelled like gunpowder and food. Suddenly, he was very hungry. His stomach growled and ached, confirming his suspicions that he'd been out for a good while.

Almost on queue, the soldier walked into the room, carrying a glass of water with him. He approached Clint with the same disinterest as before. He brought the glass to his lips and signed, "drink."

Just like before, Clint did as he was told. Before he knew it, he had practically chugged the entire glass. The soldier took it back silently and placed it down onto the nightstand.

"Why are you taking care of me like this? You could've just left me to die," Clint asked with a tilt of his head, studying the soldier closely, trying to figure him out.

But the soldier was still mysterious, still stiff and reserved as he regarded Clint. "I'm not like that anymore," he signed, almost solemnly.

Silently, he turned around and marched out of the room, leaving Clint to have to think about the weight of his words, and how much they seemed to affect him to say. The only emotion besides annoyance he'd displayed. Clint was making fast progress at getting him to open up, and he smirked a little at the thought.

The soldier returned not long after, paying no mind to the smirk still on his lips, and instead held a can of beans once again.

Clint frowned and stared at the can in his hands. "Aw, man. Beans again?"

The soldier waved his hand to get Clint’s attention. "They stay fresh and are easy to store. Plenty more where that came from," he signed.

Clinf continued to frown and grumbled something as the soldier picked up the spoon and began feeding him. Once again, as soon as he was done, the soldier swiftly took the can away.

When he returned, he took refuge in his little designated corner- Clint was prepared to make a sign to put there that said 'the Winter Soldier's corner’- and stared at Clint with a determined gaze.

"Hearing aids," Clint said, pointing to the nightstand. He was willing to talk to the soldier, to have any sort of company he could get, but he did not want to keep staring at him to have to communicate with him. The man was downright creepy.

Without a word, he brought the hearing aids to Clint and gently slipped them in his ear, the most tender Clint has seen him thus far. There was something so sweet about the way he did it. He was a badass, cool-guy that was silent, deadly, and constantly brooded in a corner, but he handled Clint's precious hearing aids with such precision. The thought was enough to make him chuckle lightly.

If the soldier heard it, he ignored it, and instead moved back to his corner, staring at Clint again.

"What are your plans? Are you just gonna keep feeding me and looking after me while I recover?" Clint asked, breaking the awkward silence.

The soldier was quiet, and Clint wondered if he was thinking or just being plain creepy as he stared. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Clint was more than glad he wasn't on this guy's bad side- at least, not yet- as he stared at his muscular frame.

“I'm going to track them down and take them out,” the soldier replied after a long stretch of silence.

“Great. When I'm recovered, I'll come with you,” Clint said enthusiastically.

“No. You aren't strong enough. Look what happened to you last time,” the soldier replied sternly.

“Oh, come on. Don't be like that. I just got a little hurt, it's nothing. But with you by my side, it won't happen again. You're like, crazy strong, right?”

The soldier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Annoyance again. Clint loved being annoying to others- he was the definition of a little shit- but it was even more entertaining for him because of how little emotion the soldier showed. Any type of reaction was worth it, and annoyance was the easiest one to get out of him. 

“We can debate this later when you are actually recovered. Right now, it's not worth it to strain yourself. You need to relax. Maybe go back to sleep.”

Clint groaned. “But all I've done is sleep. I'm bored. I want a book or something to read. Maybe even a magazine. Something to cure my boredom.”

“You're an archer. You've done stakeouts before. You know how to deal with boredom.” The soldier turned towards the door and began walking away.

“Yeah, and stakeouts are the most boring thing ever,” Clint muttered as the soldier walked out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack. “You know, you could stay and keep me company!” Clint shouted, and the soldier either didn't hear him or ignored him. Probably the latter.

With a cross of his arms and a huff, Clint settled himself lower into the bed, staring up at the ceiling mindlessly.

Clint didn't remember falling asleep, but next thing he knew, he was waking up in the same bed he'd been confined to, ears aching from sleeping with his hearing aids in, and darkness surrounding the room. He'd lost all sense of time over the last few days, and he wasn't really sure how long he'd been asleep. All he knew is that he was still in a lot of pain.

“Winter?” he called out into the darkness, his voice wavy and still sleepy.

A few seconds of shuffling later, and the soldier made his way into the room, a glass of water in his hand. It almost felt like routine at this point.

The soldier put the glass to his lips without instructions to drink this time, and Clint obviously knew what to do without being told. He drank half the glass and brought his head back down. The soldier placed it onto the nightstand and continued to stand next to Clint, eyeing him with a little more curiosity than usual.

“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly.

Clint thought for a minute, wondering if he was, and came to the conclusion that he could go for some food. “Yeah. Please tell me it's not beans again.”

The soldier just grunted in acknowledgement and walked away. He came back a minute later, carrying, of course, a can of beans. 

Clint groaned loudly. “Yay. Beans. I'm so happy,” he said sarcastically.

Though he didn't look any different, his face still set in a hard scowl, the soldier seemed amused by him. Or it was just Clint’s imagination trying to make sense of the strange man taking care of him.

They both were silent as the soldier watched him, gently feeding him the way he had been. Despite the tough guy he was, he was gentle when he needed to be. The thought was quite endearing to Clint, and he smiled as he ate.

“What?” the soldier asked when he noticed.

“Nothing. You're just amusing, is all,” Clint replied with a small chuckle. 

The soldier frowned a little- another small reaction- and resumed feeding Clint without another word. When he was done he returned to the kitchen as always, and Clint was left by himself to think.

Since he'd woken up the first time, he'd never been awake for more than an hour or so, and he was finally feeling how gross he was. He was greasy and stinky and in desperate need of a shower. 

The soldier returned to his watch post in the corner, not giving Clint more than a glance, and instead looking out the window. Clint couldn't see much from his angle, but there were a lot of trees around. Maybe they were in a forest.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Clint asked in the silence.

The soldier didn't respond, but he did look at Clint, giving him his attention.

“Could you help me get a bath? I feel gross and I haven't had one in a while. And obviously, I can't do it by myself.”

The soldier gave the smallest of nods before walking away. Clint was sad for a second. He wondered if he was coming off too strong with the ask- they weren't particularly close or anything, and asking someone to bathe you was kind of a big favor. But after a minute, Clint heard the water running in the tub down the hall, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could already feel the warm water on his skin, feel all his problems wash away with the soap. The thought was heaven. 

The soldier returned and walked towards Clint. He picked him up very carefully and moved him towards the edge of the bed with ease, Clint groaning every little while at the pain. Carefully, the soldier unwrapped the bandages from Clint’s chest and torso, freeing his wounds for the first time since he'd been awake. It was painful, but it felt just a little easier to breathe, too. He closed his eyes and let the soldier do his work, his touch so light and gentle, it didn't seem like the same person he'd heard stories about, or even the one he'd very slowly been getting to know from their time together. He was careful and mindful of his injuries, stopping for a second every time Clint groaned or made a noise of pain. After getting all his bandages off, he moved to get Clint out of the boxers he was wearing. Clint was slightly embarrassed, but he forced himself to not think about it, trying to help wiggle out of them without hurting himself too much. It took a few minutes of effort, but the soldier eased them off and then picked Clint up carefully. Clint was surprised as he was swept up into his arms. 

The soldier walked them into the bathroom and very carefully placed Clint in the tub full of warm water. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, feeling better immediately. The soldier reached on either side of his head and plucked out his hearing aids, setting them down on the sink, then kneeled at the edge of the tub next to him silently. He wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest, even as Clint sat fully naked in the tub in front of him. He wondered if it was due to his time in the army, or if he was just that far gone from being a normal human.

“Thank you, Winter,” Clint said quietly, letting his head drift back to the wall behind him, eyes closed contentedly.

The soldier sat silently, letting him soak for a while, not making any moves.

After a long while, probably around half an hour, Clint opened his eyes and sat himself up a little. “Ok. Can you wash me now?” he asked, blinking himself back into reality.

No response came, but the soldier grabbed a washcloth and soap from the edge of the tub. He lifted one of Clint's arms and scrubbed incredibly gently, careful to avoid any of his injuries. He scrubbed up and down his arm thoroughly, then did his other one. Clint relaxed into his touch. He was so tender and calm, it was like he knew exactly what Clint needed, where it hurt and where it didn't. Where he needed the most scrubbing and where it didn't matter as much. He was like a mind-reader, and Clint couldn't have been more happy about it at the moment.

When he finished with his arms and part of his torso, too much of it was covered in injuries to clean most of it, he hooked his fingers under Clint's chin, turning his face towards his own.

Clint swallowed hard. This was the closest had been to him before, the most had really gotten to look at him. His eyes looked almost dead, so heavily focused on the simple task of cleaning Clint. He was doing what he was told with perfection. 

He never escaped brainwashing. Even if Clint didn't give him an order, he followed his wishes and made himself of service. No matter what, he was always the man that was brainwashed into being a killing machine, only made to follow orders, and some part of him would never be able to escape that.

Clint's heart broke for him. He knew what it was like, to an extent, but he knew he'd never fully be able to understand what the Winter Soldier had been through. He doubted anyone ever could. Could anything bring life back into those eyes? They'd seen so much.

The soldier scrubbed ever-so-gently at his face, fingers still holding his chin steady, and Clint found himself closing his eyes and relaxing into the touch. So precise and perfect, he felt like a dog getting scratched behind the ear by its owner.

Then the soldier let his face go, and Clint opened his eyes, slowly lifting his arm up to place a hand on his metal shoulder, right over the bright red star. “Thank you, Winter,” he said with a sad smile.

The soldier paused momentarily, showing his acknowledgement, before he lifted up one of Clint's legs and began scrubbing it down. Clint let himself fall into a relaxed state, body absorbing the comfortable feeling of warm water, warm and cool touches, and the gentle scrub of the rag up and down his body.

Then he flinched as two hands landed in his hair. The soldier stopped for a second, making sure he was ok, before he resumed scrubbing the shampoo into his thick and greasy hair. The fingers that danced around his scalp felt like heaven, and Clint let out an involuntary sigh, letting his body melt away and sink down into the water. How many times had this guy done this that he was so good at it? The question lingered for a second in his head, until he thought more about it, and he turned sad. What all was this soldier made to do besides kill? Humans were terrible. What would they do with a man that would obey their every command with no objections?

Water was being dumped on his head from a cup, washing the shampoo out, and the soldier put a hand over his eyes to shield them. No matter how much he'd been forced to do, no matter the horrors he'd seen, the horrors that accompanied his everyday life before this, he was still human. He always would be. No matter what, a small part of his old self still existed, evident by the small details of thought he put into his care of Clint. He was still there inside, and nothing was ever going to take that away.

The soldier picked him up under the arms and sat him on the edge of the tub, before he pulled the plug, letting the water drain, and left the room. He returned a few seconds later with a towel, carefully drying off Clint's hair and body. As he leaned over him, the soldier's long hair tickled the side of his face, and he smiled without really thinking about it. When he stood up, Clint reached a hand out, ignoring the pain it caused him, and brushed it through the hair, making the soldier recoil back. Clint lowered his hand, letting it fall to his side, a look of apology on his face for scaring him. His hair was dark and thick, falling in loose curls past his shoulders. It was pretty greasy and looked hard to manage. Clint wondered when the last time he'd had a shower was. 

Without a word, the soldier scooped him back into his arms and walked them back to the bedroom. With Clint sat down on the edge of the bed again, the soldier walked away and returned a few minutes later, arms full of supplies. He dropped everything down on the bed, except for Clint's hearing aids, which he carefully slipped into his ears, after softly tucking some longer hair behind Clint's ear in a strangely tender gesture. Clint knew he was blushing, but he didn't care and tried to ignore it. 

The soldier started carefully cleaning off his wounds with antiseptic and a cotton ball, cold against Clint’s skin, and he tried his best not to squirm every few seconds.

“You know, you're pretty gentle for someone so mean and brooding, Winter. You know that?” he said, his own voice still sounding foreign to his ears as he adjusted to hearing again.

The soldier didn't look up at him, but Clint felt a shift- subtle, but there. He almost seemed amused. Clint almost started laughing, but a rub of the cotton ball against one of the large wounds on his stomach made him suck in a breath and curse instead.

“Sorry,” the soldier muttered, almost impossible to hear.

Clint smirked and leaned back a little. He was making progress, breaking down the soldier's walls one brick at a time. And he figured it'd be worth the wait. He'd only known the guy a few days, but there was so much about him Clint wanted to learn. He wanted to know everything he had to offer. Intriguing was an understatement in how to describe him.

Bandages were being wrapped around his torso and chest, and he almost completely forgot he was sitting in front of a basically stranger, completely naked. Even with a metal arm, the soldier's touch was gentle as he wrapped bandage after bandage on him.

Clint made a silent note that the soldier always seemed to be wearing a long sleeved shirt, covering his arm. Clint obviously knew it was there. Was he ashamed of it? 

“Barton,” the soldier said suddenly.

“Hm? Yeah?” Clint replied, momentarily shocked. The soldier had never directly addressed him before.

The soldier secured the last bandage and moved to clean some smaller cuts on his face, his metal hand on his shoulder to steady himself. “You keep calling me Winter.” It was more of a statement, but Clint understood the implied question.

He shrugged. “Cause you're the Winter Soldier, but that's too long of a name. And, I don't know, I just assumed you didn't really like that name much anymore. So I wanted to give you a new one.”

The soldier seemed to think it over, before he nodded and finished cleaning his head. With the same care as before, he helped Clint slide back into his boxers, then made him lay back down on the bed.

“Try not to move too much. You're doing better, but you're still not good,” the soldier said as he made his way out of the room, leaving it open a crack once again.

Clint was eternally curious what the soldier did while Clint was confined to the bed. He never gave any indication.

A few hours passed, and Clint mostly spent the time listening to the soldier's small, quiet movements around the house with nothing better to do with his time. All kinds of things filled his imagination as he wondered what he could possibly be doing, but he knew none of them were probably right. The soldier was nothing if not mysterious.

A little while later, the soldier made his way back into the room. He was carrying something in his hand and made his way over to Clint, standing in the same spot right next to the bed.

“I brought some crackers. I figured you'd be hungry, and I know you're not a big fan of the beans,” he said as he pulled one out and held it in front of Clint's face.

Clint bit down swiftly, smiling as he chewed it. “Not a big fan is an understatement,” he said as he swallowed the first cracker. The soldier held up another one, and he ate it rather ungracefully. “Thank you,” he said when he finished the second one.

The soldier only nodded, before he gave him another one.

About a dozen crackers later, Clint was satisfied. The soldier gave him a couple sips of water before turning to leave again.

“Wait,” Clint said, trying to sound as least desperate as possible. “Could you stay? You make good company.”

The soldier seemed perplexed, but he obeyed the request and went to stand in his corner. Clint stared silently at him for a minute, before he delved into a story about one of his favorite missions, and the soldier stayed silent as he listened to the entire thing intently.

Chapter Text

A week and a half had passed, with Clint becoming a little more functional every day. He could still barely move his lower half, but he had a decent range of motion in his arms and was able to successfully eat by himself now. The soldier had helped him with a bath another time, and frequently helped him with small requests like getting him water or helping with his hearing aids. 

When Clint woke up in the morning- he'd adopted a more normal sleep schedule after a few days- he groaned and sat himself up with a bit of effort. 

After giving himself a minute to adjust to being awake, he called out, “Winter!” into the emptiness.

He waited and waited, but the soldier never came, and without his hearing aids, he had no way to tell if the soldier was even there.

Minutes dragged on, and no one came for him. In a fit of desperation, Clint forced his legs over the side of the bed painfully, then slowly dipped down until his toes hit the floor. Carefully, he pushed himself off the bed and onto his feet, using the nightstand for support. But as soon as he let go, he fell to the floor and cried out in pain, his whole body aching and burning beneath him.

A slew of curses left his mouth as he called out for the soldier again desperately, pain causing him to curl himself in a ball. But nobody came to him.

Tears streamed down his face, and he tried so desperately to get up, but his arms were weak, and he couldn't even push himself into a sitting position. Instead, he laid on the floor, crying to himself, wishing desperately he were anywhere else at the moment, or at the very least, not completely alone. Pain coursed through his body like fire, and he just wanted to go completely numb. He just cried and pleaded silently for something to end his pain.

Time dragged on. Clint didn't know how long he laid there. Minutes? Hours? But eventually, he could feel the door to the house open and close, and gentle footsteps moving around. Then the footsteps were heavy and fast, running towards him. Before he knew it, a pair of hands were on him, feeling around painfully. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, and the hands stopped. He was suddenly picked up and lifted onto the bed, a muffled voice in his ears as he tried to open his eyes, only for everything to be blurry.

Then he was being shaken and he forced his eyes to focus on the soldier leaning over him, shaking him and saying something he couldn't hear.

When he could tell Clint was looking at him, really seeing him, the soldier sighed with relief. “Are you ok?” he signed frantically. “What happened?”

“I went to find you, and I fell,” Clint replied weakly, dried tears still streaking his cheeks. 

“You know you can't walk yet,” the soldier signed definitively.

“I wanted to find you. You didn't come when I called for you. I was scared. I didn't know where you were or what happened to you.”

The soldier let his shoulders sag a little as he placed a metal hand on Clint's shoulder. “Are you ok?”

Clint hesitated for a moment before nodding, wiping the dried tears away from his face. “It hurts,” he said brokenly. 

Without a word, the soldier stepped away, dropping his arm at his side, and left the room. Clint had to stop himself from reaching out after him.

It was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours, until the soldier returned with his arms full of many things. He set some down on the nightstand, some on the bed, and sorted through them with focus.

He opened a bottle of pills and placed some into Clint’s hand, who put them into his mouth, before helping him guide the cup of water to his lips and take a sip. “For the pain. It should help, but it’ll also probably knock you out,” he muttered. Then he carefully slipped Clint’s hearing aids into his ear, hand lingering just a second too long against his skin, and Clint relished in the contact.

Out of a bag, the soldier pulled out some pop tarts and goldfish. Clint’s mouth practically watered at the sight. Beans and crackers were something he never wanted to see again.

“I know you said you've wanted some other food, so I brought you some. I don't know if you like this, but they looked ok, so I took a chance,” he continued quietly.

“Yeah. They're good. Thank you,” Clint said with a small smile, feeling his spirits lift a little at the soldier’s thoughtfulness. And the pain meds were starting to kick in as well, his brain drifting away wistfully. Whatever the soldier gave him, they were strong and worked quickly.

“I also got you some coffee. I've heard you muttering about how much you wanted some,” he kept going, holding up a box of coffee grounds.

Clint’s jaw dropped and he felt like he might die in that moment. “You could hear that? And you bought me some?” he gushed with a bright smile.

This time, the soldier looked at him, stared at his expression of pure happiness, and Clint swore there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Would you like me to brew you some now?” the soldier asked, standing up straight, his expression back to its normal blank stare.

“That would be amazing,” Clint beamed, completely forgetting about the fact he had to be picked up off the floor while crying less than fifteen minutes ago. “But… do you know how to brew coffee?”

“I'm a hundred years old. I've known how to brew better coffee than you've ever tasted since before you were born,” the soldier replied stoically. But Clint knew he was trying to make a joke, and he applauded his effort, for it was natural. It didn't seem too forced. Maybe before everything happened, the soldier did have a sense of humor and was a fun person to be around. Even now, Clint was drawn to him and missed him when he wasn't around. Maybe he was actually making progress at breaking through to the real him, whoever that was.

“You remember?” Clint asked.

The soldier shrugged. “Some things. Random things. But brewing coffee is one of them. I used to do it a lot in the barracks. My unit loved my coffee, and I was always a sucker for Steve’s puppy eyes when he begged me to make him some,” the soldier gushed, speaking more about himself in one sentence than he had most of the time they'd been together in the last two weeks.

“That's nice.” Clint ran a hand through his hair as the soldier walked towards the door. “I wanna know more about you,” he confessed before he could stop himself. He blamed the meds. He was starting to feel floaty, anyways. 

The soldier froze in the doorway and turned back to look at him. 

“I mean, I practically know nothing about you except for the things I've read in your file,” he continued. “You seem like a person I'd like to get to know. Maybe even become close with. I know you're a kind person. That much is obvious, despite how much you try to cover it up with your soldier training and hard-ass attitude.”

The soldier stared at him silently for a minute, mulling over his words. Then he muttered, “I'd like to know more about me, too,” and ducked out of the room. 

Silence overtook everything, minus the shuffling of the soldier from the kitchen, and Clint stared up at the ceiling, unsaid words hanging on the tip of his tongue. 

Maybe we could find out together.

Clint didn’t get to know how good the coffee was because when the soldier returned with a steaming mug, he had already passed out.

The speed in which Clint sat up in the bed made his head spin, and he cried out in pain. Instantly, there was a pair of hands guiding him back down to the bed, and he obeyed silently, willing himself to calm down. The soldier was by his side, helping to ease him back down, a hint of worry in his expression as Clint forced himself to breathe.

As always, the soldier had a glass of water ready on the nightstand, and he handed it to Clint, who grabbed it with shaky hands and took a long sip, accidentally dribbling some down his chin. The soldier took the cup back and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the water away from Clint’s face in a strangely intimate gesture. Clint was still too out of it, but if he wasn’t, he knew he would be embarrassed. Then he was handed his hearing aids, and he was thankful to be able to put them in himself, despite how gentle the soldier always was. Some things he just wanted to do on his own so he didn’t feel completely useless.

“You ok?” the soldier asked, signing and speaking at the same time as Clint readjusted himself to the hearing world.

“Yeah,” Clint replied groggily.

The soldier dropped his hands to his sides. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I… don’t really know. It wasn’t a normal one. There were these…things,” Clint tried explaining. He sighed and rubbed his hands down his face.

“Space worms?” the soldier asked as he handed Clint a different pill than before.

“Y- Yeah.” Clint frowned, suddenly remembering parts of his bizarre nightmare. “How did you….”

“You muttered about it in your sleep.”

“Oh. Really?”

The soldier nodded. “Space worms and pizza dogs.”

Clint smiled sadly to himself, suddenly feeling a little homesick and missing Lucky. Thank god for Kate. Without her, he’d probably starve, and Clint didn’t know what he’d do if Lucky ever died because of him. He missed Kate, too. Her sarcasm and stubbornness almost rivaled his, and he could’ve used a joke or two from her then.

“Coffee?” the soldier asked, and Clint looked up at him, his smile having a little more life.

“Yeah. That sounds nice,” he admitted.

The soldier nodded once then left the room. Clint pulled the blankets tighter around himself, then dropped them, realizing he never got under them in the first place. The soldier tucked him in while he slept, as well as took out his hearing aids. He was one strange man.

The soldier came back into the room a few minutes later, and the delicious smell of coffee filled Clint's everything, and he sat up happily. The soldier passed the mug over, and Clint had to force himself to not drink from it immediately, knowing he'd only burn his tongue. From behind his mug, he looked up at the soldier, standing firmly next to him, just like he always did.

“You can sit down, you know,” he said between cooling blows into his drink. “You don't have to just stand there all the time.”

The soldier continued to stand and stare.

Clint patted the end of the bed. “Sit down, Winter. I don't bite, I promise.” Clint almost felt like he was talking to a dog, and his smile grew.

Stiffly, the soldier sat himself down on the bed, but it was less like he was sitting, more like his body sat down on top of the bed. He jumped when Clint put a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, Winter. It's ok. You being comfortable isn't a crime, I promise. I want you to be comfortable,” Clint reassured.

The soldier took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders a little. “I've always got one foot in. No matter what, part of me is still at war, or still stuck in the brainwashing,” he admitted.

Clint smiled sympathetically, then rubbed his hand on his shoulder. “That's ok. At least you still have one foot in this world, too. And maybe one day you'll learn to take that leap across the line,” he said.

The soldier looked up at him, eyes with the tiniest bit of sparkle, and his lips curled at the corner ever so slightly. It was the most emotion he had ever shown so far, and Clint's heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

“Are you hungry? You were out for a few hours.” the soldier said suddenly, breaking their moment.

Clint shrugged and watched as the soldier stood up next to him. Then, without warning, he picked Clint up in his arms. Clint yelped but didn't protest, letting himself be walked into the kitchen and sat down on a stool in front of the counter.

The soldier began mingling around the kitchen, grabbing things out and setting them down as he turned on the stove.

Then he stood there, bringing his long wavy hair away from his face, and Clint was mesmerized. He stared, way harder than he probably should have, as the soldier's arm and back muscles flexed under his slightly too tight t-shirt. Clint had to force himself to close his jaw. His hands expertly brought his hair up into a messy bun, a section of hair still hanging out and resting against his neck. He turned, hair tie hanging between his teeth, and Clint's heart skipped a few beats. Handsome was an understatement as he brought the hair tie from his mouth and tied his hair up, letting it fall down together as his hands went to his sides, already resuming himself with his previous task of cooking. Clint knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but it wasn't fair that he could tease him by being so sexy like that without even realizing it.

Clint cleared his throat and took a couple deep breaths, forcing himself to refocus. “Whatcha making?”

“Surprise,” the soldier responded simply.

Clint put his chin on his hand, elbow on the counter, and stared out the window behind the soldier. “Hmm.”

His mind trailed off with thoughts of nothing in particular. Nothing except the soldier. He was fascinated by him. There was just something about him, some invisible force that made Clint exceptionally curious about him. And a lot of other unnamed feelings he wasn't going to acknowledge anytime soon.

“Barton,” the soldier said, but it was as if he heard it from a distance, and he didn't really register it. “Clint!” he half-shouted, and Clint's head jumped up. 

“Hm? Yeah?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Food's ready,” the soldier informed as he slid a plate of lasagna towards him. “I can warm up your coffee for you again, if you'd like. You never drank it,” he offered.

Clint smiled. “That sounds good. Thank you.”

The soldier nodded and walked away. Clint didn't stop himself from turning around and staring as he went, smirking to himself, which he quickly hid as the soldier came back into the kitchen with the mug still full of coffee.

Ungracefully, Clint shoveled some food into his mouth and pretended to busy himself with eating, which only proved to make things worse as the food was still way too hot, and he started choking. The soldier placed the mug onto the counter and rushed to his side.

“Barton,” he said worriedly.

“I'm fine,” Clint signed quickly. “Water,” he signed, and the soldier rushed to grab him a glass. Clint accepted it with shaky hands and chugged it as fast as he could, washing down the food as he went.

Finally, with a sigh, he slammed the glass down on the counter and shook his head.

“Sorry about that. I got a little too excited about the food. I didn't realize it was so hot,” he said nervously.

The soldier gave him a frowned stare, clearly not believing him, but he didn't say anything, and instead busied himself with warming up Clint's coffee.

Clint thought about the worry the soldier had shown him, the look on his face. It was one of the only emotions he'd seen from him, and it was for him. He was worried about him. Clint’s chest fluttered, and he had to grab another sip of water to make sure he didn't start choking again. 

Slowly now, he picked up another fork full of food and held it close to his lips, blowing softly on it before placing it in his mouth. Instantly, there were sparks lit on his tongue, and he melted down into the chair.

“Winter, this-” The soldier turned to look at him, puzzlement evident on his face. “This is amazing. Oh my god. It's so good.”

The soldier looked like he was holding back a smile, eyes lighting up and mouth pressed hard into a straight line. Clint was satisfied. It was proof, even more than before, that his efforts were proving fruitful and he was getting to know the Winter Soldier.

Without responding, he slid Clint's now warm mug to him and watched him eat, an unreadable but different expression on his face.

“This your place?” Clint asked in between bites, gesturing with his fork around the house. It was the first time he’d been out of the bedroom since he arrived at the house, and he wanted to get as much information out of the soldier as he could. One step at a time.

“Safe House,” the soldier corrected.

“You gonna eat?”

“Not now.”

Clint frowned at him, but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything more, so he continued eating mindlessly, trying to mind his business. But the man who stood staring at him was so mysterious, and there were a thousand things he wanted to ask, and he got the feeling that the soldier wouldn’t talk about himself unless asked. A good soldier.

“Where do you sleep? Do you sleep? You're always awake when I am, and I've been sleeping in the only bedroom in the house.”

“I sleep. On the couch.”

“Well, if you want, I'm good enough to move to the couch now. You can have your bed back.”

“I like the couch.”

Clint continued to frown into his food but kept his opinions to himself. He took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “This coffee’s amazing too. Where'd you learn to make stuff like this?”

“Not sure.”

The soldier began retreating again, responses being as long as they needed and nothing more. Clint committed to staying quiet. One step forward and two steps back, it seemed, and he didn't want to push the soldier away any more than he had in the last few minutes by being nosey.

A long silence stretched between them, only the clink of Clint's silverware really heard as he didn't look up, but could feel the gaze of the soldier on his head. When he did finally look up, the soldier continued to stare at him, but it was like he wasn't really seeing him. For not the first time, Clint wondered what went on inside his head. What kind of things did a man like him think about on a normal basis?

Before he could think too hard about it, he busied himself with finishing his meal and coffee.

“They’re probably still looking for you. The people who did this to you,” the soldier said suddenly, breaking both of them out of their stupor. Clint looked up and locked eyes with him, and this time, he seemed to actually stare back. “You should be safe here. We're pretty far away, and this is a secure location.”

Clint stared a little harder at him, trying to read him a little more, to no avail. “How do you know about HYDRA? Most people aren't even aware it exists, even with Cap’s little stunt with S.H.I.E.L.D. last year.”

The soldier was silent for a minute, and he dropped his head to look at the floor. “They created me,” he said quietly.

And with those three words, everything fell into place from the last few weeks. Clint dropped his fork and stared down, trying to not let the shock show on his face. HYDRA created the Winter Soldier. Or at least, had a hand in it. They made him partly who he was. And he hated that part of himself.

“You didn't want me to end up like you. That's why you saved me,” Clint said quietly, almost in disbelief.

“I told you already, it's not who I am anymore. I don't want to hurt people. I want to undo what I've done. I want to help,” the soldier murmured in response.

“Well, I'd say this is a good place to start, then,” Clint said as he looked up, a small smile on his face.

Slowly, the soldier lifted his head towards Clint’s, eyes full of sadness and something else that looked like… hope. Clint let himself feel that same hope for a minute. Hope that maybe he could change him, break through to who he really was, and get to know someone in a way he’d never known anyone before.

Another week passed, give or take, and Clint had a little more mobility. He could move most of his upper half no problem, and he was starting to gain better function of his legs, too. He walked with a cane that the soldier brought him from God knows where, but other than that, he was recovering nicely. He still couldn't crouch or bend over, though, so his movement consisted of staying around the same height. 

His progress with the soldier was also going smoothly. They hadn't really gone forward from their conversation in the kitchen, but they hadn't gone backwards either, and to Clint, that was easily a win. 

The sounds around him exploded, lighting his nerves on fire, and his lungs sang with the burn of practice. It felt so good to be back, to be able to shoot his bow again without any worries. He smiled and listened to an arrow fly, watching as it soared through the trees and planted itself in the bullseye of a target he mounted there ages ago.

He leaned onto his cane and looked next to him when he heard a familiar chuckle. Kate Bishop stood next to him, notching an arrow and smiling at him.

“Nice shot, Hawkeye,” she said before letting her own arrow fly. It sunk itself into the bullseye of a different target, one that Clint had put there more recently, just for her.

“You too, Hawkeye,” he said in response.

They both chuckled as they went to collect their arrows and return to their shooting spots.

“You know, Barton, you are gonna have to settle down one day,” Kate said as he notched his own arrow. “Find yourself a nice lady- or gentleman, I don't judge- buy a house, retire, talk about the weather while reading the newspaper or something. All that.”

Clint lined his breaths up with the steps of shooting, then released his arrow, watching as he just barely missed the bullseye. “And what if I don't want that,” he replied with a shrug.

“Why wouldn't you?” Kate gave him one of her knowing stares.

“I don't know. You've met me. I'm not very good at compromising and learning to trust someone. Commitment's hard.”

Kate drew her bow and took her shot, barely scraping the edge of the bullseye. “You trusted me.”

“Yeah, well, that's different.”

“Why?”

“Cause I'd never get in a relationship with you. You're my student, my best friend, and like, way too young for me. Plus you're not my type.” He added the last part with a chuckle.

“You trusted him.”

Clint looked up from fidgeting with an arrow. “Hm? Who?”

“The Winter Soldier.”

“Well, that's different, too.”

“Why?”

“I understand him in a way I've never really understood anyone before. Not even Nat. And, I don't know, he's just different. Mysterious and intriguing, I guess.” Clint shrugged, and Kate chuckled a little at him. “Where’s this coming from anyways?”

She opened her mouth to respond, and clearly said something, but Clint suddenly couldn’t hear her. He tried to ask her to repeat, but his own voice faltered as he tried to speak, and panic rose in his chest. 

And then there was a laugh. A low, familiar, bone-chilling laugh that made Clint curl up on himself on instinct. It was right in his ear, and in a fit of desperation, he yanked his hearing aids out and shoved them in his pocket.

But he could still hear it. It was still there taunting him, haunting him.

“You can't save him,” the same voice the laugh belonged to said from over his shoulder.

Clint put his hands over his ears, but nothing could block out the sound.

“You know he's just like you. You want to save him, the same way you wished you would've been saved, but you can't. He's too far gone. Just like you were. You're the same. You killed people, Clint. Just like him. You're a puppet, always will be. You belong to me,” the voice continued.

Clint dropped to his knees and yelled, his breathing picking up and tears clouding his eyes.

“Clint,” a different familiar voice said. Clint lifted his head, locked eyes with Kate, and everything went still for a second. He stared at her desperately, before getting to his feet and running towards her.

As he reached her, arms extended to wrap her in an embrace, she disappeared in a green glow. “Kate!” he yelled, his voice threatening to break.

And then something appeared in front of him suddenly. Someone. Clint stopped abruptly and stared in horror.

Loki began laughing at him again, staff in hand. Clint stared, unable to will his body to move, and then the staff was pressed to his chest, and he screamed. 

Suddenly, Clint was sitting straight up in bed, clinging desperately to the sheets and panting heavily. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and he struggled to get air into his lungs. He could tell by the burn in his throat that he had screamed out loud. 

Suddenly, the door in front of him flew open, and the soldier looked around frantically. He spotted Clint, noticed he was ok, and flicked on the lights with a sigh.

“You ok? What's wrong?” he signed frantically.

Clint took a few minutes to catch his breath as the soldier stared at him, his expression as unreadable as always. “I'm fine. Just a nightmare. I'm sorry to wake you,” Clint signed in response, not trusting his voice at the moment. 

The soldier waved him off. “You want some water?”

Clint nodded, and the soldier left, returning a minute later with a glass of water, which he handed to Clint. Clint downed the whole thing quickly and handed it back gratefully. The soldier went to leave again, and that was the last thing on earth Clint wanted then.

“Winter, wait,” he said aloud.

The soldier stopped and turned back towards him, expression unchanged, except for the slight frown.

“Could you stay?” His voice broke as he said it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The soldier debated it with himself for a second, but then he took a step towards Clint and cracked the door behind him. He nodded at Clint and moved further into the room, right into his little corner. He stood, the way he always did, and stared. For some odd reason, Clint found it comforting. Maybe because it was familiar, it had become his new normal, and he could do with some familiarity in his life.

Or maybe it was the way the soldier's eyes softened in the light, staring at Clint with a mix of sadness and something similar to affection. And that was what made Clint break. He smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away with his hand. 

The soldier took a hesitant step towards him. “What's wrong?” he signed, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

“Nothing,” Clint signed back. “Sorry. Just… overwhelmed, is all, I think.”

The soldier's shoulders sagged a little. They were both still, staring at each other intensely, willing someone to say something. But neither of them moved, and the soldier studied him like he was a textbook, yet he wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it was the opposite. He felt seen. And his insides turned warm and fuzzy again. He willed himself to not think of what that meant.   

“I'll listen,” the soldier finally signed, the rest of his sentence hanging in the air between them.

If you wanna talk.

Clint took a deep breath and lowered himself onto the pillows, words dying in his throat. He knew that if he ever wished for the soldier to open up to him, he'd need to open up as well, but it was easier said than done.

And as he laid there, trying to come up with the right words, his mind was blank, and the only thoughts he had were of how terrified he was of laying himself bare in front of someone.

But this was the man who'd seen everything. He'd seen things Clint could never even dream of. The most imaginable horrors of mankind. This is the man who basically died, was brought back from near death, and was forced to live through the tortures of seventy years of brainwashing. He had washed Clint when he couldn't do it himself, fed him, helped him use the bathroom, watched over him. This was the man who took care of him when he was alone. This is the man who had gone out of his way to save him, at the threat of being captured and tortured again, just because he wanted to be a better person and didn't want someone else to ever go through what he did. This is the man who stayed by his side, day and night, with no complaints.

He should be the easiest person in the world to talk to.

“I was brainwashed, too,” Clint admitted suddenly, after a long stretch of silence.

The soldier looked up at him but didn't make any other sort of acknowledgement.

“By Loki,” he continued. “I don't know if you've heard about him. Not sure how much Steve's told you about the world since you came back. But he's an Asgardian god, and he had this magical scepter that could put people under his control.” Clint shuddered a little, remembering the little details of his time there, and it made him queasy and anxious. “He went for me. Put me under his control. I couldn't fight him, no matter how hard I tried.” He took a deep, shaky breath and tried to calm himself down. Suddenly, the soldier was next to him, flesh hand on top of his. It made him jump, but he understood the attempt of comfort, and he accepted gratefully. 

Another shaky breath later, he let the warmth from the soldier's hand bring him the courage to continue. “He made me do all kinds of things I didn't want to do. He made me hurt people. It was my job to save people as an Avenger, and he made me hurt them. I was awake the whole time. I saw everything happening, and I was powerless to stop it. I still see the terrified faces of the people I hurt when I close my eyes, and I can hear their screams, even without my aids in. But more than that, I see Loki's face, taunting me. He's dead, I know that, but he's still alive in me. In my mind, he's still there, taunting me.” Clint took another shuddering breath, squeezing tightly onto the soldier's hand unconsciously.

He never told anyone about that. It was usually too hard. Not even Nat knew all the details. She got bits and pieces over the years, from the times she comforted him from a nightmare or watched him disappear from reality. But the soldier understood. He'd been through the same thing, perhaps even worse than him, and it was easier to talk to someone who understood you. They wouldn't give you pity or sadness, just an acknowledgement of your pain and maybe the comfort of a similar story to let you know you're not alone.

The soldier gave his hand a squeeze then let go to sign to Clint. “I'm sorry that happened to you, too. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. And especially not someone like you.” The tips of his mouth curved into a remorseful smile, but it faltered after a second, and Clint was glad he was being real and not trying to put on a facade for him. He placed his hand back in Clint’s.

“I don't usually tell people this stuff, but I knew you'd understand. It's easier then, I think.” Clint rubbed his thumb over the back of the soldier's hand. “If you ever want to talk to me, I'm here. I wanted you to know that you're not alone, and I understand you, even if it's not to the same extent.”

Clint smiled up at him softly. His heart was hammering in his chest as he finally comprehend what they were doing. The tender position they were in- comforting each other as they held hands in the night.

With one last squeeze of his hand, the soldier silently moved to his corner of the room and sat down, knees to his chest, and stared at Clint with a softer expression than he'd ever had before. And Clint acknowledged the vulnerability. He allowed his mask to fall off, revealing his true emotions, and he sat himself comfortably on the ground, not standing rigidly at attention. He was becoming comfortable. 

Clint smiled before curling sideways on the bed, catching the soldier’s soft eye one last time, and he swore he saw the ghost of a smile on his face before he fell asleep.

When Clint woke up the next morning, sunlight poured in through the window. His eyes immediately landed on the soldier in the corner, knees still pulled to his chest and he stared at Clint like he'd just been waiting for him to wake up. Clint wasn't sure if he found it endearing or creepy. Kind of a bit of both. 

“Good morning,” he signed to Clint when he held his attention. 

“Morning,” Clint grumbled sleepily as he forced his legs over the side of the bed and held onto the nightstand for support. He slowly lowered his feet to the ground and stood, hand automatically finding his cane and using it to keep himself upright. He snagged his hearing aids off the nightstand and stuffed them into his pocket. The soldier followed silently with his eyes, watching as Clint slowly limped his way to the kitchen. He sat down at one of the stools and sighed, still not that awake yet. His head hurt a little and his brain was fuzzy. He assumed it was mostly due to everything that had happened the previous night.

The soldier made his way in a few minutes later and stood across the counter from Clint. “You want coffee?” he signed.

Clint nodded, and the soldier turned his back to him, busying himself with his new task. Clint stared at his back, as entrapped as ever by him, and he just admired the little things about him silently.

Something rubbed up against Clint’s leg, and he yelped, which also grabbed the soldier's attention, who stood up straight and turned around, fists raised.

Clint looked down at a small white cat by his feet, rubbing against him with a purr he could feel vibrating through his leg.

“You have a cat?” Clint shouted, probably much louder than he intended.

The soldier lowered his fists and stared at Clint with a sigh. “I didn't know if you were allergic, so I kept her away from you. And she sleeps a lot, so she wasn't much of a bother,” he signed, then held up his arms, and the cat walked towards him. He picked her up and began petting her with his metal arm.

“You know, you could've just asked me if I was allergic,” Clint informed with a shrug.

“Are you?”

“No.”

The soldier kissed her gently on the head, and it was the most affectionate Clint had ever seen him with something before. It made his heart swell and his stomach flutter. It almost felt like he wasn't supposed to see this, like he wasn't meant to intrude on such a precious moment between a man and his cat.

Gently, the soldier placed his cat on the floor, and she went back towards Clint and rubbed against his leg again. If was able to, he would've bent down and pet her. Instead, he grabbed his hearing aids out of his pocket, finally feeling like he was awake enough, and took a breath before letting himself be surrounded by the noises of the world. It would never fail to overwhelm those first few minutes with them in. 

“She's pretty,” Clint complimented after a minute, plenty of time for him to adjust. 

The soldier put a mug down and filled it with coffee. “Her name’s Alpine,” he said blankly. 

He slid the cup to Clint, who grabbed it gratefully, once again forcing himself to not burn his tongue by drinking it too quickly.

“Where'd you get her?” he mused, staring down at the cat some more. She looked up at him, beautiful blue eyes locking onto his, an almost defiant look on her face as she walked away. The rumors that pets took after their owners might be true after all.

“Found her in a box. She was cold, so small and weak. I couldn't just leave her. I took her in, fed her, and now I've had her for a few months.”

“So, you just like collecting strays then, do you Winter? First the cat, now me.” Clint smirked as he taunted him.

The soldier buried his face in his own mug, but Clint could see the slight crinkle on his eyes, and he knew that he was smiling into his coffee.

“I have a dog. His name's Lucky,” Clint announced, not wanting the conversation to end yet. He was comfortable, and it seemed like the soldier was too, and he wanted to capitalize on the rare moment as much as he could.

The soldier lowered his mug from his face and placed it on the counter, letting Clint know he was listening. He leaned back on the counter behind him, arms bracing him up, and he looked so relaxed. So normal.

Clint was more than a little distracted as he stared unashamedly. He had to swallow hard and force himself to remember what he was saying. The way the soldier's red sweater was riding up on his torso, revealing just a little bit of the skin on his stomach, was doing terrible, terrible things to Clint.

He quickly cleared his throat. “He's a beautiful golden retriever and he's missing an eye. I rescued him from some gangsters one time. He likes Pizza.”

“Pizza dog?”

Clint smiled and nodded. “Yep.”

All of a sudden, the soldier frowned with concern. Clint was starting to be able to identify his very subtle change in emotions and what they meant.  “Is he ok since you've been gone so long?”

Clint sighed. “Yeah. I trust Kate. She knows to look after him for me when I go away on missions. He's in good hands,” Clint reassured.

“Kate. You said her name last night,” the soldier muttered.

“What's that?” Clint asked. He heard him loud and clear, but he didn't really understand what he was saying.

“You said her name right before you woke up from your nightmare last night,” he informed almost solemnly.

Clint let his shoulders relax. “Oh yeah. Kate's amazing. She's like my student. She's also like my best friend and almost a daughter to me. Or a little sister. Either one. I found her one day and just kinda took her under my wing. She's one of the best things to ever happen to me ‘cause she knows how to put me in my place when I need it the most. And sometimes I really do need a good ass-kicking to get me back on track,” Clint gushed with a smile. He'd never back down from getting to talk about her. She was his pride and joy.

The soldier nodded and a little tension released from his shoulders. “Seems like I'm not the only one with a knack for picking up strays, Barton,” he said, the hint of a smirk in his voice as he quickly took a sip of coffee.

“Guess not.” Clint took a sip of his coffee as well, then they stared at each other. A knowing stare, held intensely between both of them. Clint was the first to look away, his cheeks pink, and he muttered something under his breath. 

“You want breakfast?” the soldier asked into the awkward silence.

Clint stretched his arms out with a groan. “Yeah. That sounds nice. Especially if you're cooking.”

The soldier turned away from him abruptly. Clint stared intently at his back, smirking. Getting the soldier to react was becoming easier and easier. Maybe one day Clint could actually coax a smile out of him.

Meticulously, just like he always did, the soldier grabbed a large chunk of his hair and tied it up into a messy bun. Clint was far past being ashamed for staring at him as he did so. His movements were so deliberate and slow, it was almost as if he knew that Clint was watching him, and he was putting on a show. But he wouldn't know how Clint felt about him enough to do that.

Right?

The soldier turned around to look at Clint, who had to force his jaw to stay closed, the slightest bit of amusement in his eyes. 

Did he know?

“Any suggestions?” the soldier asked, and Clint blinked a few times to bring himself back to reality.

He thought for a second. “Pancakes? Do you have the stuff to make them?”

The soldier nodded and began pulling ingredients and utensils from cabinets around him. Clint watched as he moved around gracefully. He practically glided around the kitchen, moving from place to place, mixing and pouring. It was mesmerizing to watch, almost like he was a ballerina, dancing without a care across the stage, a huge audience of people coming to see him perform his passion.

But it was just Clint there in that house. He was the only one who got to witness this, and it made his heart swell. This show, whether intentional or not, was just for his eyes. That thought led to more terrible thoughts in his head, and he had to force himself to stay there in that moment, before he said or did anything he regretted by being himself. But he made sure to sear the image in his brain and promise to never forget, no matter how much brainwashing he went through.

The urge to walk up behind him, wrap his arms around the soldier’s waist, and bury his face in his shoulder was almost overwhelming. But Clint had to hold himself back. They were making slow progress in getting to know each other, and he didn’t want to go and mess it up by coming off too harshly. The last thing he needed now was to scare him away when he was so close.

So he resigned himself to staring, chin on his hand and elbow on the counter. If he never did anything, nothing could go wrong, and he was content with his imagination for now.

A little while later, the soldier slid a plate of pancakes towards him, a look of pride on his face. Clint smiled back at him, and the soldier turned away with a steady, emotionless expression. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

Clint peeked over the soldier’s shoulder and noticed the plate of pancakes that lay in the corner, presumably there to be eaten at a later time.

“Hey, Winter,” he called, getting the soldier’s attention. As he turned around, Clint patted the stool next to him with a smile. “Come sit and eat. You always just watch me eat, but I wanna make sure you’re eating, too.”

The soldier frowned a little. “I eat plenty. Do I look like someone who’s starving?” He turned his back to Clint again.

No. He certainly did not look like someone who was underfed, his beautifully crafted muscles were a testament to that. But, still, Clint wanted to sit with him and enjoy his company just a little more than the soldier just staring as he ate.

“Please,” Clint pleaded. The soldier turned back around and Clint did the best puppy eyes he could manage, remembering the soldier’s mention of Steve’s working on him.

With a heavy sigh, the soldier grabbed the plate of pancakes and sat himself down next to Clint. Clint practically beamed as he looked over at him. The soldier looked experienced, not unlike he normally did, but he also looked younger all of a sudden. Obviously, he was nearly a hundred years old, yet he looked so… innocent as he hunched down over his plate of pancakes, cutting them up carefully. Clint watched with a look of both amusement and affection as the soldier lifted his fork and took a bite of the pancake, a smile immediately lighting up his face, even if it was small. Clint knew his whole face mirrored the smile that engulfed it. It had been so long since he’d felt this kind of light and floaty feeling while watching someone before. The pure joy on the soldier’s face- the first time he’d ever seen anything close to it before- was something that looked straight out of a painting. 

It reminded him of the first time he’d ever shot in his backyard with Kate, after he got her her own target and set it up. Her face lit up and she’d hugged him, shouting all kinds of things about how happy she was that she could shoot with him, and that he’d cared enough to give her her own place in his private shooting range, his safe place.

The soldier looked up after eating a few bites, then looked to the side and locked eyes with Clint, his smile faltering and a frown creasing his eyes. “What?” he said blankly.

Clint continued to smile. “I’ve never seen you smile before.”

The soldier turned his head back down to his plate and scoffed. “Don’t ever have any reason to.”

“But pancakes are?” Clint chuckled. That earned him a scowl from the soldier, which only made his smile grow.

“They’re my favorite food,” the soldier muttered, just barely audibly.

Clint’s eyes widened, and he began laughing. The soldier stayed silent, eyes locked on his plate as Clint struggled to breathe. “You’re serious?”

The soldier nodded, his shoulders slumping a little bit.

Clint put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump, still laughing. “Don’t worry. I just think it’s adorable. The big bad Winter Soldier loves pancakes. It’s the only thing I’ve seen so far that makes him smile.”

The soldier shook his hand off, but with no real malice, so Clint knew he was taking the joke alright. 

Clint took a bite of his own pancakes, calming down enough to stop laughing and breathe. “So, what other kinds of foods does the Winter Soldier enjoy?”

The soldier was silent for a second as he ate. “Most foods. I’m not particularly picky. The army kinda does that to you.”

“Except for pancakes,” Clint smirked.

“Except for pancakes,” the soldier repeated, the corner of his mouth almost curling up into a smile, but then he pressed it into a straight line. So close. Clint was so close to getting him to smile.

They ate silently, side-by-side, the scrape of utensils to occupy the wordless environment they were in. Alpine returned and rubbed against Clint’s leg, before she went to her owner, rubbed against his foot and meowed at him. He leaned down and pet her on the head, muttering something sweetly. Then he grabbed a piece of pancake and fed it to her, and she ate it happily.

Clint raised an amused eyebrow. “Is it ok to feed her that?”

The soldier sat back up and stared down at his plate. “Yeah. I always do research before feeding her anything. She loves them, too.” He ran a hand through the hair that hung below his bun. “Plus, I happen to have a hard time saying no to her.”

Clint went from a grin to a soft smile as he stared, eyes softening. Pets really do take after their owners. Or the other way around- The Winter Soldier did often act like a cat. 

The soldier took a bite of food then looked up at Clint, frowning. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

Clint continued smiling and shrugged. “Dunno. Just amused.”

The soldier scoffed and finished off his plate. Clint took a little longer to finish his food, savoring every bite. When he finished, the soldier took both their plates and began washing them off.

“You don’t have to do that. You cooked. I can clean,” Clint protested as he stood up from his stool.

The soldier didn’t look back at him and continued cleaning. “You can’t stand up for more than five seconds without a cane. I got it.”

Clint didn’t feel like protesting- no way he’d win anyways- so he limped his way back to the bedroom. He set his cane up against the nightstand and threw himself onto the bed with a content sigh. His body still ached constantly. He looked forward to the day when he could go back to normal, if that was ever even possible.

Chapter Text

Another few weeks came and went. Clint and the soldier stayed together in the house, keeping close company. It had been over a month since Clint had been rescued, and he was still recovering slowly. The soldier continued to slowly open up, sharing stories about Steve and the army with Clint, while Clint shared about some of the missions he’d done in the past.

To Clint, they felt like old buddies that talked about how much they missed their days in high school together. The soldier still didn’t smile, but Clint knew that he was different than before. He relaxed more. His voice was a little softer. He seemed to care. And the thought made butterflies fly around Clint’s stomach. 

He still didn’t eat around Clint much, only when they had pancakes for breakfast, which was only about once a week. Clint didn’t worry, though, for the soldier maintained his muscular and healthy stature. He was always awake right when Clint fell asleep and when he woke up. Nightmares were a frequent occurrence for Clint, just like always. Sometimes he’d wake up screaming, crying, and/or sweating, but other times, he just shot awake, burying his head in his hands as he tried to ground himself in reality. In the times he would scream himself awake, the soldier would come into his room and sit in the corner with him, waiting until he managed to fall back asleep. Other times, he didn’t go back to sleep, and they would sit quietly together in the darkness. Either way, he felt safe when the soldier came to his room to make sure he was ok. Even if he did just sit down in the corner, staring at him softly. 

The soldier mulled about the kitchen, checking cabinets and the fridge, taking stock of their supplies, muttering to himself all the while. Clint watched with silent amusement. Was he creepy for how often he stared at the soldier when he wasn’t looking? Probably. Did he care? Not really.

With a sigh, the soldier pushed some hair back from his face and turned towards Clint.

“Gotta restock later,” he informed.

“Can I join you?” Clint asked as he shoveled some food into his mouth.

The soldier shrugged and turned away, busying himself with making Clint another cup of coffee without having to ask. They’d fallen into a sort of routine, and the soldier had gotten good at understanding Clint without words, while Clint began learning what the very subtle shifts in demeanor meant for the soldier.

“Be ready to go in twenty minutes.” The soldier tossed some of the dishes into the sink, slinging a towel over his shoulder as he turned on the water. “And it’s cold out.”

Clint nodded and stood up from the stool, grabbing his cane. He slowly made his way back to the bedroom. He carefully bent down, his body still aching with certain movements, and picked up a bag from under the bed. The soldier had broken into his apartment, grabbed some of his belongings, and brought them in a bag for him. To be able to wear some of his own clothes after being stuck in raggedy ones the soldier had gotten for him was a blessing, as much as he appreciated the gesture.

He grabbed out a purple t-shirt, black cargo pants that were surprisingly warm, a black zip up jacket, and his Hawkeye logo beanie. He was nothing if not consistent in his style, and that includes wearing his own merchandise.

Carefully, he sat down on the bed, knowing he couldn’t stand for long enough to get changed. He slipped his shirt over his head, knocking one of his hearing aids completely out in the process. He groaned and leaned down to pick it up, but then a metal hand reached further than him and grabbed it. He sat up as the soldier stared at him for a second, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he ran his fingers across the hair around Clint’s ear, feeling the buzz under his flesh fingertips. Gently, he put his metal hand on the side of Clint's cheek to steady him, and he slipped Clint’s hearing aid back into his ear with a delicate precision. Then he pulled back, fingers lingering just a second too long on the side of his face.

“Thanks,” Clint said, trying to ignore how his skin was blissfully burning where the soldier had just touched him. 

The soldier nodded and stared at his bare chest. He was suddenly embarrassed, despite all the times the soldier had to help him bathe. For once, he felt like the soldier was really studying his body, and his cheeks flushed. 

The soldier’s hands came forward, holding onto his sides gently. Clint had to resist the urge to jump back. They were so close, and his heart was hammering in his chest.

He opened his mouth to question what was going on, when the soldier rubbed his fingertips over one of his wounds, one of the ones that was almost completely healed. “I haven’t checked your wounds in a while. How are they?”

Clint forced himself to take a breath. “Fine. Some of them have scarred, and others haven’t gotten there yet. Most don’t hurt. It’s really only my legs and back that hurt now.”

The soldier continued tracing over his scars and wounds silently, feeling every one with delicate focus. He dragged his fingers so slowly, it made Clint shiver, and he felt like his skin was both on fire and made of ice all at once.

The soldier pulled back, his fingertips running from Clint’s back to his sides, and he didn’t let go. The air was still around them. Clint stared in his eyes. They looked soft and kind, not their usual lifelessness. 

Slowly, he brought his hand up to the soldier’s cheek, giving him plenty of time to pull away. He brushed his fingers over his surprisingly soft skin, and the soldier seemed to lean into his touch. He rubbed his thumb back and forth, the soldier closing his eyes as he did so, and then the soldier's lips were pressed to his forehead in a gentle, tender kiss. Clint held his breath. The moment was so delicate, he was afraid he was going to ruin it by doing anything at all. 

The soldier pulled back, his hands still on Clint's hips. “Was that ok?” he asked, and Clint couldn't believe it was the same guy he met before. He was so tender and delicate, something Clint didn't even know he was capable of. It warmed his heart.

Clint nodded. “Yeah,” he replied hoarsely, a small smile on his lips.

The soldier backed away, hands falling to his sides as he marched back out of the room. Clint was sad, watching him walk away, but he didn't know what was going through the soldier's head then, and maybe he needed time to cope. Getting close to someone didn't seem easy for him.

But that didn't stop Clint's heart from hammering in his chest at the thought that he wasn't alone. That he wasn't the only one that felt the way he did. 

Quickly, he slipped his shirt over his head, more mindful of his hearing aids this time. He traded his sweatpants for his cargo pants with a little bit of struggle, then slid his jacket over his arms. Carefully, he used his cane to stand up, slipped his beanie over his head, and began slowly walking out of the bedroom.

In the kitchen, the soldier wasn't anywhere to be seen, but Clint did sit down on the stool and pay attention to Alpine, who rubbed happily against his legs.

“Hi, sweet baby,” he cooed. “I wish I could pick you up, I would love to cuddle you.”

“When we get back,” the soldier said suddenly. Clint turned around and watched him walk out of the bathroom in a new change of clothes- his favorite red sweater, a pair of dark jeans, a black zip up hoodie, and a simple black beanie. His hair was tucked into the hat, only a little strand hanging out the front.

Clint drifted his attention from the small cat to the soldier, watching as he pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on his hands. Clint noted that his metal arm was now completely covered. He knew in the back of his mind that it was fully intentional.

The soldier tossed a pair of gloves at him, and he caught them without a second thought. He stuffed them in his pocket and grabbed his cane, working to stand up slowly.

“So, how are we getting there?” he asked, praying that the answer wasn't walking. It was cold and he wasn't sure how far he could really walk. And he certainly wasn't in the mood to test it.

The soldier opened the door and walked out, holding it open as Clint followed.

“Ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

The answer was no. Clint had never ridden a motorcycle before.

The entire ride, which wasn't more than ten minutes, Clint held onto the soldier's waist as tight as he could, face buried in his shoulder. It was exhilarating, and Clint was nothing if not a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but it was an overwhelming first ride. The soldier was a very good driver, yet Clint kept feeling like he was going to fall off.

Clint watched as the soldier took his helmet off, waving his head to let his long hair neaten itself up a bit. He set the helmet on the edge of the handlebars opposite to Clint's and walked towards him, a look of pride on his face. 

“How was your first ride?” he asked amusedly. He stuffed his hair back into his beanie, leaving that one strand out again. It took everything in Clint to not reach out and tuck it behind his ear gently.

“Terrifying,” Clint admitted.

The corners of the soldier's mouth threatened to curl up, but as always, he pressed his mouth back down into a hard line.

Clint gestured in front of them, towards the market. “Lead the way, my soldier.” He turned to look at the soldier with a smirk, who only rolled his eyes at him.

And the soldier led them through the first row of the market, a paper list in his hand and a bag hanging from his arm. He kept a steady pace with Clint, careful not to outspeed him, and Clint was eternally grateful as he limped a step behind him, using his cane to keep himself upright. Thank god they weren't walking home. He was going to hurt tomorrow.

As they walked, the soldier stopped at several stalls, conversing with the vendors in a language Clint didn't understand. He bought many different types of food, putting them gently in the bag and handling them with care. The Winter Soldier loved his cooking, and he took it and the ingredients he used very seriously, it seemed.

“You seem to be specific about your ingredients,” Clint pointed out with a smirk. “I never imagined the Winte-” he continued, but the soldier shot him a glare at the mention of his name, and he swiftly shut his mouth. 

Caring, yes. Terrifying, also yes. 

Clint cleared his throat. “I mean, I never imagined you were so serious about your cooking,” he corrected.

The soldier looked straight ahead of himself. Clint could hear the murmurs of people as they passed, and he wondered what they were saying and if the soldier could hear it, too. “Everything here is locally grown. It's natural and pure, makes for perfect ingredients,” he informed. “And l like to support small businesses when I can.”

“My little leftist,” Clint said with a smirk, poking him on his metal arm, both because it was the one closest to him and it made for a good pun.

The soldier rolled his eyes and continued walking, not even looking at him, but Clint continued to smirk. The soldier stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, leading them around the corner and down the next aisle without a word.

In a random burst of confidence, Clint took his own hand, the one nearest to the soldier, and switched his cane to the other one. Then, he put his hand on the soldier's elbow. He momentarily jumped but quickly relaxed at Clint's touch. Clint tugged lightly, pulling his arm out of his pocket, and the soldier stopped walking. He turned to look at Clint, who was smiling brightly at him as he laced their fingers together and dropped them to their sides.

The soldier looked at him, looked down at their hands, then back up at him again before turning his head away. Clint continued to smile, leaning back on his cane as he waited for the soldier's response.

But none came as he turned back forward and continued walking, his hand still linked with Clint's. And Clint was more than thrilled. As they went, he swung their arms slightly, not enough to draw attention to them, but just enough to keep himself stimulated and happy.

After a while, Clint could feel the exhaustion wearing him down. He hadn't really gotten outside since his accident, and the strenuous exercise was starting to take a toll on him. While the soldier conversed with someone at a stand that sold laundry supplies, Clint moved to go sit down on a nearby rock. He sighed and put his head in his palm, cane resting beside him, pain and exhaustion taking over his whole body.

There was some shuffling in front of him, and he looked up to see the soldier standing there, worry on his face.

“You ok?” he asked, crouching down in front of Clint.

Clint sighed. “Yeah.”

“Are you tired?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. I think this was a little too much for the first time out of the house,” he admitted with a sheepish rub of his hand across the back of his neck.

“Might not have been the greatest idea in retrospect. Come on, we can go now. I got basically all we needed.” The soldier held his hand out towards Clint, and he grabbed onto it, letting himself be strongly pulled to his feet.

As he reached for his cane, the soldier turned his back to Clint and crouched down, confusing him. But right as he got a proper grip on the cane, the soldier's arms wrapped around the back of his knees, and he was suddenly being thrown onto the soldier's back as he stood up.

“What are you doing?” Clint asked calmly, trying not to move. 

The soldier began walking through the market, back to where he parked the motorcycle. “Carrying you,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Clint didn't have to ask why- it was obvious. Still, he was shocked. He wasn't expecting the soldier to be so willing to pick him up and bring him to their ride like that, even if he was in a lot of pain and exhausted beyond belief. 

He plopped Clint down on the motorcycle when they got there, snapped his helmet for him, then folded his cane and stuffed it in his pocket. He climbed in front of Clint, who automatically wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into his jacket. 

The entire ride back, Clint was silent, snuggled into the soldier calmly. He had nearly fallen asleep. If it weren't for the fact he was on a motorcycle, he probably would've. 

The soldier parked the motorcycle, and, without asking, scooped Clint into his arms and carried him in the house. Clint didn't bother protesting- he was too content to lay in his arms- and instead just buried his face into the fabric of his hoodie, close to his neck.

Next thing he knew, he was deposited on the bed he'd spent so much time in recently, and the covers were being pulled up around him. He closed his eyes contently, already feeling sleep approaching, when he listened to the soldier move to leave the room.

“Wait, Winter,” he called out tiredly.

He opened his eyes to watch the soldier stop in the doorway, looking back at him with an indeterminable expression.

“Can you stay?” he asked.

The soldier didn't even hesitate to turn around and sit down in his usual corner, staring up at Clint intently. Clint closed his eyes and drifted off quickly.

When he woke up again, it was dark, probably early morning. The door was cracked, the lights were off, and he was alone. The soldier was no longer in his company, and he figured he must be asleep. 

His cane rested in its usual spot against the nightstand, so Clint swung his legs over the bed and slowly worked to stand up. He made his way to the kitchen, in search of a glass of water, and turned around when got one. He leaned back against the counter, staring at the couch, only to find Alpine curled up on one of the cushions, the soldier nowhere in sight.

Instead of immediately panicking, Clint wondered if he was in the bathroom. He walked down the hall, but the bathroom was empty. With a frown, he walked back to the kitchen, wondering where the hell the soldier could be.

A midnight snack maybe? No way he was kidnapped while Clint was asleep. He'd definitely know. Then again, Clint was deaf…

Clint's gaze drifted to a corner of the living room, where he saw something laying on the floor, breathing deeply. It took a second for his eyes to register that it was the soldier, sleeping soundlessly on the floor, curled in on himself.

Clint questioned why he said he slept on the couch, when he looked so… normal like that on the floor. Maybe it was normal for him. Maybe he couldn't sleep in a bed or on the couch, and that's why he had no problem with Clint sleeping in them.

With a sad sigh, Clint put his empty cup in the sink and made his way back into the room, flopping down on the bed tiredly. Yet, as he stared up at the ceiling, he couldn't manage to fall back asleep as his mind raced with so many more new questions about the man he'd shared a roof with for a month and a half.

The sun was up, bringing an exhausted and grumpy Clint out of bed and into the kitchen, where a fully awake soldier waited, already beginning to make a pot of coffee.

Clint sat down in his stool with a heavy sigh, laying his head in his hands. 

“Still tired?” the soldier asked, turning to face him, the glint of his metal arm just visible beneath his long sleeved shirt.

“Didn't sleep well last night,” Clint admitted. “Woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't manage to go back to sleep.”

“Bad dream?”

“No, for once, actually.”

“Here.” The soldier slid a cup of coffee towards him, and he threw up a quick smile in response. 

Clint was quiet as he sipped his coffee, to the obvious attention of the soldier because, even in the morning, he never ran out of things to talk about. The soldier eyed him carefully, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed into a line as he barely touched his coffee, full attention on Clint. 

“Something's wrong,” he stated. 

Clint looked up at him, raising one eyebrow. “What is it?”

“You.” The soldier stood up a little straighter. “Something's wrong with you.” It was a statement, the underlying question evident. Clint knew he wasn't going to ask, but it was obvious he wanted to.

“It's nothing,” Clint replied, letting his head droop to his coffee again.

They were silent for a minute, Clint shifting around his coffee mug, and the soldier staring at him, biting his cheek. 

“Are you sure?” The soldier's voice was quiet. When Clint looked up, his eyes were soft, shoulders sagging. He looked so genuinely worried. Clint rarely ever saw him like that.

He dropped his gaze back to his coffee, clearing his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why do you sleep on the floor? I told you that you could have the bed back if you wanted.”

Clint risked a glance up. The soldier gripped the edge of the counter, his jaw set, head turned away from Clint's direction.

“It's hard,” the soldier responded vaguely.

Clint frowned. “The floor? Obviously.”

The soldier shot him a glare, and Clint looked away quickly. “Sleeping. It's hard for me. The floor makes it easier. It's more like what I'm used to.”

“In the army?”

“And HYDRA.” The soldier sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Didn't really have a bed. It's more normal to me.”

“One could say it's more… grounding,” Clint said with a smirk. He looked at the soldier, who returned his gaze. He was frowning at his joke, but he still looked calmer than usual. Softer.

“I'm going to chuck this mug at your head,” the soldier replied. “But you're not wrong, I guess. I don't really know how to describe it.”

Clint let his smirk falter, eyes softening as he looked at the soldier. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“It's normal to me. Not other people. I guess I… didn't want you to judge me.”

The smirk returned. “Awww. Do you really care what I think of you?” Clint mocked.

The soldier took a sip of coffee, hiding his face. When he brought the mug back down to the counter, he avoided eye contact with Clint. “Maybe,” he muttered.

Clint’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile. “Well, I'm glad you care. My opinion is very important, and as far as I know, my opinion of you is pretty solid.” He leaned forward onto the counter, elbows bracing him like he was a schoolgirl gossiping at her desk.

“Is that so?” the soldier said amusedly as he took another sip of coffee.

“Yeah. You may be grumpy and all tough-guy and whatnot, but you can cook some really good food. And you're secretly a softie, though it's not much of a secret ‘cause you're terrible at trying to hide it.”

The soldier had the hints of a smirk on his face. “You think so?”

Clint nodded confidently. “You're also old. And wise. But also stupid.”

The soldier put his mug down and took a few steps towards Clint. “Really?”

“Yep.” He yelped, and the soldier flinched for a second. “Oh my god. Have you watched any movies since you've been back from your brainwashing?”

The soldier leaned against the counter Clint was sat at, just a few feet from him. He frowned as he stared at Clint. “No. Why?”

Clint gasped. “We are binging all the world's greatest movies. If I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, which it looks like considering I can barely walk still, we have to find some way to pass the time. What better way to do that then to catch you up on everything you've been missing out on. Though, I will admit, I don't watch too many older movies, so you'll have to skip out on some of it.”

The soldier still looked puzzled. Clint ushered him forward, and the soldier obeyed, walking until he stood right in front of Clint.

Clint put both of his hands on his shoulders, staring deep into his eyes. “Trust me, it's going to be great. We'll have our own little movie nights and you'll get to experience all these amazing things you've never experienced before. What do you say, Winter?”

The soldier's eyes were locked tightly onto Clint's, unblinking. “Ok.”

“Yes!” Clint jumped from his seat and wrapped his arms around the soldier’s neck, clinging onto him happily. The soldier froze. Clint squeezed him tighter, feeling the soldier's shoulders relaxing a little as he did so.

“We are watching all the Hunger Games movies first. I have to start you off right. Plus, Katniss is just like me. She uses a bow and arrow to fight. And Finnick is hot,” Clint gushed as he let himself go form the soldier. 

“Ok.”

Clint let his hand trail down the sleeve of the soldier that covered his metal arm. He brushed his fingers against the hem of the sleeve, letting his fingers drag across the cool metal hand. The soldier's fingers flexed and Clint could tell he was trying not to jump back. 

“Does it hurt?” Clint glided his fingers back and forth across the soldier's hand.

“Not anymore. It used to. Back when they would… experiment on me,” the soldier admitted quietly.

Clint rubbed his hand all the way up the soldier's arm and rested it on his shoulder. “I'm sorry that happened to you.” He reached his hand up and tucked some hair behind the soldier's ear. 

The soldier took a deep breath and closed his eyes, accepting Clint’s gentle touch. “Yeah. Me too.”

Clint rested his hand on the soldier's cheek and guided his head down slowly. The soldier didn't protest and instead let himself be moved, until Clint pressed a soft kiss right in the middle of his forehead.

“If it makes any difference, I still like you the way that you are,” Clint whispered as he released his head and let his hand drop to his side. 

“Yeah. It does.”

Clint smiled at him, and the soldier didn't press his mouth into a hard line, instead letting his face soften into a gentle expression. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was genuine. It was progress.

“I say we watch the movie tonight with popcorn and candy and we can snuggle up in blankets on the couch,” Clint suggested, breaking the gentle silence between them.

The soldier nodded. “Ok.”

“Question is, what do we do in the meantime?”

“Well, I'll need to run out later and grab some things. We don't have half the stuff you want.”

“Ooh, and see if you can find some more books while you're out. I've almost finished mine.”

“Got it. Anything else you want?”

“Hot chocolate.”

The soldier nodded. He walked over to the fridge, pulled off a piece of paper, and scribbled a few things on it.

“In the meantime, I'd like to get a bath,” Clint announced as he stood up with his cane. He sniffed his armpits and made a face. “I stink.”

“Do you need assistance?”

“Only getting in and out. Why? Did you wanna join me?” Clint smirked.

“No.”

Clint frowned, thinking his joke didn't land, but when he looked up, the soldier had a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“Fine. Suit yourself.”

Clint marched to the bedroom, feeling like his legs were jelly. He hadn't felt like that in a while. It took him by surprise, and the next thing he knew, he was falling. His cane slipped from his grasp and his legs crumbled beneath him. But before he could hit the floor, a pair of steady arms caught him, and the soldier eased him into a sitting position, Clint's back against his chest.

“You ok?” he asked as he held Clint's arms steadily.

Clint leaned his head back to look at him. “Yeah. Thanks. My legs just kinda gave out on me. I think it was because I overworked myself yesterday.”

“You should be more careful.” The soldier slipped his arms under Clint's armpits and slowly lifted him to his feet. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I'm just not a fan of having to rely on others. I like to try and do things myself.”

The soldier slung one of Clint's arms over his shoulders, holding him up against himself. “If there's anything you've taught me in the time we've been together, it's that it's ok to rely on other people when you need it sometimes,” he admitted.

Clint looked over at him, a soft smile on his lips, his heart so incredibly overwhelmed with emotion he didn't know what to do.

“That's the only thing you've learned from me?” Clint chuckled.

“That, and you're a dumbass.” The soldier smirked, and Clint had to resist the urge to kiss him right then and there.

He laughed instead. A real laugh that bubbled up from his chest and made his stomach hurt in the best way possible. He let himself be walked to the bedroom by the soldier, laughing the whole way, and the soldier's smirk curled up at the ends, almost turning into a smile. Almost.

“I guess that's a fair assessment,” Clint acknowledged as he was sat down on the bed gently.

The soldier waited, standing next to the bed, as Clint undressed. When he was done, he scooped Clint up in his arms and brought him into the warm bath. 

Freshly bathed and in a clean pair of clothes, Clint sat on the couch, reading a book and drinking another cup of coffee. The soldier stood in the kitchen behind him, washing dishes quietly. Neither of them talked, instead just enjoying the silent company of each other.

Clint decided to take his hearing aids out and set them on the table. The complete and utter silence that surrounded him was both calming and terrifying. He loved not having to deal with anything in the hearing world. No air vents or drip of the tap or rustle of fabric when the soldier moved. But, it did make him less alert and a little more prone to paranoia. He couldn't hear if someone were to try and sneak up on him. The soldier was trustworthy. He'd never attack him or let anything happen to him. But that fear drilled into him after so, so many years would never really go away. 

Every so often, he'd look out of the corner of his eye and watch the soldier glide across the kitchen effortlessly, cleaning and doing whatever else he was doing. He was beautiful in every sense of the word. His long hair flowed behind him as he moved, not tied back for once. Clint wasn't sure which one he preferred.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his book on Japanese history. But his mind kept wandering off to thoughts of the soldier, everything about him.

Alpine jumped on the couch and settled herself in his lap. He muttered a few things to her as she curled up and fell asleep rather quickly. Clint yawned and forced himself to refocus on his book, to only some degree of success.

A tap on the back of the couch made him jump. He looked over to see the soldier standing there, staring curiously at him. 

He waved at him to make sure he had his attention. “Hey. You ok? Why'd you take your hearing aids out?” he signed.

Clint put a bookmark in his book and shut it. “Yeah. I just needed a break from sound for a little while,” he signed back, not really feeling like talking.

“Ok. I was gonna ask if you were hungry. It's a little past your normal lunch time.”

Clint hadn't really paid attention to if he was hungry or not, but as soon as he thought about it, his stomach rumbled. “Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

Clint shrugged. “I don't really care. You always make good food. Surprise me.”

The soldier nodded and turned his back to Clint, walking back towards the kitchen as he prepared some food. 

Half an hour later, a plate of homemade pizza was being handed to him. His mouth just watered at the sight alone. He took it and carefully set it on the table, turning to face the soldier.

“Thank you. It looks amazing,” he signed.

“I know you really like take out pizza, so I figured you might like it,” the soldier signed back.

Clint took a bite as the soldier leaned back against the couch, near where his head rested. He stared expectantly at him.

Clint let out a sigh of happiness. “This is so delicious,” he signed, a little bit messy, even for him.

The soldier raised his eyebrows, mouthing, “yeah?” in response. 

Clint nodded and took another large bite. Pizza sauce dropped down the side of his chin, and he tried not to laugh as he put the slice down.

“Can you get me a napkin and some water, please?” he signed. 

The soldier nodded and went into the kitchen before returning with said items and handing them to Clint. He continued to laugh as he wiped off his face and drank a sip of water.

“That good, huh?” the soldier asked, and Clint read his lips. 

“Mhm,” Clint muttered as he devoured more of the pizza. “You gotta try some,” he signed.

The soldier shook his head, waving his hands. “It's fine. You eat it.”

“Come on, it's your handiwork. You gotta at least try a bite.”

The soldier rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Clint picked up a slice of pizza and turned over his shoulder to face the soldier. “Here,” he said quietly, guiding their pizza towards the soldier's face. The soldier was visibly surprised, but he didn't protest, and instead opened his mouth for Clint to feed him.

After his bite, Clint took a bite of his own, smiling as he watched the soldier chew his own piece.

“It's good, right?” he signed.

The soldier turned away, but he kept one hand visible to Clint. “Yeah, I guess.”

Clint smirked and tapped the soldier on the shoulder, making him turn around. “Here. Have another bite.”

The soldier frowned and prepared to protest, but Clint just shoved the slice closer to his mouth, and after a second of hesitation, the soldier rolled his eyes and took a bite. Clint took his own bite, still smirking, and the soldier continued to stare at him. His eyes were soft, and he looked like he was biting back a smirk of his own.

Then, it delved into Clint taking a bite, then the soldier, and then Clint again. They repeated it until they finished the pizza, and Clint was grinning like an idiot, wiping his face with the napkin.

He held the napkin close to the soldier's face and nodded at it. The soldier looked him in the eyes, darted them to his hand, then back to his face again. Then he nodded gently, and Clint wiped his face off as carefully as he could. The soldier sat there, letting him with a soft expression, one that would've felt alien not long ago, but Clint was quickly getting used to it. And he loved it.

“You're adorable, you know that?” Clint signed before really thinking about it. 

The soldier frowned. “That's not a word I'd use to describe myself. Or one you usually use. Normally, it's mean or scary. Never adorable,” the soldier signed hastily, a little sloppier than usual. 

Clint wondered if he was flustered by the unusual compliment. He just shrugged and turned his back to the soldier, ending their conversation. 

He felt the soldier stand up from leaning on the back of the couch, but he didn't look back. Instead, he pet Alpine, who was still asleep in his lap. She barely reacted to him. With a sigh, he stared at the blank wall in front him, mind racing but landing on no thoughts in particular, so not even he knew what he was thinking about.

With a frown, he looked up at the clock. 3:02pm. It was still way too early to start the movies, plus the soldier still hadn't run his errands yet. Being stuck in the house was a nightmare. Clint was bored beyond belief. Finding ways to pass the time was proving to be a lot harder than he'd ever thought, especially when he had something to look forward to at night. 

Suddenly, the soldier was behind him again, leaning against the back of the couch. Clint titled his head back to look at him.

“You're making a lot of noises over here. What's up?” he signed.

Clint shifted a little, disturbing Alpine, and she quickly jumped down from his lap. “Sorry. I don't realize I'm being loud when I can't hear myself. It's like I forget what it's like to make a noise, even if I can feel it. I don't know. It's hard to explain.” He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands a little, letting his signs flow easier. “And I'm fine. Just a little bored.”

“I'd offer for you to come with me to run errands, but something tells me that you don't wanna do that again.”

“Yeah, no. I'll have to decline that offer.” Clint smiled up at him.

“I can teach you how to shoot a gun.”

“I already know how to do that.”

“Wanna watch Alpine do some tricks?”

At that, Clint’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely.” He grabbed his hearing aids off the table and put them in calmly, wanting to fully experience whatever was about to happen. 

The soldier stood up off the couch, eyes shining and the hint of a smirk on his face. He sat down on the floor, Alpine immediately coming to him, and he grabbed some hidden treats in the coffee table. Clint watched intently as the soldier expertly showed off the cat’s skills.

At around four, the soldier decided to head out to run his errands, leaving Clint alone. He grabbed his laptop from the bedroom and sat on the couch with it, making sure he had their movies ready. Then, he scrolled through business emails and did plenty of work stuff-

Is what he would say if he was asked.

In actuality, he played solitaire for a while, cursing every so often when he lost. Turns out, archery was something he was good at. Solitaire was not. 

Alpine scratched against the side of the couch and meowed, so he put his laptop away and picked her up. She quickly settled in his lap silently, and he smiled affectionately at her. Sometimes he wished he'd gotten a cat instead of a dog. Sometimes.

A few thumps made Clint aware of being alive again. 

“Glad I left you two alone,” the soldier announced, stomping his boots on the mat. 

Clint’s head shot up off the back of the couch, disturbing Alpine. She made a noise of protest and got down, immediately prancing her way over to her owner.

“What?” he asked tiredly, ears aching. 

The soldier put some bags down on the counter, then bent down to pick up his cat. “You were both asleep when I walked in.”

Clint groaned and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Oh.” He glanced up at the clock across the room. 7:28pm. Damn. “My bad.”

“Don't worry. Seems like you needed it.” The soldier began putting some stuff away from the bags.

“Yeah. Maybe I won't fall asleep during the movie now.” Slowly, he turned his body around to peak over the edge of the couch at the soldier with a groan. Sleeping on the couch the way he did wasn't doing his messed up body any favors. “What took you so long? We just went shopping yesterday.”

“Had to pick up a few things we didn't get yesterday in addition to your requests. And I went on a little adventure.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Got some stuff.”

“That's it? That's all you're gonna tell me?”

“For now.”

Clint turned back around on the couch with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. The soldier walked up behind him and rubbed a hand through his hair. Clint tilted his head back to look at him, but he was already walking back towards the kitchen, putting more things away. 

Clint glanced back down and sighed heavily, still trying to wake up. 

“I got a few different types of candy. I didn't know what you liked, so I got a variety. I hope that's ok with you,” the soldier announced. 

Clint smiled a little. “Yeah. I'm not picky about my candy.”

Grabbing his cane from leaning against the side of the couch, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen, joining the soldier, who was standing there, reading the instructions on the popcorn.

Clint peeked over his shoulder. “Ooh, yes. Extra butter is the best.”

“You can sit down. I got this.” The soldier shot him a glance over his shoulder, still focused on the instructions.

“No. I make the best hot chocolate you'll ever taste. Trust me. Plus, you always do everything. I wanna help out once in a while too.”

“I like doing things for you. And you can't do much in your condition.”

“Touche. But I'm still doing this, and you're not stopping me.”

The soldier put the bag in the microwave. “Fine.” He pushed a few buttons and walked away as the microwave started up.

Clint smirked and began getting to work. He wished he could float around the kitchen with as much ease as the soldier, but the combination of his cane and his usual clumsiness made that impossible, so he settled for disaster. He left ingredients everywhere, spilled half the milk on the first cup, and managed to get hot cocoa powder everywhere.

Yet, they came out looking pretty ok. Though, he didn't get much time to figure it out because as soon as he was done, he was kicked out of the kitchen. With a huff, he went and sat down on the couch, ignoring the pout on his face as he did so, but hoping the soldier saw it.

It didn't take long for the soldier to return to the living room, though, a mug in each hand and several things of candy in his arms. He set them all down, then returned for the popcorn. He went back and forth one more time, before he finally sat down on the couch with a sigh, a small box in his hands. 

Hesitantly, he handed it to Clint. “I got you something. When I was out. Part of the reason it took me so long.”

Clint took the box carefully, a small smile on his face. “Aw, you didn't have to do that.”

The soldier looked hopeful. “I know. I wanted to.” Clint took the ribbon off the box gently. “I hope you like it,” the soldier whispered.

Clint opened the box and pulled out a piece of string with a rock attached at the bottom. He tried not to let the confusion show on his face. 

“It's a real arrowhead from the 1500's. I know how much you like archery, so I thought you might like it.” The soldier darted his eyes around sheepishly, not quite ever making eye contact with Clint.

Clint smiled, forcing himself to breathe. “Thank you, Winter. It really means a lot.”

“I also know how much you love your friend Kate, so I got her one, too.”

Clint felt his heart burst like a balloon full of confetti. His brain melted in his head and nothing felt real. It was one of the sweetest things someone has ever done for him, and he knew the soldier didn't understand just how much it meant to him. At least, he didn't think he did.

Without warning, Clint leaned forward and threw his arms around the soldier tightly, gripping him in a tight embrace. The soldier went still in his arms, but after Clint buried his face in his shoulder, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around him and held on, letting his shoulders relax. Clint felt all the tension leave his body, and he knew he'd been able to crack through a major hole in his armor. He was proud of himself.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other's arms, for several minutes. It was no longer just about the gift. It started to be about him thanking the soldier for looking after him and caring for him when he was alone. And to the soldier, it was about holding on tightly to the one person who was breaking through, fighting for the real him because he wanted to. He wanted to know him. It was about trying to not let go of something so important to him, even after such a short time. 

Clint slowly pulled away, letting himself peel away from the soldier one body part at a time. And when they were apart, Clint reached a hand up to the soldier’s face, letting it rest there gently. The soldier closed his eyes and accepted the touch immediately for once. Clint smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. The soldier let his head drop to Clint's shoulder for a second, holding onto his arm as he let himself accept the affection.

Clint pulled away again, letting his hand fall slowly to his side. “Thank you, Winter,” he said softly.

The soldier let his hand travel up Clint's face. He wiped away the single tear that fell down Clint's cheek with his thumb. “We should probably turn the movie on now, before it gets too late,” the soldier whispered, his face dead serious. 

Clint laughed a little, using the back of his hand to dry his eyes. “Yeah. That's a good idea.”

Clint turned to the coffee table, grabbed his laptop, and turned on the movie. Him and the soldier sat side by side on the couch, just barely not touching.

After a few minutes, Clint couldn't take the awkwardness anymore. He confidently reached out and grabbed the soldier's hand and held it in his own. The soldier barely even flinched.

By the time Katniss and Peeta had made it to the Capital, Clint was laying with his back to the soldier’s chest, snuggled up against him. He smiled contentedly, eating a few pieces of popcorn, then handing one up to the soldier, who ate it gently out of his hand. They did that again and again until the bowl was empty and the Games were almost over.

Most of the candy was gone, thanks to Clint, but the soldier also had a bit of a sweet tooth too. And they were happy, laying in each other's arms, watching a movie on the couch together. Not much could beat that. Not even the unnamed feelings that passed through them, as evident to each other as it was to themselves, even if neither of them would admit it. But it was there, and both were too scared to ruin what they already had by giving into their desires.

The soldier kissed Clint on the head softly. But, what they had there, it was enough for both of them. Without having to say it, they knew. It was the perfect moment.

When Clint woke up early in the morning, he was wrapped up in the soldier's arms tightly. The soldier was leaning against the arm of the couch, fast asleep, and Clint's head was sideways in his lap, arms across the soldier's legs.

With a smile, he closed his eyes again and let himself drift gently back to sleep.

Chapter Text

When Clint woke up in the late morning, he groaned and rolled over, nearly falling off the couch. His hearing aids lay on the coffee table, neatly placed next to an empty bowl of popcorn and his now closed laptop. For once, he didn't wake up wrapped in the soldier's arms. It had been a few weeks since their first movie night on the couch together, and it had become a sort of routine that they followed most nights. Clint really enjoyed how comfortable he felt, curled up with the soldier, sharing parts of his life that he loved with someone he really cared about. 

Clint forced himself up into a sitting position, his body immediately screaming, and he grunted in pain. He really wished his body would heal itself faster, but at the rate he was going at, he probably would be walking with a cane and waking up in pain for a few more months. Pain meds didn’t really work and sleeping was starting to become difficult. He looked forward to the day when he could put all of the shit behind him, but that seemed so far out of reach. 

He reached forward and put his hearing aids in, letting the buzz die down for a minute, as it was replaced with shuffling from behind him. He was curious, but his body protested his every move, so he didn't turn around, and instead sunk further down into the couch, resting his eyes as he tried to wake up just a little.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” the soldier said amusedly.

Clint opened his eyes to see the soldier standing next to the coffee table, holding two cups of coffee. He handed one to Clint before taking a seat next to him on the couch. Clint stared down at the mug in his hands without taking a sip, aware that the soldier was eyeing him carefully.

“You left the couch before I woke up,” he muttered.

The soldier shifted around. “Did I wake you?”

“No. You just never leave. You usually stay until I get up, too.” Clint looked up at him solemnly.

The soldier sighed. “Didn't sleep well. I didn't want to disturb you.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

The soldier looked away, towards the window, and Clint knew he had his answer.

“Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped. You know I have them, too.”

“I didn't want to disturb you,” the soldier repeated.

Clint reached his hand out and rested it on the soldier's metal one. The soldier quickly jerked his hand away, spilling his coffee on the floor, and turned his head away from Clint. Clint let his head drop to his coffee, his hand following suit.

“You're not alone, Winter. I've told you that a million times. You can talk to me. I might not fully understand what you've been through or what you're currently going through, but I'm probably one of the only people on earth who'd understand you even a little bit. I'm the last person who could ever judge you for the decisions you've made- God knows I've made some really shitty ones in my life.” The soldier looked over at him sadly, but he looked. And Clint, as much as the eye contact made him uncomfortable, stared back. Because he wanted to go the extra step for him, to let him know he wasn't alone. “And I'll listen to whatever you're willing to tell me, no matter how small or insignificant. Because I want to be there for you, and I want to know every little thing about you. Eventually, I do want to know all of you. I know that'll take a long time, probably years, but I don't care. Because I care about you. And I don't care if I sound like a blubbering idiot right now, that's just saying what's on his mind because it's true. All of it.”

Slowly, Clint put his hand on the soldier's knee, sliding himself closer so they were sitting side by side. The soldier didn't push him away or jump back, instead sitting incredibly still, staring down at where Clint’s hand rested. And when he looked up, Clint leaned forward, letting their foreheads press against each other softly. He took a shaky breath, breathing in Clint’s air, closing his eyes and just existing for a minute. He stayed still, letting himself be a part of Clint's space, needing to feel all the comfort he was willing to give.

Then, he nodded. “Ok. I'll try. Because I care about you, too, and I want you to know me. It's hard, though, because sometimes I don't even feel like I know me. Sometimes I have to remind myself who I am, what I've been through, what I have. And I don't know if I can give all of myself to someone when I'm not sure all of me is there. I know you want all of me, but I don't know if I can give it.”

Clint put a hand on his cheek. “Then I'll take whatever you're willing to give me, even if it's just little fragments. And eventually, it will be all of you. I'm willing to wait.”

“I don't think I'll ever live in a world where I deserve someone like you helping me,” the soldier whispered. Then he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Clint and burying his face in his neck. He'd never initiated a hug before, and Clint didn't dare say anything about it as he let himself melt away into the strong arms that held onto him.

Clint buried his face in the soldier's messy hair. It smelled musty and a little dirty, but Clint didn't say anything. It wasn't his place, and he didn't want to ruin the moment. But it did make him wonder when the last time the soldier had showered was, considering he'd never really seen him take one. 

The soldier mumbled something into his shoulder, but he didn't bother clarifying beyond that. Instead, he practically wrapped his whole body around Clint, dragging himself so he was basically sitting in his lap. He clung into him like a cat, and that more than amused Clint.

With a grunt of effort, Clint lowered himself flat onto the couch, letting the soldier collapse in a heap on his chest. Usually, it was the other way around, but Clint didn't mind letting the soldier rest on him for once. He liked seeing the soft, needy side of him. He was always doing everything for Clint. It was nice to be able to do something for him for a change. 

Clint tucked some hair behind his ear and played with some longer strands in the back. “Go back to sleep,” he said softly.

The soldier groaned, his head laying sideways on Clint's chest lazily. “No,” he replied, but he didn't lift his head up. He busied himself with tracing the lines on Clint's muscles under his t-shirt with a gentle flesh finger.

And as the minutes dragged on, his movements became more and more lax, until they stopped altogether. Carefully, Clint peaked over his head and looked at his soft sleeping face. He kissed him on the head and lowered himself down some more, taking out his hearing aids before he forgot, and let himself get comfortable.

When he woke up again, the soldier was still laying sideways on his chest, but he was now tracing the lines in Clint’s palm over and over again. Clint peered at him, not saying a word for several minutes, and he smiled gently at him. Finally, he moved a little, and the soldier turned his head, chin resting right in the middle of Clint’s chest as he stared at him.

“Did you sleep well?” Clint signed.

The soldier nodded on Clint's chest. Cllint reached a hand up and tucked some hair behind the soldier's ear with a smile. 

They laid together for a while, silently enjoying each other's company. Clint didn't know what time it was, but he figured it was early afternoon. They couldn't have been asleep for too long. 

With a little effort, the soldier freed his hands and held them in view of Clint. “Can I ask you a favor?” he signed.

“Shoot,” Clint responded aloud, throwing his hands behind his head to prop it up. 

“Can you wash my hair for me? In the tub. And help me.”

Clint closed his eyes, his smile never wavering. “On one condition.”

The soldier tapped him on the arm, and he opened his eyes. “What is it?”

“You make me lunch first.”

The soldier's eyes softened. “Deal.”

Carefully, Clint slid himself against the arm of the couch until he was sitting up. The soldier rolled off him and walked to the kitchen. Clint groaned and rubbed his eyes before putting his hearing aids back in. He closed his eyes and let the soft shuffling of the soldier in the kitchen, the sizzling on the stove, and the clatter of utensils and bowls fill his being, washing over him in one giant assault of sound.

He rubbed his hands down his face, then stood up with a groan. His hands immediately used the couch to steady himself as he searched for his cane. It sat on the coffee table, and he assumed that was the soldier’s doing, seeing as he tended to just leave it in the middle of the floor and forget about it. He grabbed it and let it bear the brunt of his weight as he made his way into the kitchen, seating himself soundlessly at his favorite stool.

As always, he silently watched the soldier move about his work, maneuvering like a professional you’d pay to see. There was something so elegant about his dedication to his cooking, something he was silently passionate about. Even someone who wasn’t trained to read people could see it.

“You awake yet?” the soldier asked quietly, peaking at Clint over his shoulder.

“Mhm.” Clint sighed. “Maybe. Not sure.”

Suddenly, a cup of coffee was sliding towards him, and he grabbed it with a smile.

“Try that.”

Clint continued to smile as he took a long sip, feeling his insides explode with the warmth. “Ah, a man after my own heart.”

The soldier only rolled his eyes and resumed his intense focus. Clint let his glance drift away for a bit, and he instead stared out the window, watching as the sky lit up with tiny white dots that fell quickly from the sky.

“It’s snowing,” he commented quietly, letting his chin rest on his hand as he watched it fall.

The soldier continued moving about, not giving any acknowledgement to his statement. Clint wondered sometimes if he got so focused that he didn’t hear, or if he simply ignored Clint often. 

Probably the latter.

The soldier poured some pasta into a boiling pot on the stove. “It’s gonna continue all week. Supposed to be a big storm. I stocked up yesterday, so we should be fine for a while,” he said after several minutes of silence.

Definitely the latter.

Clint didn’t lift his head from his chin or tear his gaze from the window. He was enthralled with watching each individual snowflake fall and land on the ground. It was weirdly calming and easily cured his boredom. “You like the snow?”

The soldier barely acknowledged his existence. He silently continued his tasks for a few minutes before he responded. “I don’t have any strong feelings towards it.”

“I love it. I think it’s so pretty. And fun. There’s so many different things you can do in the snow. Don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” the soldier mumbled, clearly not paying much attention to him.

Finally, Clint turned towards him again and re-focused. “What’cha making?”

The soldier poured some soup-looking things together. “It’s called chickenetti.”

“What’s in it?”

Clint could almost hear his eye roll, and he could certainly hear his heavy sigh. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Clint was annoying him. And the culprit smirked, enjoying constantly getting under the soldier’s skin like it was a game and he was winning.

“If I tell you, you won’t eat it.”

Clint frowned. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you. You’re a very simple human being. If I tell you what’s really in it, you’ll swear it off and won’t try it, even though you’d never know if I didn’t tell you. So I’m not going to tell you.”

Clint huffed and resumed watching out the window, no longer feeling the need to strike up a conversation. He let himself drift away into the gentle sounds around him, imagining the feeling of being outside then, the bitter air nipping at his nose and the snow crunching under his boots. The feeling of snowflakes landing on his face and melting away and the whip of the wind as it rushed through the trees, dragging snow from the ground with it.

“Barton, your food’s ready,” the soldier informed, and Clint’s head snapped up in alert. “You with me?”

Clint shook his head and accepted the bowl being passed to him. “Yeah. Sorry.”

The soldier made a “hm” and turned away, already busying himself with cleaning up. Clint watched in intrigue as the soldier tucked a small container of food away in the fridge, before he resumed his previous task.

Then Clint looked down at his food and readied a forkful. It was spaghetti noodles and chicken and sauce and something-

“Hey, what’s this green stuff?” he asked aloud.

The soldier shook his head. “Shut up and eat it.”

Clint mimicked him talking, like a toddler, while his back was turned. Then he took a generous bite of food, humming in satisfaction as he already began stuffing his mouth with a second bite. When he was done cleaning, the soldier leaned against the counter and watched him with a prideful expression, eyebrows raised in amusement as Clint finished his bowl in record time.

“Wow. That was amazing. What was it?” he said as he put his empty bowl down and downed a cup of water.

The soldier stared at him with his usual expression. “Chicken, spaghetti noodles, and some other stuff.”

“You’re still not going to tell me?”

“Nope.” The soldier threw a hand towel on the edge of the sink. “Now, time for your end of the deal.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yes, Princess.”

The soldier shot him a glare over his shoulder as he began walking towards the bedroom. 

“Go ahead and get out of your clothes and start the bath. I’ll be in in a minute,” Clint commanded.

The soldier didn’t offer a response, but Clint knew he would do it. There was a certain blind trust they had in each other, some kind of knowing faith from spending a while cooped up together in a house. They’d slowly been getting to know each other, offering tidbits and small stories here and there, Clint more than the soldier. It was an unspoken bond, one that came from the realization of shared experiences. One that came from understanding another’s pain in a way that most wouldn't.

With a sigh, Clint pushed himself off the stool and grabbed onto his cane. He brought his bowl to the sink and washed it out, letting the soldier do one less thing for him, then he stood on his toes, using the counter for support, as he put it away in a cabinet. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, where he could no longer hear the water running as it was a minute before.

The soldier sat in the tub, which was perpendicular to the door, not looking at Clint as he stepped inside with shaky legs. Clint rolled up his sleeves and leaned his cane against the sink, before he dropped down to his knees next to the tub, staring at the soldier sympathetically. He looked so out of it in the moment, staring blankly at the wall, and Clint wondered if he even knew he was there.

“Hey,” he offered softly, eyes never leaving the soldier.

The soldier was still, not giving any sort of acknowledgement to Clint’s presence. Clint knew the look on his face. It was one that meant he was reliving something from his past, forced to confront the horrors he never wished to remember. A flashback, one he let play out in his head without a fight or a cry for help. He just suffered silently, unwilling to let anyone in on his pain.

Clint almost felt guilty as he reached a hand out and touched him on the shoulder, watching as his eyes widened and he jumped back, looking at Clint with a look of horror. His arms instinctively flew up, his breathing heavy, and Clint went still. He didn’t want to trigger him anymore, worried that either of them would get hurt. 

“Winter,” he whispered, hoping his voice would break through to him, even if his face didn’t.

He saw the soldier’s expression change, the flash in his eyes as they settled. He recognized Clint through his haze and dropped his arms in defeat, turning back away from him solemnly.

“Just me,” Clint said with a sad smile.

The soldier fixed his gaze on the wall, and for a while, neither of them moved, silently accepting their situation and what happened. This time, Clint offered a hand out, waiting patiently. The soldier didn’t react for a few minutes, and Clint almost retreated his arm away, when he suddenly reached out and placed his hand in Clint’s. Clint smiled, a little less sad than before, and began scrubbing up the soldier’s arm gently with a washcloth, watching the dirt fall off him as it mixed with the soap. 

“You ok?” Clint knew he probably shouldn’t ask- it wasn’t within their normal boundaries- but he felt helpless in the moment, and he just wanted the soldier to know he wasn’t alone. He wanted to try and help, even if he was rejected.

As he suspected, the soldier didn’t react to him, his gaze still fixed on the wall. Clint reached out and grasped his other arm, to no resistance, and began scrubbing that one down too. 

“Is this ok?” Clint offered out to him, trying to keep him from slipping from in front of him. Anything to keep him in the moment. Anything to keep him from falling into the worst place he could possibly be- his own head.

This time, the soldier didn’t move for a minute, but then he nodded slowly, never letting his eyes move from the wall. 

The soldier never really had episodes in front of him like this, and when he did, Clint would usually just sit with him until he was ok again. Or sometimes he’d fall asleep watching him, and when he woke up again, the soldier was awake and alright, if not a little quieter than usual. But there, in the middle of the bathroom, Clint felt like he was screaming inside, unaware of what he should do. Nothing felt like it was the right thing to do.

He realized he’d zoned out a little himself, mindlessly scrubbing the dirt off of the soldier silently, not really paying attention to him.  He was washing off his collarbones, moving towards his stomach, when he stopped and pulled back.

“You with me, Winter?” Carefully, Clint tucked a thick strand of hair behind his ear and stared at him with an expression that was a mix of solemness and hopefulness.

The soldier shifted his jaw as Clint ran a knuckle down the stubble, giving him some form of contact to try and ground him. “Yeah,” he responded hoarsely, the first verbal confirmation he’d given thus far.

Clint brought his hand down the soldier’s jaw and towards his chin. The soldier let him, to his surprise, as his gaze seemed to come back to life, eyes no longer staring blankly at the wall. Taking it as a hint that it was ok to continue, Clint picked up the washcloth and resumed washing the soldier’s chest with a gentle touch, using his other hand to steady them both as it rested on the soldier’s shoulder. And after a second of hesitation, Clint leaned forward and pressed his lips to the soldier’s temple, feeling his body dissipate beneath him as he lingered for a few seconds. The soldier relaxed as he pulled back, sinking further into the water and the tension releasing from his arms. 

“Bad memories?” Clint asked, not really expecting a response, but feeling like he should either way. If the soldier wanted to talk, he offered him a lifeline, but if not, he could just ignore him like he’d done so many times before.

The soldier nodded but offered no further elaboration, so Clint didn’t pry. 

Clint washed the rest of his torso, both legs, and everything else he needed to. He didn’t bother with his face, feeling it was too much for him then, and it didn’t look all that dirty anyways.

“Turn,” he commanded, and he helped guide his shoulders until the soldier’s back was to him, hair draping down his neck in messy tangles. “Close your eyes. I’m gonna dump water over your head to wet your hair.”

He couldn't see if he actually did it, but he poured a cup of water over his head anyway.

“You doing alright?” Clint asked, just trying to keep him grounded again as he dumped another cup over his head.

“Yeah,” the soldier replied verbally again.

“How you feeling? Did me scrubbing you help any?”

“I feel clean now,” the soldier replied, and Clint let out a sigh of relief at such a positive response.

“Have you ever bathed yourself before?” Clint asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him, feeling better about it because of the soldier’s awareness and willingness to answer.

The soldier was quiet for a second, before he shook his head. “Not since before HYDRA.”

That came as no surprise. His hair was just giant chunks of knots and he was covered in dirt and grime. Clint raked his hands through the soldier's hair as gently as he could, trying to work out some of the knots without hurting him. The soldier tried to relax, but every time Clint splashed him by accident or got his fingers caught in a strand of hair, he jumped.

“Are you scared? Of this, I mean,” he asked softly, wondering as soon as the words were out of his mouth if it was too much.

The soldier was still. Clint stopped his gentle caress through his hair, an apology already forming on his lips for pushing him too far, when the soldier nodded. Clint resumed his earlier action, being as careful as he could. 

“They would do it for me,” the soldier began solemnly, almost robot-like. He was still and rigid, reciting the story like it was ingrained into his brain. Maybe it was. “They'd strip me and throw me in a giant container full of water. It was always cold. There would be a group of them, in masks and lab coats. Some held brushes and scrubbed me down until my skin was red. The others would put on gloves and wash my hair. Then they'd take me out, throw me back in my chamber, and then do it all over again the next month. Like clockwork,” he recited.

Clint stopped. “You only got bathed once a month?”

The soldier's shoulders slumped. “Unless I had blood on me. Then they'd just hose me down until it was gone.”

Clint tucked some hair behind his ear. “You won't have to worry about that anymore. I'll wash you as gently as possible, in a tub of the warmest water you could want, but I won't scrub the blood off, because there won't be any blood to clean. You're different. You're safe. You won't ever have to go through that again.”

The soldier reached over his shoulder, grabbed one of Clint's hands, and held it against his bare chest. “Thank you.”

Clint smiled. “Of course.” He pulled his hand away from the soldier and clapped both of them together. “Now, what do you say we get started with the ultimate Clint Barton hair care treatment?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just wait. You'll see.”

The soldier stayed silent as Clint grabbed the shampoo, rubbed it between his hands, and began scrubbing the soldier's scalp. It only took a few seconds for the soldier to sigh and sink down in the tub, all tension gone from his shoulders. 

“You're good at that,” he muttered.

Clint smiled. “Years of practice. I'm like the team's designated hair specialist.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Someone had to learn how to braid Nat’s hair for her when she didn’t or couldn’t do it herself. And none of them know what proper hygiene is, so I've had to do a few shampoos over the years. You would not believe how bad Tony is at keeping his hair properly cleaned and healthy. It's unbelievable.”

“So you're a hair specialist?” The smirk in the soldier's voice was unmistakable, even if Clint couldn't see him.

“Hygiene specialist,” Clint corrected. “I'm very serious about good hygiene. I believe that if people just follow a few simple steps, they will be perfectly healthy and look their age for their whole life. Seriously, it's not that hard. Shower every day, wash your hair every three or four, wash and moisturize your face every day, brush your teeth twice a day, and take some good vitamins. Now, I know I've been lacking on some of those recently, but that's not my fault. And most people would suggest other things, too, but I'm not good at getting an adequate amount of sleep, and you ain't never catching me dead giving up coffee. You know, nobody's perfect,” he rambled, putting his hands back in the soldier's hair as he realized what he was supposed to be doing. 

The soldier leaned back into his touch. “You are quite the amusing person, Clint Barton.”

Clint's smile grew. “You think so?” The soldier didn't respond, but Clint's face didn't fall as he scrubbed shampoo through the long locks. “Ok. Close your eyes. I'll try not to get it in your eyes, but I can't make any promises.”

Clint could see him close his eyes, so he grabbed a cup from the edge of the tub, filled it with water, and dumped it over the soldier’s head. He put his hand over the soldier’s eyes in an attempt to shield them as he washed all the soap out.

He cleared his throat and set the cup down. “Well, you’re all done, my soldier.” With a grunt of effort, he managed to push himself onto his feet, holding onto the sink for support. The soldier turned to face him, water dripping from his hair and onto his face. He looked like a wet dog.

Clint fumbled to grab his cane, then he leaned his weight against it, letting himself stand up a little better. 

“I would offer to help you up, but that would probably just end with me falling in too, and I’m not really in the mood for a bath of my own right now,” he said with a chuckle as the soldier pulled the plug, letting the water drain out. “Here. Do this. Your hair is soaked.” Clint motioned for him to wring out his hair, and the soldier copied him.

Then, the soldier pushed himself up and out of the tub silently, the water dripping off of him and soaking the bath mat as he did so. Clint tried not to stare and handed him a towel, which he just held in his hands, staring at it.

Noticing his confusion, Clint took a shaky step towards him. “Here. Let me.”

The soldier handed him the towel, and he wrapped it around the soldier’s head, giving it a few good shakes, then moving it down and around his body, drying him off. The soldier obeyed when Clint asked him to move a certain way, but other than that, he stood perfectly still, watching Clint with a strange sort of intrigue. 

“There,” Clint announced as he backed away, towel still in hand. “Now, come into the bedroom. You can get dressed and I’ll help you with your hair.”

The soldier nodded, so Clint took the lead towards the bedroom, listening to the wet footsteps that padded behind him. As the soldier began digging through drawers for clothes, Clint went back to the bathroom to look for a brush or a comb. He found a decent looking brush and some detangler, which he grabbed, and then he grabbed his own face wash and moisturizer from next to the faucet.

“I’m giving you a full hygienic cleanse,” Clint announced as he walked back into the room. “I’m nothing, if not a man of my word.”

The soldier sat on the bed in a fresh change of clothes, hair hanging in thick wet strands around his face still. Clint walked towards him, dropped his supplies on the bed, and paused as he looked the soldier up and down.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” he asked with a cock of his eyebrow.

The soldier looked away from him. “Do you mind?” he muttered.

“I don’t mind. It looks good on you,” Clint said with a smirk.

The soldier turned to look at him again. Clint watched his eyes soften and his mouth curl up into a smile. A real, genuine smile. It might have been small, but it was there, and it was enough to make Clint have to remind himself to breathe for a second.

With a sigh, he grabbed the towel from beside the soldier and began drying his hair. Chunks at a time, he grabbed them with the towel between his hands and let the curls form themselves under his touch. Clint didn’t realize his hair was so curly at the ends. He smiled to himself as he worked his way around, drying the soldier’s hair thoroughly. 

“Close your eyes. I don’t want to accidentally spray you,” he commanded softly. The soldier obeyed, so he picked up the detangler and sprayed it all around his head. “Ok. You can open now.”

The soldier did as he was told, and he locked eyes with Clint, the hint of a smile still curling at the edges of his lips. “What was that?”

“Detangling spray. I wanna help brush your hair out a bit. It looks like a rat’s nest. No offense.” Clint ran his hands through his hair a bit, and the soldier closed his eyes, relaxing into his touch like he did often. He grabbed the brush and held it next to the soldier’s head before pausing. “This might hurt a little. I’ll try to be gentle, but I don’t know what to expect. If it hurts a lot and you don’t wanna tell me, you can squeeze my shoulder if you need,” he offered.

The soldier opened his eyes and stared at him stoically. “Barton. I think you forget that I used to be tortured by HYDRA on a daily basis. Some knots in my hair aren’t going to break me.”

Clint sighed. “Well, I know that, but I was just trying to be nice. I can be rough if you want, and I won’t give you any kind of support or comfort if you yell at me.”

The soldier smiled. “No. It’s fine.”

“Good. That’s what I thought.”

With a gentle hand, Clint began running the brush through the soldier’s hair. It was extremely thick and matted, but he was as careful as he could be, navigating his way around the messier parts, grabbing them and brushing them out separately as he went. And the soldier stayed quiet, never yelling or cursing in pain. He kept his breathing steady and only flinched a few times, letting Clint work through his hair bit by bit.

And Clint was appalled by the level of trust he showed him. Thankful, yes, but also shocked. The soldier was not one who trusted easy, and the fact that he chose Clint, it meant something. And Clint swore that he’d work to repay that level of trust until the day he died.

Maybe that’s why, after a long while of brushing, Clint set the brush aside and just stared at the soldier, admiring all the details of his face up close. And why his heart hammered in his chest as they exchanged breaths, leaning heavily on his cane for support to keep his legs from crumbling beneath him. 

And maybe that’s why, when the soldier stared back at him and whispered his name, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together softly.

His hand found the soldier’s cheek, and the soldier stiffened beneath him, not accepting or denying, just sitting there as Clint kissed him.

And when Clint pulled away, his heart pounded in his ears, and he had to force himself not to panic. “I- I’m sorry. That was completely impulsive. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or ruin the moment, I-” he rambled nervously, but stopped when the soldier put a hand on his cheek.

He stared at Clint with soft eyes and a gentle expression on his face. “Clint. Relax. It’s ok.”

Clint closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, the soldier began leaning towards him, and next thing he knew, they were kissing again.

All the tension melted from Clint’s shoulders, and he put his hands on the soldier’s waist, who put his own around Clint’s head in return. And in that moment, all hope was lost for Clint Barton.

He felt himself drift away, captured by the taste and feel of the lips pressed so softly against his own. And he pushed back, fighting to deepen the kiss with his own desperation, feeling his lungs burn in the best way he’d ever felt before. The soldier was calm and accepted him, letting Clint drive the kiss forward, and Clint was lost, searching for something within it not even he was aware of. But he wanted to keep searching for eternity because it would mean kissing those lips the whole time, and the thought alone drove him crazy. 

When they pulled away, Clint was panting and the soldier was breathing steadily, if not a little faster than normal. Clint held their foreheads together as he tried to collect himself, letting all the feelings wash over him like a tidal wave. The pure strength of the emotions he felt when kissing the soldier threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to force himself to breathe and stay grounded in reality.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to do that,” the soldier said quietly, the words tickling Clint’s lips as he spoke.

“Shut up,” Clint muttered in response. With a deep breath, he grabbed the soldier by the chin and kissed him again. 

The soldier grabbed onto his waist, and he let go of his cane, letting his weight be supported by the other man. His hands grabbed onto the soldier’s shoulders, pulling their bodies together desperately as they deepened the kiss. The soldier matched his energy, kissing him passionately, practically pulling Clint into his lap. Clint had never seen him lose control so much. He let himself go, let himself be free, all because of Clint. And the thought went straight to places Clint did not want to think about at that moment.

When they pulled away again, Clint was wrecked. He was breathing heavily, lips wet and cheeks flushed. He let himself be held up by the force of the soldier’s hands on his waist, confident that he wouldn’t let go. He tucked a strand of hair behind the soldier’s ear as he watched, trying to force his breathing to slow down a little.

“You gonna survive?” the soldier asked with a smirk.

Clint smacked him. “Shut up, jerk. Give me a minute. Some of us are still recovering from injuries that almost killed us.”

“What? You’re still affected by that?” 

Clint gave him a mocking expression, holding tightly onto his shoulders. “Yeah.”

The soldier smirked. “So, what if I were to let go right now? Would you fall?”

Clint’s smirk vanished. “Don’t even think about it, or I swear to god.”

“What are you gonna do, Hawkeye?”

“You’ve gotten very bold all of a sudden, and I’m not sure if I hate it or if I’m incredibly turned on by it. I haven’t figured it out yet. But don’t even think about dropping me. I will smack you. Very hard. And you won’t like it.”

“That’s what you think.”

“You freak!” Clint laughed as he tried to struggle out of the soldier’s grip. 

Clint yelped as the soldier let go of his waist, and his legs threatened to give way beneath him. But before he could fall, the soldier’s arms wrapped around him, and he was pulled to his chest, their noses bumping into each other.

“I’ve got you,” the soldier said quietly.

Clint hit him on the head. “Bitch.”

The soldier grabbed his hand as he lowered it and brought it to his lips, maintaining heavy eye contact with him the whole time. 

“You know, Winter, you’re pretty good at that. There’s no way I’m the first person you’ve kissed since HYDRA,” Clint acknowledged with a smirk.

The soldier shrugged. “I do remember some things, you know.”

“So you’re telling me that was all from memory from, like, seventy years ago?”

The soldier nodded. “Can’t say I’ve had a lot of action since I was brainwashed.”

“So, what, were you like a lady's man back in the forties?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“How many women have you slept with?”

The soldier feigned annoyance. “These are a lot of really invasive questions you’re asking right now.”

“And I just kissed you. There’s a lot of open air right now.”

The soldier ran a hand through Clint’s hair, using the other one to still hold him up. “Very few. Most didn’t stay after the first date.”

“Am I your first man?”

The soldier didn’t respond as he continued rubbing Clint’s hair. Then he nodded, looking away from Clint. “Kind of. People were a lot less tolerant back then.”

“But now it’s the 21st century. We can be whoever we want, within reason. We don’t have to hide away in fear. We don’t only have Brokeback Mountain .”

The soldier stared at him with puzzlement.

Clint shook his head. “Never mind. Just a movie reference. Don’t worry about it.”

The soldier took a deep breath and let his fingers trail from Clint’s head to his jaw. He traced soft lines along his face, from jaw to cheekbone to lips. He drug his finger down Clint’s bottom lip slowly, parting them as he kept heavy eye contact with him, then he dropped his hand and closed the gap between them.

Clint melted into the kiss, letting himself drift away, even if it only lasted a few seconds. It was a few seconds of pure bliss for him.

The soldier pulled back, a look of contemplation on his face. He wrapped his arms around Clint’s neck, bringing him closer, then buried his face in his shirt near his collarbone. Clint wrapped his arms around his back, holding him close. He quickly untangled one hand and forced himself up onto the bed, where he scooted himself back against the pillows, cradling the soldier in his arms. The soldier didn’t move or protest, instead letting himself be moved by Clint, and then relaxing into him.

The soldier squeezed him tight for a second, before he loosened his grip, and he seemed to melt in Clint’s arms. The tension in his shoulders gave way, and it was like he just gave up all of a sudden. Clint held onto him tightly, reassuring him without words that he wouldn’t let go.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other's comfort. They both stayed silent, letting the feelings wash over them in the quiet of their existence.

“You smell good,” Clint muttered with a smile.

“I wonder why,” the soldier muttered in response as he unraveled himself away from Clint.

Clint gave him a swift peck on the lips. “What a mystery.” He rolled over to the side and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come on, we have to do something today. We can’t just sit here and be us.”

The soldier tilted his head to the side a little. “Why not? We’ve done a fantastic job of that so far.”

“Because…” Clint started as he tried to come up with a response. “It’s not good. We gotta be productive, you know.”

Clint stood up off the bed and shakily reached out for his cane to steady himself. The soldier’s voice was light when he chuckled out, “who are you and what have you done with Clint Barton?”

“I don't know, maybe he got lost on his way to a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

“This place is not in the middle of nowhere. It’s safe. There’s a difference.”

“Po-tay-to, poh-tah-to.”

“Plus, what is there even to do? Watch more of your movies? Cook something for dinner in four hours?”

“First, ouch, you didn’t have to talk about my amazing movies in that tone. Second, I don’t know, something.”

“Laying in bed is something.”

“Now, who are you and what have you done with the Winter Soldier?”

“Left behind in a lonely dark cave when you kissed me.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at him. “Whatever. I’m going out of here to find something to do.”

With a determined pace, Clint limped his way out of the bedroom.

For the first time in a few nights, Clint settled himself into bed, staring up at the soldier. A weird feeling settled in his gut, and he didn’t want to move, but he felt so far away from the soldier in the moment, even if he was standing right next to Clint. Without waiting for permission, the soldier took out his hearing aids and set them on the nightstand. He stared at Clint for a second, unblinking and almost creepy, yet somehow endearing. Then he tore himself away and turned to walk out of the bedroom.

Clint watched as he went, feeling a pang of sadness grow in his chest. “Wait.” The soldier stopped at his voice but didn't turn back around. “Can you stay with me?”

The soldier's shoulders slumped forward, and he turned towards Clint, a soft expression on his face. He seemed to hesitate, before he nodded slowly.

Clint took a breath and smiled. The soldier took a few steps towards him, then he stopped at his little favorite corner, and he stood silently, watching Clint. Clint reached over to the bedside table and put his hearing aids back in. 

“You can come sit with me,” Clint offered quietly.

The soldier stood rigidly. “It's alright.” He seemed to look away from Clint solemnly, head hanging.

“It's fine. You can come here. There's plenty of room.” Clint patted the bed next to him.

“No. I'd rather not. It…” The soldier paused. “Not now.”

Clint sighed and let himself sink down into the bed, staring at the soldier with a sad expression. The soldier lowered himself to the floor carefully, staring down the whole time. With a sigh, he pulled his hair back and tied it into a messy bun, or something loosely resembling one. 

He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, looking smaller than Clint had ever seen him before. So gentle and… almost fragile. Clint saw his broken expression and felt his own heart shatter along with it. 

He just seemed so wrong to be so small. It didn't feel right. And Clint wanted to reach out to him, pull him into an embrace and hold him to stop his shaking, but something told him it wasn't right. So he waited for something from the soldier, the movement or words that indicated what he needed in the moment.

And they both stayed silent and still for a long time. Clint resorted to looking out the window, feeling uncomfortable at the way he stared at the soldier, huddled and trembling in a corner, no sense of self about him.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the soldier whispered into the darkness, after the silence stretched for what seemed like hours. Maybe it had.

Clint turned to him, letting him know he had his attention without saying anything. Something told him the soldier needed the moment to himself, so he waited. 

The soldier still didn't look at him, still curled in on himself, but his expression had calmed a little and he no longer trembled. “He was born March 10, 1917 to George and Winnifred. He joined the army young and met a man named Steve Rogers, who would eventually become his best, and really only, friend. They teamed up as Captain America and his sidekick and fought together for years.” The soldier sighed. “Then one day, on a mission, the sidekick died.”

Clint took a deep breath and asked the question that he was sure he already knew the answer to. “That's you, right?”

The soldier sighed. “It was. A long time ago. But he died when I did. When I was revived, he didn't come back with me. Now, I'm just… me.”

He finally looked up at Clint, and it broke his heart. He didn’t look like the same soldier he’d known for months. He looked so… human. “He's still in there. He just might be hiding and it's taking longer than you want to find him,” Clint offered.

The soldier shook his head. “No. He's dead. A part of me stayed dead, him included. I'm not James. I'm not Sergeant Barnes. I'm not Bucky. I'm not the Winter Soldier. I don't know what or who I am anymore.” The soldier buried his head in his knees, and Clint felt more of himself break apart.

With a certain determination, he swung his legs over the bed and touched his feet down on the floor, using the nightstand to hold himself up. If the soldier noticed, he didn't react at all. Clint, using the bed for support, limped his way over to the soldier, then he knelt down in front of him. Up close, he could hear him sniffling, and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him. Instead of being scared or shocked like he expected, the soldier just let himself be pulled into a gentle embrace, clinging onto Clint desperately. He buried his face in Clint's shoulder, and Clint didn't make a comment when he felt tears stain his shirt. Instead, he just held him as close as he could, whispering to him to let him know he was ok and he wasn't alone. The soldier's body shook with sobs, and Clint stayed, letting him release all his emotions into him.

With a gentle kiss on the side of his head, he felt the soldier's trembles begin to slow down, his sobs quieting down. “It's ok. You're ok. I'm right here,” he whispered.

The soldier, still crying lightly, pulled away from the embrace and pressed his forehead to Clint's, flesh hand on his cheek. “I want him to still be there,” he choked out. “I want him to still be a part of me, even if I don't believe it's possible. I want to be good. I want to be who I used to be,” he rambled, closing his eyes and trying to force his tears to stop.

“He is there. He is still a part of you, and one day, he'll be there when you need him most. But you can never go back to who you were before.” Clint took a deep breath, wanting to seem as gentle as possible but also knowing the soldier didn't want to be treated like he was fragile. “You're a different person, and that's ok. Because you're here now, and you are good. Just because you're not who you used to be doesn't mean you still can't be good. You saved me. You helped me. You went out of your way to protect me, knowing it could've ended badly and you could have suffered from HYDRA again. Yet you still did it. And if that doesn't make you good, I don't know what does.”

The soldier closed his eyes and soaked up his words silently, before he nodded against Clint’s head, his hand still resting on his cheek.

Clint pulled away and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, lips lingering against his skin for a few seconds. “I've got you, Winter,” he whispered, putting his hand on the soldier's cheek and wiping the unshed tears from his eyes. He rubbed his thumb back and forth on his cheekbone, and the soldier leaned into his touch, lips curling up at the ends into a soft, small smile.

“Bucky,” he whispered back.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“My name. It's what most people call me. Steve came up with it. It'd be… nice to hear it again. From someone new.”

Clint tucked some hair behind his ear with the most smitten of smiles on his face. “Ok, then, Bucky.”

The soldier- Bucky- continued to smile as he grabbed onto Clint's hand and held it between his own. Clint was happy with the warmth, despite not really being cold. It was a different kind of warmth, one that cascaded and sent shockwaves through his entire body, making him giddy with affection and butterflies. Just from one simple touch.

Falling was hard, but when you land, the whole trial seems worth it in the end. And Clint was safely on the ground. He was with Bucky, and Bucky was the grass he touched down on when his descent inevitably ended. But it wasn't a crash land. It was a bumpy ride that ended in a smooth landing.

“Bucky. Come lay with me,” Clint offered gently.

“Are you sure?” Bucky replied.

“Yeah.” Clint gave him a soft smile.

Bucky’s eyes wandered from Clint, to the floor, to the ceiling. “What if I hurt you?” he whispered, his voice shaky.
“Why are you worried about hurting me? You’ve never done anything like that before?” Clint asked with a frown of confusion.

“I get violent and snap sometimes, usually in my sleep,” Bucky whispered nervously, keeping careful eye contact with Clint before looking away.

“It’ll be ok. You won’t hurt me,” Clint reassured.

Bucky looked around nervously some more, biting his lip in contemplation, before he pushed himself onto his feet shakily. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm one more time then held a hand out to Clint, who grabbed on and let himself be pulled to his feet, stumbling a little as Bucky caught him. Bucky walked him to his side of the bed, helped him into it, then took out his hearing aids for him. Clint laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to not let his disappointment show as Bucky began walking away. He wanted him to stay so badly. He wanted to fall asleep next to him and stay close to him and wake up to his face next to his. He really wanted to just break through to him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to drown out his thoughts and understand everything from Bucky’s perspective. It was obviously hard for him. Clint shouldn’t expect him to do anything, he really didn’t know anything he’d been through. The last thing he wanted was to push Bucky away. His chest still panged, though.

But Clint looked over faster than he probably should have as he felt the bed dip on his right side, and he watched as Bucky awkwardly climbed in. Clint opened his arms, a silent invitation, and Bucky stared down at his chest, up to his face, then back down again. He sighed and crawled forward into Clint’s arms, letting himself be pulled into a cuddle. Clint’s arms tightened over him almost protectively, and he smiled, feeling so warm and content at the moment.

Chapter Text

Waking up wrapped in Bucky's arms became a normal routine. At night, Clint would hold Bucky close, letting him know he'd be ok and he'd protect him. And in the morning, he'd wake up to Bucky's arms holding him, and he’d smile and know it was going to be a good day. Even if nothing more had happened since their first kiss. But Clint wanted to take things slow and not overwhelm the soldier, so he stayed content with what they had.

But when Clint groaned and opened his eyes, he noticed immediately that the room was dark, and there wasn't a pair of arms wrapped around him.  He couldn't hear anything without his hearing aids, and as he peered through the darkness, he noticed Bucky not by his side. 

“Bucky?” he whispered tiredly.

No response came, so he sat up straighter and looked around the room, seeing no sign of him.

Suddenly worried, he grabbed his hearing aids and not so gently shoved them in his ear, then swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his cane. He hurried out of the bedroom at a pace that he surely would've fallen from if not for adrenaline. 

The kitchen was empty and the house was quiet, no sign of Bucky or even Alpine. Panicked, Clint nearly dropped his cane in search of him, when a noise alerted him. It was a whine, desperate and sad. Carefully, he made his way to the living room where he thought he heard it from. 

And on the couch, Bucky laid, thrashing around with his eyes closed, whines and groans escaping his mouth. Clint didn't know what to think at first, but when Bucky began murmuring things, he realized he was having a nightmare. Swiftly, Clint dropped to his knees in front of the couch, losing his cane somewhere in the process. And then, his hands hovered over Bucky, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to scare him and make things worse, but he also knew Bucky staying like that wasn't good, and he wanted to help. 

So he waited a second, watching him thrash around on the couch. “Bucky,” he whispered. “Wake up, Bucky.”

“No,” Bucky muttered.

And then Clint dropped his hands somberly, a defeated look on his face. “Winter. Wake up. It's just a dream. Please.”

Bucky continued living in his nightmare, and Clint decided to shake his shoulder softly. Bucky didn't react, still thrashing about, so Clint shook harder. Bucky became more violent as he tossed and turned, muttering to someone, his eyes squeezed shut desperately. And as Clint went to try something else, he caught a metal hand across the face. Hard. He cried out in pain and fell backwards, almost hitting his head on the coffee table as he went. His hand instinctively went to his cheek, and he groaned as he touched it, already knowing it was going to become a nasty bruise. 

Then his attention fell to Bucky again, and he took a deep breath. He sat up and reached out, grasping Bucky's metal hand within his own. Immediately, Bucky gripped his hand tightly, and Clint tried not to wince as he resumed shaking his shoulder.

“Bucky. It's just a dream. You're ok. Wake up.”

He just continued to hold Bucky's hand in his own, watching carefully, waiting for him to wake up. He didn't know what else to do besides be there for him when it was over and he needed someone. Clint kissed his hand and then rested their elbows on the couch, forehead pressed to their hands where they connected, taking deep, steady breaths.

And then finally, Bucky shot straight up with a yell, his hand having a death grip on Clint's. But Clint didn't complain as he squeezed back, holding onto him desperately.

“It's ok, Bucky. You're ok. It's ok,” he consoled quietly.

Bucky’s were eyes wide with panic, his breathing heavy. He put his flesh hand on his chest and wheezed with every breath, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. 

“Breathe, Bucky. You're ok. Just breathe.”

Bucky closed his eyes and tried to breathe, his iron grip on Clint's hand never relenting.

“That's it. You're good. Just keep breathing and calm down. I've got you.”

Finally, Bucky looked over at him, a panicked look in his eyes, but they settled when they landed on Clint, a familiar recognition and calm passing over his face. 

“Clint,” he said hoarsely.

Clint gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and Bucky's grip loosened on him. “Yeah. It's me. You're ok, I've got you.”

“Clint,” he repeated, his face still holding that panicked expression.

“It's me, Bucky. It's alright. It was just a dream. You can breathe. You're in the safe house with me, just like you have been for weeks. It's just you and me. You're ok.”

Finally, Bucky seemed to understand as he nodded and took a deep breath. “It was a nightmare,” he stated blankly, telling himself the facts. “HYDRA. I'm safe now. I'm not with them.”

“That's right. You're here, with me, an Avenger.”

Bucky looked down at his lap. “I left tonight. I had a nightmare for the first time since that first night I slept next to you. I got scared and left. I didn't want to hurt you. I get violent in my nightmares.”

“It's ok. I just got scared when I couldn't find you, and I'm glad I looked.”

“I didn't want you to have to see that. I'm just glad I didn't hurt you.”

Clint ignored the sting on his cheek in favor of keeping the soldier comfortable. “Like I said before, you could never hurt me. I just want you to be alright.” Clint kissed his metal hand, still being held gently in his own. 

“I think both of us are far from being alright,” Bucky responded, but Clint could see the faint smirk on his face, and his own face softened into a smile.

“Lay back down and rest,” Clint instructed softly. He tucked some hair behind Bucky's ear, watching as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he shook his head at Clint and squeezed his eyes tightly.

Clint ignored the solemn look on his face when he opened his eyes. “You don't have to try and sleep. Just lay down. It'll be more comfortable.”

With a sigh, he obeyed, holding onto Clint's hand as he laid himself back down on his side, facing Clint. He looked tired, and Clint wished so badly he could just take away his nightmares, but he knew firsthand that it was impossible. Maybe that's why he wanted to so badly.

“Stay,” Bucky whispered, bringing his other arm up and running his fingers through Clint’s soft hair. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” Clint whispered back, kissing him on the forehead. 

Bucky didn't quite meet his eyes after that, his gaze instead drifting to the floor as he fidgeted with their intertwined hands. And Clint watched as he slowly drifted away, until a few minutes came and went, and the soldier fell asleep, dropping their combined hands to hang off the side of the couch. And Clint held his hand the entire time, ready to be there when he woke up again, whether it was late in the morning after a refreshing night of much needed rest or in an hour from another nightmare. 

Somehow, Clint himself also passed out. When he woke up, his head was laying on the couch, his body slumped against it, hand miraculously still holding onto Bucky's. Said soldier was still sleeping soundlessly, so Clint very carefully lifted his head up, his cheek and ears aching, and he was forced to remember both the physical and emotional pain of waking Bucky from his nightmare. 

Sunlight poured through the windows, and while Clint couldn't see the clock, he assumed it was the middle of the morning. With a smile, he gently tucked some hair behind Bucky's ear, praying he wasn't a light sleeper, thankful that he seemed to sleep through the rest of the night with no hitches. 

A while later, Bucky groaned and opened his eyes, letting them immediately fall on Clint. Clint smiled at him, and he returned it softly.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, and Clint was hit with the realization that he'd never seen the soldier wake up before. His hair was askew, his eyes still half-closed, yet he looked as beautiful as ever.

Clint put a hand on his cheek, leaned forward, and awkwardly kissed him as he tried to tilt his head to meet his lips. He lingered for a second, pushing past just a simple peck, and then pulled away, still smiling affectionately. 

“Good morning for sure,” Bucky mused as he sat up on the couch.

“Did you sleep through the rest of the night?” Clint asked.

Bucky rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. At least, I think I did.”

Clint nodded. “I passed out next to you.” He gave an awkward smile. “Was it a good sleep?”

Bucky stared directly at Clint, his smile growing. “Best I've had in a really, really long time.” Bucky slid a metal hand onto his cheek, and Clint snuggled into it.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth on Clint's cheekbone, and Clint had to resist the urge to wince, Bucky rubbing right against his freshly formed bruise.

Bucky slowly drew his hand away, though, frowning in confusion. “What happened to your face? Are you ok?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. I'm fine. Just a bruise.”

“How'd it happen?” Bucky rubbed his knuckle around the wound, barely not touching it. Clint stayed silent, and Bucky slowly dropped his hand to his side. Bucky's expression of realization broke Clint’s heart. “Did… Did I? In my sleep. Did I do this?” 

Clint looked away and nodded, not being able to bear looking at him anymore.

Bucky put a flesh hand on his opposite cheek, rubbing his fingers against the skin softly. Clint leaned into his touch, still keeping his head turned away.

“Don't worry. Nothing a good old bag of frozen peas won't fix,” he muttered half-heartedly.

“Clint…” Bucky began quietly.

“Don't.” Clint finally looked back at him, staring at the devastated expression on his face. “Don't say anything. It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you. It's ok. I'm ok.”

Bucky took a shaky breath. “But-”

“No.” Clint grabbed Bucky's hand from off his cheek and held it between both of his own. “Just don't. I promise it's ok, Winter.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

Clint pushed himself up and kissed Bucky. Bucky put his hands on the side of Clint's face and held him carefully, kissing him back. Clint put his hands on Bucky's waist to steady himself, leaning into him.

“I'm sure,” he whispered against his lips. 

Bucky put their foreheads together. “Ok.”

Clint brought him back into another kiss, and the next thing he knew, he was dragging himself into Bucky's lap, kissing him with everything he had. His hands tangled into Bucky's hair as Bucky's hands held onto his hips securely. He wrapped his legs around Bucky's waist and groaned into the kiss. Bucky held him tighter, mouth pressing a little harder against his.

And Clint could feel himself melting away into the heat of the kiss, his mind drifting into only thoughts of how good Bucky's lips felt against his. 

He pulled away to breathe, his head leaning towards Bucky's shoulder as he panted. Then he turned and pressed a kiss to his neck, enjoying the slight squirm from him as he did. He moved and kissed lower, trailing down his neck. Bucky tilted his head back with a sigh, opening his neck up more, and Clint hungrily accepted the invitation. Bucky groaned and rolled his hips into Clint, before he quickly shut his lips. Clint kissed him harder in the same spot, trying to elicit a reaction, and the soldier just sighed heavily.

“Clint,” he said suddenly. Clint pulled away and stared at him curiously. “Maybe we should stop.”

Clint let go of him, but Bucky kept a gentle grip on his hips. “You ok?”

Bucky nodded and relaxed his shoulders.

Clint tucked some hair behind his ear with a soft smile. “Ok.”

Bucky slid his metal hand under his chin and tilted it down, then he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. He pulled away and stared at Clint with a soft expression, lips curling at the corner. Clint tucked some hair behind his ear and then began running his fingers along his scalp. Bucky sighed and relaxed, and Clint couldn't stop himself from comparing him to a cat again. 

“You have nice hair,” he complimented.

Bucky looked at him with a puzzled but amused expression. “You think?”

“Mhm.” Clint brought a bunch of hair forward and threw it over the front of Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky looked away from him and stared down at his lap, where he fidgeted with his fingers. “I was thinking about cutting it.”

Clint stopped messing with his hair. “Really?”

Bucky nodded. “When I look at myself… I see him. I see him with the long hair and the mask and the blood on his face. I don't want to be him. I don't even want to be reminded of him.”

Clint tucked some hair behind his ear again. “Let me know, and I'll cut it for you. I'm no professional, but I could probably do a good job.”

“You'd do that for me? Even though you like it?” Bucky looked at him hopefully. 

Clint smiled at him. “Of course. If you don't like it, I'd gladly cut it all off for you. I'd shave your head bald if it made you happy.”

Bucky threw his arms around Clint’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug. Clint was momentarily shocked, but then he wrapped his arms around Bucky and hugged him back. “Thank you, Clint.”

Clint didn’t respond and just nuzzled his face further into Bucky's shoulder. 

They stayed wrapped up in each other's arms silently, until Bucky muttered, “you want breakfast?”

Clint chuckled and pulled away. “If you're offering. Can I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead.”

Clint smiled brightly. “Pancakes.”

Bucky smiled back at him and ran a hand through Clint’s hair. “I think I can manage that.”

Then Bucky stood up, his hands on Clint's waist, and Clint yelped as he was suddenly lifted along with him. Bucky only chuckled as Clint wrapped his legs tightly around his waist, knowing Bucky wouldn't drop him but still being scared anyways.

As they walked past the couch, Bucky picked up his cane and brought it with them, before walking towards the kitchen. Clint put his chin on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around his neck, clinging onto him like a child, no longer out of fear of falling but because he wanted to stay close to him. Bucky let go of his hips as they made their way towards the cooking counter, but Clint held on tightly.

“You gonna get off?” Bucky asked as he began prepping to cook.

Clint shook his head and mumbled into his shoulder.

“So you're gonna make me cook with you clinging on to me like a baby monkey?”

Clint nodded.

“You're insufferable.”

Clint mumbled something again and just buried his face further into his shoulder. 

“You are adorable, though, too.” Bucky kissed him on the side of the head.

Bucky began working around Clint, cooking and cleaning up as he went, and without even hearing it, Clint could smell the minute the pancakes hit the griddle, and his mouth watered. Without other people in his life, Clint’s diet would consist of only take-out pizza and instant ramen. And while he did bitch at them for being so involved in his life, he did appreciate that they cared about him and didn't let him rot away. 

“Hey, Clint.” Bucky nudged him a little with his shoulder. “Come on. Pancakes are ready.”

Clint grumbled into his shoulder but didn't move. 

“Don't tell me you fell asleep on me.”

“No,” Clint mumbled as he lifted his head up. “Just comfy.”

“Well, come on. The food's ready.”

“Mmm. Do I have to?”

Bucky sighed. “You're so dramatic.” He walked over to Clint’s favorite stool and turned around, slowly depositing him down onto it. 

He grabbed Clint’s food and slid it towards him, before grabbing his own and sitting down next to him. Clint didn't hesitate to take a large bite, letting the flavor melt on his tongue and light up his face.

He turned to Bucky, his mouth still full of food, and signed, “thank you.”

Bucky picked at his own food without actually eating any. Then he nodded in response, and Clint turned towards his own plate again. 

“Hey, I got a question,” he said after swallowing his bite of food. “How do you know ASL? It's very rare for someone to know more than just a few simple words.”

Bucky stopped picking at his food and dropped his fork. “HYDRA. My programming. I know a lot of languages. Mostly so I can take orders from anyone.”

Clint’s expression saddened a little. “Oh. Didn't realize.”

They were silent for a minute, both just staring down at their food. Then Alpine came out of nowhere and jumped up on the counter, sitting down next to Bucky's plate as she eyed it carefully.

Bucky handed a piece of food to her, and she ate it happily. “Good girl,” he said quietly as he rubbed her head. She snuggled into his hand and gave a happy purr.

Then he gave her another bite, and she jumped down and wandered off, satisfied with her treat. Bucky smiled down into his plate, and then actually took a bite of the food. Clint stared at him with a smile, dropping his fork to just watch.

Then Bucky looked up at him and frowned. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“‘Cause you're adorable,” Clint responded simply.

Bucky scoffed and turned away, but the smile still on his face was unmistakable. Clint turned towards his own food and took a few bites, watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye. 

Bucky’s smile faded and he looked distant all of a sudden. He began picking at his food again, when he muttered, “Черт возьми, эти тупые гидры, которые превратили меня в это... Потому что тогда, возможно, я действительно смогу быть с тобой.”

Clint's minimal understanding of Russian didn't do him any favors in trying to figure out what he said. He only picked up on the words, “stupid” and “shit.”

And Clint didn't know what to say in response. He silently stared down at his plate, and stared at Bucky, who continued to only pick at his food with a fork. Then, without a word, Bucky stood up from his stool, dropping his fork as he went. He began walking away, and Clint almost called out to him, but he knew the look on his face. The blank eyes, thin line mouth, and the almost frown of his eyebrows. He wanted to be left alone, and Clint would only make things worse if he tried anything, so he resigned himself to just staring as Bucky walked out the front door and shut it assertively behind him. Then Clint wanted to throw up what little food he'd eaten, feeling like it was his fault for pushing him too hard and pushing him away in the process. They were having a normal conversation, then it all went to shit with a drop of a pin.

One step forward, two steps back.

He pushed his plate away from himself and dropped his head into his hands with a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Then he forced himself up onto his feet using the counter, hobbled over to the living room, grabbed his cane, and made his way to the bedroom. He practically flopped down onto the bed with a groan, feeling his body give way beneath him, all energy suddenly lost. He took his hearing aids out, placed them on the nightstand, and buried his face in the pillows. He didn't feel like sleeping, his mind raced too much, but he also didn't want to move or do anything. There wasn't anything to do, except wait. And Clint Barton was not a patient man.

At some point, Clint zoned out, completely lost to the world and to the concept of time itself. When he zoned back in, the sun was setting. Dissociating wasn't anything new for him, but for that long, it was rare. He had to force himself to not freak out over how much time he missed out on. A panic attack after an episode like that would be hard to recover from. And it was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the already on-edge soldier.

But as he looked around the room, taking deep breaths, Bucky was still nowhere to be found. He grabbed his hearing aids and slipped them in, shaking his head a few times to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling, and then stood up with his cane. He walked out of the bedroom, Bucky still not anywhere he could see, and he tried not to let the panic set in. With a determined pace, he went towards the front door and opened it, finding Bucky sitting on the steps, facing away from him. Snow was lightly falling around him, and Bucky was still, head leaning against the railing. 

Clint sighed in relief and moved towards him before stopping at the top of the steps. Bucky didn't move, and Clint wondered if he knew he was there, or if he was so far dissociated he lost all awareness of his surroundings.

Finally, Clint took a deep breath and a hesitant step forwards, before descending one step and pausing. Then he went down two more until he was on the same level as Bucky, and he took a seat on his right with a little difficulty.

Bucky didn't look at him, but Clint could see the look in his eye, and he knew he was there in the moment. He knew Clint was there with him.

“It's cold out here,” Clint stated simply. Bucky didn't move, so Clint shrugged his sweatshirt off, then put it on Bucky's shoulders as gently as he could. Bucky still flinched at his touch. Clint watched both their breaths cloud in the air silently. He put his hands back down in his lap and stared helplessly at Bucky. “You sure you don't want to come inside? It's healthier to wallow where there's heating.”

Bucky gave the smallest of head shakes, now leaning against the railing with his whole body. But he brought his shoulders in, accepting more of the warmth from Clint’s sweatshirt.

So Clint sat with him in silence, understanding what he needed, just providing his presence in hopes that he could help even just a little bit. And when he put a hand on Bucky's knee and Bucky didn't flinch away from him, he knew he was making the right decision.

Clint’s cheeks and ears were cold from the bitter air, his arms starting to get there from lack of a sweatshirt, but he didn't dare mention anything of it. Bucky had been out there for longer with less, and Clint could deal with being chilly to make sure he was gonna be alright.

“I feel like I'm going to cry, but I don't know if I remember how,” Bucky admitted quietly. Clint watched his breath as it came out from his mouth, but he didn't turn towards him. “Obviously, I… I know, but I don't really. I haven't cried… felt it in a long time. Besides the other night. But I barely remember that… at least how it felt.”

Clint reached his hand up and grasped Bucky's flesh one within his own, resting them on Bucky's thigh as a sign of reassurance.

Bucky squeezed his hand tightly in his own. “I don't know how to feel anymore. I want to cry- I need to. I feel so numb sometimes. I want to feel something. But… I'm scared that if I let myself, I'll never be able to stop. I sometimes miss having all the feelings, but other times, I'm glad I don't.” Bucky looked further away from Clint, the back of his head facing towards Clint’s face. “You make me feel things, Clint. Things I haven't felt in a really, really long time. And it scares me. I don't wanna be scared. I don't wanna feel anything.”

Clint put his other hand on Bucky's shoulder. “Bucky,” he started. Finally, Bucky looked over at him, his pain and anguish clear on his face. Clint moved his hand from his shoulder to his cheek. “It's ok to be scared. It's what makes us human. Everyone gets scared. Hell, I'm one of the most scared people on the planet. Anytime there's a chance I have feelings, I run the other direction.” He chuckled a little. “But then I found people who make the feelings worth it- the good and the bad. The Avengers, my neighbors, Kate… you. And I will always be there for you when you're scared. Because it's ok. You're ok. Everything's gonna be ok. You have me, and Steve, and plenty of other people. There's lots of bad people out there in the world, people who will want to hurt you, but there's good people too. Think of Steve. He's saved countless lives and never backs down from a fight because he wants to help people. You think he's never scared? Hell no. He's the biggest pussy I've ever met. But that's never stopped him before. And it sure as hell isn't going to stop anyone as strong as you. Not now, not ever.”

Bucky looked at him, waiting for some sort of waver in his expression. But it never came. Clint meant every word he said, and he showed it. He stared at Bucky with determination and affection.

And Bucky broke down.

The tears came spilling from his eyes almost unexpectedly. He jumped forward into Clint's arms, holding onto him desperately as he buried his face into Clint's shoulder. His body shook with sobs as he let out 70 years of pain, anger, and powerlessness. 

And Clint just held into him. He held him like it was the last thing he'd ever do. He held him like he knew he was the only thing keeping Bucky upright. 

“I know you're scared, and that's ok,” Clint muttered into his shoulder. “We can work through it together. Me and you.”

Listening to Bucky sob like it was the only thing he knew how to do was painful, but Clint stayed because that was what he needed. Bucky needed him as a shoulder to cry on, and after everything, it was the least he could do to stay there, holding him up, listening to him.

They stayed there for a long time as Bucky's sobs began to die down. Clint tried to stop his shivering, but he couldn't, even with Bucky wrapped up in his arms. Bucky didn't shiver, but he didn't seem all too fond of the cold, so Clint made the executive decision to bring them inside. 

He silently unwrapped himself from Bucky, used the railing for support as he stood up, and held a hand out to Bucky. Bucky took it and stood up next to him, then led the way into the house. Clint shut the door behind them, then began walking towards the couch, grabbing Bucky's hand and leading him as he went. 

When Bucky was sitting comfortably on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Clint went into the kitchen and made two cups of hot chocolate for them. While he waited for them to heat up, he leaned forward on the counter and sighed heavily. He was still cold, but he waited to curl up under the blankets next to Bucky in favor of taking care of him. For over a month at that point, Bucky had taken care of him, watched over him, and protected him. Now, it was his turn to return the favor. 

So he grabbed both mugs of hot chocolate and walked over to the couch without his cane. His legs felt like they were going to crumble beneath him at any moment, but he just leaned on anything he could to keep himself upright and forced his body to keep going. He placed both mugs on the table and practically fell onto the couch next to Bucky, who looked over at him curiously, still wrapped tightly in the blanket.

Clint reached over and tucked it closer around his shoulders. Then he grabbed one of the mugs and handed it over, with Bucky taking it hesitantly. “It'll make you feel better. I promise.”

Bucky let his flesh hand linger on Clint's for a second. “You're cold,” he stated.

Clint looked away and shrugged. “It's fine.”

Bucky went to unwrap the blanket from around himself, but Clint put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. Bucky paused and stared intensely at him.

“You were out there longer. I don't want you getting hypothermia.”

“I can't get hypothermia. And even if I could, we're inside now with heating. You can't get it in here,” Bucky countered.

“Fine. I'll go grab another blanket.” Clint stood up from the couch, snatched a blanket from the bed, and sat back down next to Bucky. He wrapped the blanket around his own shoulders, suppressing the sigh of relief. “Happy now?”

Instead of responding, Bucky relaxed a little and took a sip of his hot chocolate. Clint picked up his own mug and took a sip, immediately smiling into his cup as he watched Bucky do the same. Then he scooted closer so their sides touched, and Bucky leaned into him, head falling onto his shoulder with ease. Under their blankets, Clint snaked a hand behind Bucky's back and held him close, just listening to him breathe softly, feeling so much warmer.

Clint sat by himself on the bed, and he took a deep breath while opening his laptop. His fingers shakily typed in the password and then he stared blankly at the screen, his mind racing at a million miles a minute. He crossed his legs and put the laptop down in front of him, rubbing his hands down his face. Then a loud ring sounded from the laptop, and he jumped. Before he could sike himself out of it, he hit the answer button and forced himself to calm down.

On the other side of the screen sat Kate Bishop. Her dark hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders and she was smiling. At just seeing her face, so happy and simple, some of the tension melted from Clint’s shoulders, and he sighed in relief.

“Clint! Oh my god, you really are alive!” she beamed. “I mean, obviously I've been getting your emails, and you'd been talking to me for a while now, but I wasn't sure it was actually you. I mean, anyone could've hacked into your account and been lying to me by saying you were alive to try and lure me into a trap or something. God, I'm so relieved.”

Clint smiled. “It's good to see your face and hear your voice, Katie.”

“Ugh, creep. I'm, like, way too young for you,” she chuckled.

Clint only continued to smile, thankful to just be in her presence, even if it was through a screen. 

“So… what's been up with you? Your emails have been very vague. Obviously, I know you can't say too much because, you know, classified stuff and whatever. But…”

Clint ran a hand through his hair. “I've been stuck in this safehouse for a while. The mission went south and I almost died, but I was rescued. This guy, he's been taking care of me ever since ‘cause I can't really do it myself. I'm still in pretty shitty condition. And… you know, yeah.”

Kate cocked a curious eyebrow at him. “And… what?”

“Nothing,” Clint responded a little too quickly.

“Yeah, uh-huh. What?”

“It's nothing, Kate. Don't worry about it.” He looked away from the screen. 

“Tell me, Clinton Francis Barton.”

“Damn. You're pulling out the full name on me?”

“Yes, so tell me.”

“You promise not to get mad or freak out?”

“Clint.”

“Ok, ok, fine.” Clint rubbed his hands down his face with a sigh. “So… I kinda… sorta… like this guy. You know, like-like.”

“Seriously, Clint. What are you, twelve?”

“Shut up. I don't know how to word this. It's… complicated.”

“Name one thing in your life that isn't complicated.”

“Touché, but that's not the point. It's just that he's a… different kind of guy, and I don't know if I'm doing anything right or giving the right signals or what. I mean, there's moments when I can, like, feel the tension between us, you know. Those really intimate moments. And we've kissed a few times during some of those moments. But then, like, he's a complicated guy, too, and I don't know if he wants the same things I want or if he's just getting what he can, being holed up with me here for months. I mean, he did say he hadn't kissed anyone in a really long time before me, but still… I don't know. This whole thing is crazy. I don't know what to do.”

When Clint looked back at the screen, Kate's jaw was hung open, and she stared blank-faced at him. “Jesus, Clint,” she muttered.

He threw his arms up in defense. “What?”

“You're such an idiot, you know that?”

“ What?” he repeated. “What do you have to say about this? Why are you looking at me like that? What am I missing?”

Kate smiled a little. “Can I give you some much needed advice?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Talk to him!” Clint jumped back at her sudden volume change. “Jesus Christ, you big golden retriever of a middle-aged man. Talk to him. Find out if this is something he really wants. ‘Cause if not, it's gonna get real awkward. I get the impression you're not coming home anytime soon, and when one of you does something the other doesn't like, it's gonna be a shitshow.”

“But neither of us are very good at talking. I mean, our best form of communication is shutting down and running away. It's how we both operate.”

Kate sighed. “Then you need to take the first leap of faith. If you show him it's ok and that he can trust you with something like that, he'll follow suit, and if he doesn't or doesn't even try and make an effort, he's not worth it for you.”

Clint sighed. “But what if he tries and still isn't good at it… Or I am.”

“Then, if there really is something worth keeping there, you'll find a way to make it work.”

Clint was silent as he pondered her words for a minute. “When’d you get so wise?”

“When I decided that someone out of the two of us needed some brain cells.”

Clint smiled. “Good call.”

Kate put her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “Soooo, tell me more about this mystery boy. What's he like?”

Clint took a deep breath. “Well, he's quiet and moody. He keeps to himself a lot and he seems kinda mean, but he's really gentle and kind. He's been through a lot, so he's like a big tough guy, but once you get to know him, he's a lot different.”

“Didn't know you were into tough guys.”

“Yeah, well, like I said he's actually kind of a big softie. And you have not seen the size of his muscles.” Clint leaned close to the screen and lowered his voice, even though Bucky wasn't even in the house. “Holy shit, Katie, he's so jacked. Like, I mean ripped. Do you know the kinds of things about guy could do with tho-”

“Nope. I've heard enough. Just stop talking. I don't need to know about your sex fantasies with this guy.” Clint laughed and she smiled, before she raised an eyebrow at him and a dangerous look passed over her face. “ Have you had sex yet?”

“Kate!” Clint yelled in response. He took a breath. “No. Like I said, we've only kissed a few times, and that's it. Nothing more.”

Kate shrugged. “Oh well.” She was quiet for a second, staring at Clint through the screen with a sort of determination. “You like him, don't you?”

“Well, duh. I thought I already said that.”

Kate smiled softly at him. “I'm glad. It's been a while.”

Clint smiled back at her. “You're telling me.”

“You are getting older, you know. This is pretty good timing. You're close to the settling down and retiring age.”

Clint threw his arms up. “Way to ruin the mood. I'm not that old, I'll have you know. I'm only like thirty something.”

“You're forty-one.”

“Shut up. Not relevant. I'm still in my prime.”

Kate snorted. “Yeah, sure. And how long have you been stuck in a house in the middle of nowhere because you got injured?”

“Not. Relevant.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, how old is this other guy? Please tell me he's not like twenty or something and it'd be so much more appropriate if I dated him.”

“Well, that's… it's um… he's like in his late thirties, I think.”

“Damn, Clint. Never thought you'd find the perfect guy just like this.”

Clint rubbed at his neck nervously. “Yeah.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “There's something you're not telling me. You're doing your nervous neck rub thing.”

Clint stuttered over his words for a second. “I can't- I can't tell you. It'd put all three of us in danger. And I'll be damned if I ever put you in danger over something stupid like this.”

Kate huffed. “Fine.”

“I promise that when I'm able to come back home, you can meet him and I can tell you so much more. It's just… not safe right now.”

“I'm holding you to that.” Kate pointed a stern finger at him. “Can I at least know his name?”

Clint opened his mouth then shut it again. “Uh, no. Sorry. But I call him Winter as a nickname, so you can refer to him as that if you want.”

“No. I'm not calling him your little pet name. I'll just call him your guy or whatever. It's bett- No, Lucky! Watch out! Don't knock that over, please.” Kate looked somewhere off screen, presumably at the dog, and Clint's face lit up.

“Lucky's there? Can I see him?” he practically squealed. 

Kate whistled. “Lucky. Come here boy. Come see Clint.” Lucky jumped up on the bed with her, and he went darting for the camera.

Clint gasped. “Lucky. Hi, boy. My buddy. Has Katie been treating you right? She better be. Oh my goodness, I wish I could give you a hug so bad right now. I miss you, bud.”

Lucky looked away, back at Clint, then away again, before he jumped down out of frame.

“He just left,” Kate informed, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. She sucked in a sharp breath. “That rejection was hard to watch.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. He's good, though, right?”

“Yeah, he's doing fine. He sits by the door a lot, though. I think he does miss you. I've been by your place a few times just to let him get a glimpse of home. He'll sit patiently and wait for you.”

Clint sighed. “I wish I could come back to him.”

Kate looked away sadly and pulled her knees to her chest. “When are you coming home, Clint?”

“I don't know, kid.” Clint ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “There's a lot of factors at play. My recovery, the people after us, Winter's condition, our safety. It's a whole thing. I'm not gonna come home until I'm 100% sure you're not gonna be in any sort of danger. And that may take a while. I just don't know.”

Kate peered at him. “I can handle myself. If some bad guys come after me, I'll fight back.”

Clint sighed. “I know, Katie. You're the strongest person I've ever met. But that doesn't mean I want to risk you getting hurt. If something ever happened to you and it was my fault, I'd never be able to live with myself.”

Kate continued to peer at him from over her knees. “I know you're doing your best.” She sighed. “I just miss you.”

“I know. I miss you, too, kiddo. I'll keep you updated, and I promise to let you know when I can come home. You'll be the first person I tell. And you'll be the first person I come to see, ok?”

Kate wiped at her eyes and smiled a little. “Ok. You better.”

“I promise.” Clint leaned forward and kissed the camera on his laptop, pretending it was her forehead, in the way he always did before he left for a mission. He sat back and stared at her, smiling. “So, tell me everything that's been happening in your life,” he said with a smile. 

“You would not believe how high he had to jump to grab that entire pizza off the counter!” Kate shouted as she laughed.

Clint laughed in return at her story, nearly two hours after they started the call. Then he heard the front door open, and he looked up, watching Bucky walk in the house.

“Prince Charming back?” Kate asked.

Clint looked back down at the screen again. “Yeah.”

Kate gave him a knowing smile. “Ooh, I'll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Clint practically jumped over his laptop. “Shut up, Kate,” he hissed. He looked up to watch Bucky begin walking towards the bedroom, a paper cup in his hand. 

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You know what I was saying about-”

“Yeah. I know what we discussed earlier,” Clint interrupted as Bucky got closer. 

Kate's smile grew to a devilish smirk and she raised her eyebrows at him. Clint looked over as Bucky came up next to him, standing at attention, clearly trying not to eavesdrop. “Welp, Lucky is begging me for food. I should go. Good luck. Call me soon. Don't screw it up, Hawkeye.”

“Ok. Have fun. Tell Lucky I love him and I'll try to be home soon. And I'll try my best. Bye, Hawkeye.”

With a sigh, Clint closed his laptop and leaned back. He threw a hand over his eyes and groaned, feeling completely drained.

“Everything alright with Kate?” Bucky asked. 

Clint opened his eyes and sat up, accepting the cup Bucky was offering him gratefully. “Yeah.”

“Coffee. Black. There's a place not too far away. I've heard it's good, so I figured I'd bring you a cup.”

Clint looked up and smiled at him. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

Bucky nodded at him and walked out of the bedroom silently. Clint stared down at the cup in his hand, let the delicious scent of coffee overwhelm his nose, and sighed. He groaned and threw his legs over the side of the bed, hand grabbing onto his cane. He steadied himself and walked out of the bedroom, coffee cup still in hand.

When he walked into the kitchen, Bucky was sorting through bags on the counter. He perked up when Clint walked in but didn't say anything as Clint took a seat on his stool. 

Clint took a long sip of coffee, mulling over his thoughts, watching Bucky move with his tactical precision. But as he watched the way he so gracefully danced around, Clint’s mind gave up, and he knew he couldn't have a serious conversation without making a fool of himself, despite knowing Kate was right. Panic rose in his chest, and he knew he couldn't have a panic attack in the middle of them talking, or it'd just ruin the importance of it. He'd overshadow the conversation they desperately needed to have, and he wasn't going to risk it.

“You ok?”

Clint looked up to see Bucky leaning on the edge of the counter next to him, looking down at him with worry. 

His gaze dropped down to his coffee. “Yeah.”

Bucky gave his shoulder a simple squeeze, and he tried not to flinch away at the friendly and safe gesture. 

The words he wanted to say died in his throat, and he just listened as Bucky walked away, not daring to look back. 

Chapter Text

“Clint.”

Clint heard his name over the sound of the laughter, but he couldn't grasp it. It sounded so far away, and that laughter was so close. It was in his ears, swimming through his head, never leaving him alone. 

And he heard screams and cries and saw blood. Everyone around him was dead. He looked down and saw a knife in one hand, gun in the other. With a cry, he dropped both and staggered back, before he fell to his knees and cried.

The screams got louder, along with the laughter, and he threw his hands over his ears, to no avail. He cried harder, willing the noise to go away. His knees were against his chest and he screamed, trying to drown everything out. 

“Clint.”

“No!” Clint screamed, and he clamped his hands down as hard as he could. 

His ears ached, but he couldn't give any care to it. He needed to drown it out. He needed to get rid of it.

But it wasn't working.

He gripped his hair between his fingers, tugging harshly on the strands. He needed something to keep himself there. He used the pain to keep himself from falling apart and crumbling away into tiny pieces. The laugh was still there, the blood still stained his vision.

Then he could feel it.

A pair of hands wrapped around his wrists and tried to pull them away. He kicked out, feeling his foot collide with something, and he kept thrashing. He tried to struggle, but the grip was relentless. He cried out. 

“Clint. It's ok. It's me. I'm here.”

The voice sounded so familiar and so calm, but Clint wasn’t going to give up and stop resisting. He continued to fight, until he realized it was futile. He was too weak to fight and win. He went limp in the person's grip, still crying hard, and then his hands were being held within someone else's.

“Clint. It's Bucky. You're ok.”

Clint squeezed hard at the hands, feeling how strong they were.

Bucky.

It was Bucky.

He was with Bucky.

He knew him. 

He trusted him. 

He was going to be ok.

Slowly, Clint opened his eyes, his grip never faltering. Bucky’s face was in front of his, not too close. He looked worried, but when he noticed Clint stare back at him, his face melted with relief. 

“You're ok, Clint. I'm right here.”

Clint didn't move any more, and he looked away from Bucky, but he did try to watch his breathing and match it. Bucky held onto his hands, and he was so thankful. It kept him grounded, and he felt safe. As safe as he could be. He buried his head back in his knees but kept his grip on Bucky's hands firm. 

“You're in the kitchen with me. We're on the floor. I was cooking lunch and you started breathing heavily. Then you got down on the floor and started crying, and I've been sitting with you for a bit while you calm down. I'm not sure what set you off,” Bucky informed calmly. 

Clint still felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, so he didn't respond. He stayed curled in on himself, away from the outside world that seemed so big and scary suddenly. He never wanted to move. The world would be so much better if he just stayed in a ball on the floor of the kitchen of the house he'd spent months cowering in, recovering from almost dying.

But Bucky was sitting down across from him on the floor, waiting patiently for him to calm down and come back. He couldn't stay alone.

Carefully, he pulled his hands out of Bucky's, and Bucky just let go and let him. “Please don't go,” he signed. He knew it was dumb, Bucky had been with him for god knows how long since his panic attack started, but he needed the reassurance nonetheless.

Bucky held onto one of his hands gently. “I'm not going anywhere,” he replied quietly.

Clint slowly lifted his head up from his knees. Bucky looked at him with an expression Clint wasn't quite familiar with yet. He reached forward and grabbed Bucky’s hands within his own again, needing the contact to keep himself from spiraling any more. 

“Do you need anything?” Bucky asked quietly.

Clint freed his hands. “Stand,” he signed.

“You wanna stand up?” Bucky confirmed, already pushing himself to his feet.

Clint nodded and held out his hands, so Bucky grabbed on and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled a little, his legs shaky and threatening to crumble beneath him, but Bucky held him up.

He felt like he was trying to ice skate for the first time, Barney holding him up as they both laughed, and then they proceeded to fall on their ass. They laughed even harder. Clint struggled to breathe as Barney fell over onto the ice, rolling with laughter. Clint could feel the laugh vibrate throughout his whole body, sending fire through his veins, lighting up his whole being. But more than that, he could hear it. With his own, fully functioning ears. Something he would never get to do again. 

The memory made him wish it was a different time, that he was still a kid that could stand on his own without falling over. A kid that could hear everything around him without some super-tech. A kid without panic attacks or nightmares that kept him up at night and kept him forever exhausted. 

Bucky stared at him carefully, waiting for any sort of indication on what to do. Clint took a deep breath and took a step, Bucky following and helping to hold him up. He paused to steady himself, then he took a few more steps, until he stood in front of the stool he always sat at. Getting the hint, Bucky helped to ease him onto the stool, and Clint practically collapsed into it.

“Thank you,” he said aloud, his voice raspy.

Bucky walked to the other side of the counter, staring softly at him. He nodded and tucked some long hair behind his ear. “Can I get you anything?”

“Water. Please.” Clint let his head fall down sideways onto the counter gently, feeling drained.

Bucky turned and grabbed a glass from a cabinet. Clint watched as he filled it up and then slid it across the counter towards him. He lifted his head up and drank it quickly.

Bucky leaned forward, forearms bracing him up against the counter. “You feel like eating?”

Clint shrugged and put the glass down. Bucky slid a plate with a sandwich on it towards him. Clint stared in confusion, looking from the sandwich to Bucky and back again.

“It’s your lunch,” Bucky answered without Clint having to ask. “I was making it before your panic attack started. It’s a PB&J”

Clint stared at it, not feeling any particular appetite. Guiltily, he pushed the plate away, feeling uneasy about denying food from Bucky, but he couldn’t force himself to eat then. He laid his head on his hands, and stared out the window as snow fell lightly. He smiled involuntarily, loving the way it looked so beautiful. Something so small made his mood lighten, and he let himself drift away.

He noticed Bucky lean against the counter next to him, watching softly. “It’s snowing,” he informed quietly.

“Yeah?” Bucky replied. He turned to look out the window, following Clint’s stare. 

Clint lifted his head up and looked at him as he turned back, his smile still gracing his lips. “Yeah. It’s so pretty.”

Bucky smiled affectionately at him. “You like the snow?”

“Yeah. I do.” Clint put his head back down on his hands and stared back out the window again. “I don’t know why. It’s just so calming and pretty and shiny. It’s fun to play in and run around, and I kinda hate the cold, but for some reason, I love the snow,” he rambled.

“You wanna go out?” Bucky asked.

Clint lifted his head again. “What?”

Bucky’s eyebrows were raised and he smiled brighter. “You wanna go outside in the snow?”

“Will you come with me?”

“If you want.”

Clint smiled. “Yes.”

Bucky pushed himself off the counter. Clint went to move, but Bucky put a hand up and stopped him. “I got it. Just wait there.”

Clint huffed but obeyed and turned back towards the window as he listened to Bucky move around the house, grabbing things and shuffling around. 

Bucky walked back towards him, his arms full of clothes. “Here. Put these on.” He handed Clint a big jacket and gloves.

Clint did as he was told as Bucky began putting on his own coat. Then Bucky walked towards him, put Clint’s beanie on his head for him, then brought him his cane and boots. Clint put his boots on with some struggle, then used his cane to stand up shakily, needing a minute to steady himself.

Bucky went towards the front door and opened it, waiting patiently as Clint slowly made his way over, careful not to fall over. He stepped out onto the doorstep, letting Bucky shut the door and join him. Bucky grabbed onto his arm and guided him down the stairs carefully. The second his boots hit the snow, he smiled, wishing so desperately he could dance and run around like a little kid in the snow for the first time.

He took a few steps with his cane, slowly making his way through the snow by himself. It was so satisfying to listen to the crunch under his feet, to feel it crumble beneath his boots. He smiled so wide it hurt and turned back towards Bucky, who leaned against the railing to the stairs and smiled affectionately at him. Tears glistened in his eyes, and he wiped them away quickly, so happy and overwhelmed he felt like he was going to die.

He kicked some of the snow and watched it fly through the air, get carried with the wind, and then disappear. He turned away from Bucky again and, leaning heavily on his cane, bent down carefully. He reached his hand out and grasped some snow in his gloved hand, letting it crumble and fall between his fingers. He kept doing it, enjoying the way it felt. Then, he picked up a large amount and tossed it up in the air, watching some fly away, while the rest fell on his head, and he laughed. A solid chunk of snow-ice stuck out to him, so he picked it up, forced himself up into a standing position again, and threw it straight up in the air, watching as it fell down and shattered on the ground, little chunks cascading around him. 

He turned towards Bucky again, stepping towards him slowly.

“You having fun?” he asked, smiling warmly.

Clint smiled back. “Yeah.”

He walked away again, an idea forming in his mind. He went far enough away that he was out of reach from Bucky, but he was close enough to put his plan into action. He crouched down towards the snow, feeling it around with his hands softly, looking at Bucky discreetly. Bucky was looking at him fondly, so Clint gathered some snow in a pile, not quite doing anything with it yet. He watched carefully, waiting for Bucky to lose his focus. 

It took several minutes, but he did crouch down and put his own hand in the snow, so Clint took his opportunity. He gathered his pile of snow, formed it into a few balls, and then chucked one at Bucky. It landed right on the center of his head, and he looked up with confusion, the snow dripping down his face. Clint couldn’t hold back his laughter at the look on his face. He looked so angry and scary, but at the same time, there was nothing serious about it whatsoever.

“Really?” he asked, scowling at Clint.

“Yep. What are you going to do about it?” Clint challenged, putting his non-cane hand on his hip as sassily as possible.

“This.” Before he could react, a snowball was being hauled towards him, and it struck him in the chest. He stumbled a little but quickly regained his balance, then sent a snowball for Bucky. 

The snowball was a perfect shot, but Bucky was too quick for him, and he ducked out of the way just in time. Clint stuck his tongue out at him, before several snowballs came hauling for him, and he laughed as he was struck down. He fell backwards into a large, soft pile of snow, and he let himself collapse. 

Then Bucky was standing over him, peering down. “Are you ok?”

Instead of replying, Clint rolled around with laughter. He felt pillowed by the snow, surrounded by shiny white specks on all sides, and yet he felt so free. All the worries melted from his shoulders, dissipated from the corners of his soul, and spilled out into the ground beneath him.

When he stopped laughing long enough to have a grasp of reality, he grabbed at Bucky’s legs and dragged him down into the snow with him. Bucky yelped in surprise and had to stick his arms out to prevent himself from falling on top of Clint, before he rolled over next to him. 

And then he was laughing too. It was one of the first times Clint had ever heard the sound, and god, he wanted to hear it for the rest of his life. It was so rich and warm and beautiful. Clint laughed along with him, feeling it bubble up in his chest and fill his entire being. 

He rolled over closer to Bucky, his body shaking with laughter. Their shoulders bumped together, and Clint relished in the feeling of being so close to someone when he just felt so good for once. And he wanted to be even closer. So, he crawled up onto Bucky’s chest, both of them still laughing, and Bucky wrapped his arms around Clint, pulling him into a tight embrace and laughing into his neck. 

He carefully sat up so Clint was in his lap, still wrapped up in him, as their laughter began to die down. Then they were left sitting chest-to-chest, breathing in each other’s air, letting the snow fall softly around them.

And then Clint pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss, feeling the affection finally explode out of him. His hands wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, as Bucky’s hands held onto his waist. The kiss swiftly deepened and Clint was desperately chasing more. He pushed Bucky back, and he fell down against the snow, Clint on top of him. He smirked into the kiss and held onto Bucky’s hips. 

He pulled back, forehead leaning against Bucky’s, breathing deeply to restore the air into his lungs. “Stupid super soldier,” he muttered.

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“Your stupid super soldier DNA. Your lungs are a lot stronger than mine. You’re barely affected by this,” Clint complained, using his forearms to brace himself overtop of Bucky.

Bucky chuckled lightly. “Most people wouldn’t complain about that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people, and frankly it-”

Clint was cut off by Bucky grabbing his face and kissing him. He was momentarily stunned, but he quickly melted into his mouth, letting himself drift away. 

“Stop talking,” Bucky whispered against his lips.

He wrapped his right arm around Clint’s waist and used his left arm to push them up into a sitting position, holding Clint in his lap carefully, their lips connected the whole time. Clint wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, mouth practically moving on its own as he kissed him with all the force he could. He pressed their chests together, groaning lightly, and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist. His mind was filled with thoughts of nothing but Bucky, and it practically drove him insane.

He brought his head back, panting heavily, using his arms still wrapped around Bucky’s neck to hold himself up. The wind bit at his cheeks and the warmth of Bucky just seconds ago quickly faded, being sincerely missed. Clint gave him a quick peck on the lips, then leaned back more, Bucky’s hands holding his waist securely. He smiled and let his head loll back, his arms loosening as he put full trust in Bucky to not drop him. Bucky swung him back and forth as he leaned as far back as he could, and he chuckled. Then he forced himself upright again, nearly nose-to-nose with Bucky, still lightly chuckling. He kissed Bucky gently, pulled away, and grabbed Bucky’s hands off his waist, intertwining his fingers within his own. 

With a grunt of effort, Clint unwrapped himself from Bucky and rolled to the side, falling softly into the snow. He continued to roll away from Bucky then laid himself flat in the snow. He spread his arms and legs as wide as he could and stopped moving, letting himself relax.

“What’cha doing?” Bucky asked.

Clint lifted his head slightly and looked over at Bucky, who was sitting up and staring at him curiously. “Snow angel,” he replied simply.

He dropped his head back down to the ground and began moving his arms and legs back and forth in the snow. He smiled and dug his limbs deeper and then relaxed, his chest heaving. It wasn’t as perfect as he wanted, but he couldn’t really move his legs far enough. He heard the snow crunching from next to him, and next thing he knew, Bucky was standing over him, staring down earnestly. He put his hands on his hips and smirked, meeting Clint’s eye softly.

“Help me up?” Clint asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

Bucky held out a hand to him and Clint grabbed on, letting himself be heaved up to his feet. He stumbled and fell into Bucky, who caught him with a light chuckle. “Easy there, Hawkeye,” he said softly.

Clint smiled as he caught his balance and pushed away from Bucky, forcing himself to shakily stand on his own. Bucky bent down and grabbed his cane, handing it over to him with a smile, and Clint steadied himself as he stood with it. Bucky stood a few feet from him and they smiled at each other, butterflies flying wildly around in Clint’s stomach at Bucky’s warm smile. It filled every corner of his being with affection and tenderness. 

“Wanna go inside? It’s cold out here,” Bucky suggested as he stuffed his gloved hands in his jacket pockets.

Clint watched Bucky’s breath cloud in the air in front of him. “Yeah. That sounds good.” He turned away from him and stared up at the snow still falling slowly. “Maybe some hot chocolate and blankets and a movie to go along with that?”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Bucky replied as he walked up next to Clint and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

That night, Clint settled down into the bed, letting Bucky take his hearing aids out for him. He stared expectantly at Bucky, who just stood next to him silently. It had been a week since his conversation with Kate, and he knew they obviously needed to talk, but he didn't know where to start. He had never been particularly good at the communication aspect of relationships.

Then Bucky turned to walk out the bedroom door, and Clint nearly jumped out of the bed. “Where are you going?” he asked, probably way too loud.

Bucky turned towards him. “I'll be back in a few minutes. I have to finish cleaning up in here,” he signed in response.

Clint frowned, trying to remember if it was all that dirty, but he shrugged it off and rolled onto his side, waiting patiently for Bucky to return. 

When Clint woke up, it was still dark out, and he was alone. He rolled over in the bed, finding it empty. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, sitting up slowly before reaching for his hearing aids and slipping them in tiredly. He threw his legs over the bed and grabbed his cane, yawning as he padded his way out of the bedroom.

The house was silent, and Clint wandered about, searching for Bucky, who didn't seem to be there. The clock read 4:58am, and Clint was puzzled as to where Bucky could possibly be at such an hour. 

Something rubbing against his leg made him yelp and jump back. He looked down to see Alpine, who just continued to rub around on his legs with a purr.

“Hey, baby. Where's Bucky? Have you seen him?” he whispered. 

Alpine just stared at him and stretched forwards before wandering off to the living room. Clint stood back up and rubbed his hands down his face with a sigh. Shakily, he made his way towards the front door and opened it, looking out at the steps as a last ditch idea, only to find snow whipping around outside. 

He sighed again and closed the door, the tiredness starting to wear off and the panic beginning to rise in his chest. He moved with a more determined pace around the house, searching for any sort of clue as to where Bucky could be.

Finally, he found a note pinned to the fridge with a magnet, in Bucky's handwriting. Clint walked over to the light and read it carefully.

Clint,

If you're reading this, go back to bed. I'm ok. I should be back by dawn. I'll explain later. Don't worry. Just stay inside and wait till I get back.

-B.B.

Clint slammed the note down on the counter with a loud smack. With a frustrated huff, he made his way over to the couch and threw himself down. He stretched his legs out and made himself comfortable as he prepared to wait. 

It took several hours, with Clint nodding off every so often, but the doorknob finally rattled, and Clint practically jumped off the couch. As soon as the door swung open, he let his mouth fly.

“Goddammit, Bucky. Really? What the hell was so important you had to just leave in the middle of the night? And why the vague note? You could've at least told me where you were,” he berated.

Bucky was silent as he stood, and Clint took the time to actually look at him. Bloody, beaten, and barely standing up. He was panting and he didn't look up at Clint, his long hair falling over his face and hiding him. 

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you?!” Clint threw himself off the couch and practically ran towards Bucky, holding onto the back of the couch as he held his arms out. 

Bucky only grunted in response. Clint gathered him in his arms as best he could and attempted to walk him to the bedroom, to minimal success.

“Can you walk at all?” he asked, trying to heave Bucky up onto his feet.

Bucky shrugged and continued to hang limply in Clint’s arms. Clint sighed and dragged Bucky around to the front of the couch and all but threw him down with a grunt of effort.

“Stay there,” he commanded, as if Bucky could move much anyways.

He made his way into the bathroom, grabbed the first aid kit, a damp towel, and some other supplies, before he made his way back to the couch, only to find Bucky passed out on it. 

“Goddammit, Bucky,” Clint muttered as he crouched down in front of the couch. He sat himself down on the floor as comfortably as he could, before he grabbed the wet rag and began wiping some of the blood off of Bucky's face.

He grabbed a hair tie and tied Bucky's obnoxiously long hair up into a messy bun to keep it out of the way as he worked. He inspected the wounds he could see, cleaned them off, and bandaged them up as best he could without disturbing Bucky. As much as he knew he needed to be patched up, he also knew he probably needed sleep, and he didn't want to wake him. So, as carefully as he could, he stitched up a wound on Bucky's forehead with precision. He wiped it off gently and packed up his supplies with a sigh.

When Bucky did finally wake up, it was mid-afternoon, and Clint was busy making himself his fourth cup of coffee. He heard a groan and became alert immediately, hurrying over to the couch, where Bucky was attempting to sit up. 

“Stay down. You'll only make it worse,” Clint instructed sternly.

Bucky sighed and fell back down onto the couch. “Clint.”

“Yeah, it's me,” Clint bit out. He didn't bother hiding his anger. He wanted Bucky to know he was pissed off.

“How long was I out?”

Clint scowled as he looked Bucky up and down and assessed him. “Long enough.”

Bucky looked down. “You're angry.”

“Of course I'm pissed!” Clint shouted. “You left here in the middle of the night with nothing and no indication if you were ok! I was worried about you. And then you fucking show up beaten to hell and barely standing up! So yeah, maybe I am a little angry, but I have a fucking right to be! You don't get to just do that to me and then act surprised when I'm not exactly thrilled about it! Thank God you're still alive, or I swear to god I was going to murder you.”

Clint had to take a second to catch his breath after his tirade. He stared angrily at Bucky, who just looked back sympathetically. 

“You can go home now,” Bucky whispered after a minute.

Clint stopped scowling. “What?”

“You can go home now. You're free. I got them- HYDRA. They're gone,” Bucky elaborated.

“You- you went after them? By yourself?”

Bucky nodded.

“Godammit, Bucky! I told you that we'd do it together when I was better!” Clint shouted.

Bucky sighed. “Clint, you deserve to get to go home. To be with your friends and family. You shouldn't have this burden on your shoulders. I wanted you to be happy. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have to hide from them in the first place.”

“I think you forgot, but I was on that mission when you rescued me-”

“And you would've been fine if I hadn't. Someone would've found you and saved you and you'd have been safe.”

“Or they wouldn't have gotten there fast enough and I would've died.” Clint sighed and looked at Bucky, really looked at him, for the first time since he got back. “You saved my life. You don't owe me anything. If anything, it's the opposite.”

Bucky looked away solemnly. “You deserve to be happy, Clint.”

“So do you.” Clint sighed. “I’m just glad you’re alright. But I am still mad. You shouldn’t have done that. It was a really stupid idea.”

Bucky smirked at him weakly. “Glad I could help.”

Clint grabbed his washcloth and wiped gently at Bucky’s face, getting the spots of blood he missed before. He tucked some loose strands of hair behind Bucky’s ear carefully, fingers tracing over his cheek as he brought his hand down. “Where are you going to go? You know, now that it’s over and we don’t have to stay here,” he muttered.

Bucky closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve only been back as myself for a handful of months.” He sighed. “There’s no instructions for this kind of thing. I want to help people, I know that. I want to help people and be a better person.”

“Come with me,” Clint blurted out.

“What?” Bucky replied, frowning.

Clint went still for a second, realizing what he said. “Come with me,” he repeated, a little more sure. “When we leave this place, come stay with me. So you don’t have to be alone. You don’t really have anywhere else, and you deserve to have company with someone.”

“No, I can’t.”

“They could come back for you, the others. If we stick together, it'll be safer for both of us. You shouldn't have to stay alone. I own my apartment building. There’s a few open ones. And you could stay with me if you need. We’ve been stuck together in this place for months. It’d be more normal than splitting up. After all this time we’ve spent together, I care about you, and I do still want you in my life,” Clint gushed, praying he didn’t sound too desperate or gave away his feelings.

“Clint, that's- I can't. I can't ask that of you. I'll be ok. I've been alone for a long time. You've been a wonderful addition to my life, but I can't ask you to do this for me.”

“Jesus Christ. I owe you everything. This is the smallest way I could possibly pay you back. Come with me. We can leave all this behind us.”

“I don't know. Its- its just… I don't know. Are you sure?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I need you?” The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and his cheeks blushed as he awkwardly looked away.

Bucky went quiet, clearly mulling over things in his head. Then he sighed. “Ok.”

Clint looked back at him, and Bucky smirked a little. Clint’s mouth turned up at the corners, and he sighed contentedly. The way the anger dissipated so quickly from inside of him was nothing short of amazing. His whole world melted away, and all that was left was him and Bucky.

“Stay there. I'll be right back,” Clint informed as he forced himself up onto his feet and went into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass of water then returned to Bucky's side, tipping the glass to his mouth. “Here. Drink.”

Bucky opened his mouth and let Clint pour the water in. He took a few sips, then Clint set the glass down on the table, and he helped ease Bucky up into a sitting position. Clint gently tugged at the hem of Bucky's shirt, and Bucky went still. 

“Just gonna check your wounds,” Clint informed. 

Bucky's shoulders dropped and he let Clint tug the shirt over his head carefully, eyes scanning across his torso to check for any bad injuries. Just some bruises and dried blood, a few cuts on his sides that looked like they were from a knife. Nothing too horrendous.

“Come on. Let's get you a bath to wash all this off. You look like an actor in a shitty zombie movie, and you smell like… yeah, I don’t even have a description for that,” Clint said as he pushed himself onto his feet.

“Anyone ever told you you're a real charmer?” Bucky commented with amusement.

“Nope. Let's go. Can you stand up on your own?” Clint grabbed his cane and held on to steady himself. 

“Think so. Can you give me a hand up?”

Clint sighed and held a hand out, pulling Bucky up onto his feet, who wobbled a bit before finding his balance. He took a few shaky steps towards the bathroom, passing Clint as he went.

“Stupid fucking super soldier,” Clint cursed as he shakily followed.

Bucky stood outside the bathroom door, so Clint walked in and started the bath for him. He turned to watch Bucky begin stripping, and it was hard to peel his eyes away. He wasn't a creep, but those muscles were difficult to resist staring at. Clint busied himself with grabbing a towel as Bucky turned off the faucet and sat himself down inside the bath.

Clint put his cane down and sat down in front of the tub, grabbing a washcloth and already starting to scrub Bucky's skin, a routine they'd both become accustomed to. He watched the water get dyed pink and brown from the blood and dirt that washed away from Bucky's skin as he scrubbed. He tried to pay it no mind as Bucky stared absentmindedly at the wall, clearly not enjoying it.

“You ok?” Clint asked as he finished washing both his arms. 

“I didn't want to ever have to wash blood off of me again,” Bucky muttered back, still looking distantly at the wall. “This- this кровь, it follows me everywhere I go. Я просто хочу, чтобы это прошло.”

Clint looked at him sadly and stopped scrubbing. “I know. I wish I could wash all the blood away from your soul, but I can only do what's here on the surface. You did what you had to do. You saved me again. I just wish I could repay the favor by saving you from this guilt.”

Bucky blinked and leaned his head back. “Может быть, однажды.”

“Maybe what?” Clint asked, only understanding half his sentence.

“Maybe one day,” Bucky translated. 

Without another word, Clint washed along his torso and chest, letting the blood fall off him.

By the time he was scrubbing the blood from out of his hair, Bucky had relaxed under his touch and fell into a comfortable silence. Clint was as gentle as possible while cleaning him off, leaving his skin clear and his hair neater than before. 

When he was done, he helped Bucky out of the tub and led him to the bedroom, where he picked out a comfortable outfit for him. Bucky sat silently on the bed in just boxers and sweatpants as Clint dressed a few of his wounds carefully. Bucky stared down at his metal hand and flexed his fingers a little, his breathing a little ragged.

Clint put a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushed lightly. “Get some rest. You could use it.”

Bucky resisted him, not budging when Clint pushed a little harder. “No. I don’t need to. I’ll be fine. Let me cook you dinner.”

“Lay down and get some rest,” Clint repeated, his voice stern. “I can handle myself. I’m temporarily disabled, not some helpless puppy.”

Bucky sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little, but he still didn’t lay down. “You can’t cook for shit.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what frozen pizza is for.” Clint pushed his shoulder again, and this time, Bucky obliged and fell back onto the mattress. Clint brushed some hair off his face and caressed his cheek with a gentle touch. “Try and sleep some. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes, so Clint walked out of the bedroom, turning off the lights as he went.