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peter-parkers-passport · 3 years

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Flower Child (Peter Parker x ofc)

Chapter 11: Just a Nobody

I’m really sorry I haven’t been consistent in updating on this platform, I think I’ll just mass update on here and catch up to speed? Idk, it’s a lot and again, I’m sorry. I’m trying to find inspiration to write!

warnings: Peter being rude, angst, depictions of anxiety… sorry 😬, mentions of death

The pair of them didn’t leave the greenhouse until midnight that night. Papers had been scattered around a workbench in the greenhouse under a single lamplight, covered in formulas that had been scratched and edited past legibility. Lila and Peter made an incredible team, much to their surprise, and within just a few short hours, a new webbing formula had been made.

Peter also walked her home, despite Lila reassuring him that he didn’t have to. He merely brushed off her attempts and bid her goodnight at her door. And despite the crazy events, like her almost dying, she went to bed with a smile on her face. Her crush was a superhero, how could she not?

When she went to school the next day, Lila was tired but cheerful. A light kind of air sat in her chest and put her in a good mood, even with the whispers of what happened the day before following her to her locker. She supposed the feeling of falling in an elevator made things like school more enjoyable since they were a part of living, but she attributed her happiness mostly to the two boys who walked quickly over to her locker as soon as they saw her.

“Hey, Lila,” Peter said, lips twitching in a nervous smile.

“Hey, guys, what’s-?”

“So you know?” Both Lila and Peter looked to Ned, whose expression was unreadable. “About-“ His voice lowered into a whisper, “-Peter’s sticky situation?”

A patch of red grew on the boy in question’s face, and he sent an exasperated stare his friend’s way. “Dude, come on, at least think of a better code name.”

“So you know?” Ned asked Lila again, to which she nodded apprehensively. Her eyes flickered to Peter, who offered an apologetic shrug. When she looked back to Ned again, he looked relieved. “Finally. I’ve really needed this, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it a secret-“

“Ned,” Peter said, “You found out last week.”

“- I thought I was gonna blow it, but I didn’t. And now I can talk to you about how totally amazing this is.” Ned inhaled deeply, launching into a slew of questions. “So how did you know it was him? Are you psychic? Did you psychically connect to Peter, and that’s how he saved your life? Do you have, like, a spider-link now?”

“N-No, it wasn’t anything like that,” Lila answered him, Peter giving her a thankful look that she interrupted Ned’s questioning. She tucked her hair behind her ear before continuing, “Peter disappearing the night before, y-you having the Ch-Chitauri core, and - and the Stark Internship. Just… a lot of it d-didn’t add up.” Lila looked around them to see Michelle walk through the front doors. “Look, I’d b-better go before MJ gets suspicious but I’ll see you guys for fourth.”

Peter and Ned said their goodbyes while Lila walked down the hallway to her friend. Before she could reach MJ, however, Lila was stopped by Betty Brant, who had a fiercely determined look on her face. “Lila,” she practically addressed, her tone was so formal.

“B-Betty,” Lila swallowed, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Wh-What’s up?”

“Midtown is running a story on the survivors of the almost-tragic Washington Monument scare yesterday. I need to know that you’ll be available for lunch to answer a few questions with the rest of your team. I would do it now, but I don’t have my co-host.” The last sentence ended with a note of bitterness, and Lila tilted her head in concern.

“Oh n-no, where’s - where’s Jason?”

Betty rolled her eyes, “His mom called him out of first period for some stupid dentist appointment and wouldn’t cancel. I’ve told him time and time again that his mom doesn’t understand how brutally competitive journalism can get in the age of technology.” Her eyes narrowed at the apparently sour thought. “Like, she doesn’t even know how embarrassing it was to see Principal Morita’s fall after the floors were waxed with new wax on Flash’s Snapchat story first. That should’ve been our story, but no, Jason had strep throat.” Her tone grew mocking and she put air quotes around “strep throat”. There was a beat of silence, and then, “Anyways, so I’ll see you at lunch?”

At this point, Lila had been daydreaming of a way to get out of the heated one-sided argument. “Sure.”

Satisfied, Betty nodded. “Good. And don’t talk to anyone else about what happened.” She strode away, leaving Lila feeling slightly confused as she walked over to where MJ was standing, watching the whole interaction.

*****

It didn’t go unnoticed that Lila was becoming fast friends with Peter and Ned. Soon enough, in the span of the next two days, they popped up nearly everywhere in her daily life. For some, it was a welcome addition to Lila’s friend count (now up to three). For others, it was a topic of slight confusion.

“I’m not, like, unhappy for you or anything,” Sophie commented one evening in the flower shop. She was watching Peter and Ned leave through the front doors, the cooler air from the outside falling at their feet. “I just didn’t know you were so close.”

Lila and the boys had just brought over some chemicals they’d nicked from school, and finally perfected the stronger webbing for Peter. It was all discreetly put away in a box tucked underneath spare gardening supplies. The box in question was placed in a corner, out of sight and hopefully out of anyone else’s minds that weren’t Peter’s, Lila’s, or Ned’s.

The door had shut by the time Lila turned back to Sophie, a light blush on her cheeks. “Falling in an e-elevator is a surprisingly easy way to m-make friends.” The flicker of suspicion in Sophie’s eyes disappeared almost immediately at Lila’s reply, and for a moment, Lila had the gut-twisting sensation of guilt. It was confusing: she wasn’t actually lying to Sophie, but she was hiding the truth. Plummeting to her death with Ned by her side did craft a strong foundation of friendship at a remarkably fast rate. And being one of about four people who knew Peter’s secret identity also warranted spending more time together than what was considered normal. Only, she couldn’t tell anyone that last part.

Lila hated that her cover story for spending time around the two boys was her near-death experience, but even she couldn’t deny its effectiveness. Sophie stopped asking questions after her comment, and soon started addressing them with the same familiarity as she would Michelle or her dad.

Michelle, whose skepticism came as easy as breathing, wasn’t as easy to persuade. MJ knew Ned was in the elevator with Lila, and her interest in them hanging out didn’t extend farther than a simple statement of, “Ned needs to download the free VPNs I sent you. I don’t want my network data accidentally getting monitored by the government because he’s using the WiFi at your shop.” Which was fine with Lila, Ned would be one less thing to worry about in regards to her most perceptive friend.

However, with Ned deemed not a problem, MJ’s wariness was focused on Peter. If she thought he was sketchy before, it was nothing compared to how she felt after he started to hang out with Lila. Michelle wasn’t much for holding a conversation with people she didn’t know, but the times where she did talk to Peter, it almost always was staged as interrogation. Lila felt sorry for Peter, for she knew MJ was intimidating, and too smart for her own good. She also knew that Michelle’s intention was a heavily-veiled protectiveness for her friend.

Ted Landry seemed to be the only person in Lila’s life who wasn’t suspicious of her new friends. In fact, he was completely clueless. Peter being around Lila more was merely a correlation to him personally checking on her the night she got back from D.C. The worst part was that Ted told Lila that the reason Peter was starting to be around her so much was because he had a crush on her.

“It just seems kind of obvious,” Ted said, ignoring the choking noises Lila emitted after hearing her dad’s thoughts. He merely patted her on the back as she tried to dislodge the granola that she accidentally sent down the wrong pipe. “I practically did the same thing with your mom, we became inseparable.”

Lila wished above all that her dad’s thoughts were the truth. But the brief look in Peter’s eyes that appeared whenever Liz walked by the three of them in the school’s hallways sent those thoughts crawling on all fours to the back of her mind.

*****

Over the next few days, Lila grew privy to the information Peter was gathering over the last week as Spider-Man. It all started with the bank robbers that accidentally decimated Delmar’s bodega, which Lila learned were capable of doing so with the acquisition of illegal weapons. Weapons that happened to have access to alien technology.

Peter and Ned explained that someone was stealing alien technology and fashioning weapons to distribute on the black market. Their target was Damage Control, whose existence was to be the clean-up crew of the Avengers.

“For lack of a better term,” Peter went on, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand. That Wednesday evening, Peter had Ned and Lila over after he had perused the streets of Queens as Spider-Man. It was then the two boys filled Lila in on their mission. “But basically this department’s been confiscating all the alien tech and Ultron mess for the past eight years. And the helicarriers in Washington? They’re still working on that stuff.”

“And this guy in the wingsuit… the birdman?” Lila asked, trying to keep up with the nearly unbelievable tale.

A spark emitting from one of Peter’s web shooters had him diving back with his screwdriver. Ned, meanwhile, took the reigns. “We’re pretty sure he’s their leader. But they’ve got this stuff nearly on lockdown. Peter figures he must’ve been doing it from the beginning.”

Lila looked back over to Peter, “Do you know who he is? O-Or any kind of clue?”

The web shooter made a clicking noise that seemed to satisfy Peter. He turned away from his desk and set his eyes back on Lila. Shaking his head, he answered, “No, I’ve got no idea. And he got away with some of the stuff that was in the Damage Control trucks. Best guess, I’ll just have to catch them when they’re out selling this stuff again.” He paused, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. And after a moment, he added as an afterthought, “You didn’t happen to catch what Puth assigned for homework, did you? I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Peter, dinner’s on the table - Lila!” May poked her head inside Peter’s door. Lila whipped her head around to see her large grin, and heard Peter hastily slam his desk drawer shut to hide his web shooters. “I had no idea you were here!”

“Hi, May,” Lila smiled, a pale pink dusting her cheeks. “H-How are things?”

“Finer than wine, honey. I feel so bad, I would’ve made more food if I’d’ve known you guys were going to be here.” Her lips pursed briefly as an afterthought came to mind. “Actually, it might be better if you guys hit the road.”

Peter stared at his aunt exasperatedly, “Oh, c’mon May-“

“Uh-uh,” her expression was suddenly stern when her eyes fell on him, “If you’re going to ditch class, then you’re not going to have friends over.” She softened her gaze when she moved back over to Lila and Ned. “You guys need a ride home?”

Lila grabbed her backpack, eyeing Peter and feeling confused. Why would he ditch class? Peter’s eyes met hers before answering her with a jerk of the head to his desk, where the web shooters lay hidden.

“No,” Lila finally answered, brushing off Peter’s answer with a wave of dismay. “N-No, thanks. My neighborhood’s just f-five blocks over.”

*****

Betty Brant released her story on Thursday morning. Apparently Jason actually did have a pretty awful tooth infection, and wasn’t able to co-anchor her story until then. When Lila walked into school, the conversation, which had just begun to die down, picked right back up, and attention was back on the academic decathlon.

Everyone at Midtown pretty much knew of Lila and her inability to confidently socialize with peers, but that didn’t stop them from pointing at her while poorly concealing whispers. So she was left to navigate the crowded hallways alone, doing her best to ignore the eyes that followed her and the sounds of the news story reporting on her brush with death. One thing she did manage to catch was Jason saying, “Thankfully, no one was seriously injured, thanks to Spider-Man. Up next, the Spider mania is sweeping the school, how can you show your Spider spirit?”

And Jason wasn’t wrong. The talk of Spider-Man was re-invigorated at the school news’ story, and if they weren’t talking about the decathlon team, they were talking about Spider-Man. Some people wore shirts they bought from street vendors, and talked about how amazing he was. Flash was the biggest proponent of this, boasting about how Spider-Man made a harrowing rescue, pulling Flash out of harm’s way just in time, and giving him a fist bump right afterwards. All of which was untrue, and Charles and Abraham we’re glad to remind everyone around Flash of the fact.

Lila felt a deep sense of pride as she made her way down the stairs and past the mural. She knew Peter must’ve been at school, and hearing all of the positive thoughts everyone had on his secret identity. She could feel it in the air: pride. A sense of pride that one of New York’s own was a hero, a champion of Queens. Even Lila herself felt that pride, but for other reasons entirely.

She ran into Ned first, who was beaming at the television screen in the corner of the hall. The two of them shared a knowing smile, and the pair launched into a quiet conversation about it in the otherwise loud hallways. Ned spotted Peter ahead of the two of them, and pushed around the students in his way. He and Lila met Peter at the foot of the stairs, all three grinning from ear to ear.

“Dude, dude, dude, what is it like being famous when no one knows it’s you?” Ned asked.

Rather modestly, Peter smiled and gripped the straps of his backpack. “It’s crazy,” he whispered, looking around to make sure other people weren’t listening.

“Crazy,” Ned repeated, almost in awe. “Should we tell everyone?”

Peter still smiled, but his head tilted a little in confusion, “No.”

“Should I tell everyone?”

“No, dude, that’s not a good idea.”

Ned looked to Lila, “Lila could tell everyone.”

“I-I would not,” Lila said, briefly panicked. She felt better seeing Peter let out a breathy laugh. “Really, I w-wouldn’t do it.”

Ned sighed, his hopes dashed. “Well, come on, we’re gonna be late to class.”

Lila was prepared to bid them goodbye, since their classes were on opposite sides of the hallway, but Peter didn’t follow Ned. “I’m not going to class.”

Ned looked at Lila and looked back, apprehensive, “You're already in so much trouble for ditching the decathlon-“

“P-Peter, you can’t keep d-ditching school-“

“Would you listen? I figured it out, right?” Peter’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m going to see if my suit can go back to the deal I walked in on the night of Liz’s party and find out where those guys came from. Maybe they can lead me to the wing suit guy, and then I can catch him!”

“But we have a Spanish quiz,” Ned argued.

Peter looked at Ned with an expression that felt a little belittling. He was tired of arguing and clearly didn’t see why Ned and Lila would want him to stay in school. It was a kind of reckless determination that didn’t sit well with Lila at all. “Ned, I’m probably never going to come back here. Mr. Stark is moving the Avengers upstate. So, when I bring this guy in-“

“Dude,” All the excitement from the morning was gone from Ned. “You wanna be a high school dropout?”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Peter assured him, even though that’s exactly what it sounded like.

“Ned’s right, Peter, you can’t - you can’t just skip school t-to fight crime. High school’s important-“

But Peter wasn’t listening. In fact, he started walking away. “I am so far beyond high school, right now.” And as he turned to a pair of doors that led to the exit, Principal Morita stood in his way.

“Ah, Mr. Parker,” he said, already walking back down the hallway. “Come with me, my office. Ned, Lila, get to class.”

*****

“Here, c’mon,” MJ pulled at Lila’s arm. The girls had a free period, and usually spent it in the library. Lila has fully planned on spending it pretending to do her homework when in actuality she was just going to worry about Peter.

Skipping school just wasn’t like him. Lila thought he was getting caught up in his situation. True, it was extraordinary beyond belief, and there was no way to tell how she would handle it, but she thought Peter had more grit than what he was showing. School was important, almost if not equally as important as the crime Peter fought in the afternoons.

And then there was the issue of Tony Stark, and Peter’s idea of where he stood. Peter had the mindset that he had to prove himself to Tony Stark in order to be fully accepted into a world he’d always dreamt of, but that made little sense to Lila. In her mind, Tony Stark already was accepting of Peter. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have given Peter the suit.

Those were the thoughts Lila distracted herself with in her first two periods, anyway. She’d planned on delving further into her worry during her free time next period. That is, until MJ changed their plans. “And where are we going?” Lila asked, allowing herself to be steered by her taller friend.

“I’ve been sketching the kids in detention,” she answered, ”Lila, they’re the perfect inspiration: they basically all just sit and wonder if they’re lives are going to spiral out of control. Like first, it’s detention, next it’s prison. I mean, you can’t get that kind of raw panic anywhere else.”

“I’m slightly worried you seem so excited about this,” Lila muttered, filing into the classroom where detention was being held. Coach Wilson was already perched at the desk, the TV on the stand waiting to play the Captain America tape that was at the ready. Michelle sat at the edge of the classroom, and Lila sat with her, already pulling out her homework.

She thought she got a few odd stares from the one or two kids that were further in the room, since Lila had never been in any kind of trouble in her life. Even though her presence wasn’t mandatory, she was still unsettled at the thought of being so close to a trouble she had no interest in ever being a part of. She only felt slightly better when Peter walked through the door as the bell rang. He eyed her suspiciously, and seemingly answered his own question when his gaze slid over to Michelle, who was already sketching away.

Peter looked antsy. Sitting in his seat, Lila could see the tension in his shoulders as Coach Wilson lazily went over the rules of detention from his desk chair. He proceeded to play the clip of Captain America lecturing the kids in detention, but Lila could tell Peter wasn’t taking in a word of it. She was considering shooting him a text when suddenly he shot up and grabbed his backpack. He marched out of the room without another word.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lila made the decision to go after him. She told Michelle she’d be right back and hurried after her friend. When she caught up to him, he’d reached the row of lockers where he hid things and lifted it one-handed. Despite her worry, Lila watched him in awe, having to take a second to adjust to the fact that he did actually have super strength.

When the moment ended, her sense caught up to her. “Peter!” She called out, jogging the rest of the way up to him. He turned, impatience dotting across his features. “You can’t go.”

“Lila, I don’t have time-“

“But you do,” She insisted. “Y-You do have time. You can’t just - just leave.”

“Yes, I can,” Peter actually rolled his eyes. It stung Lila more than she thought it would. “Look, you don’t understand, I’ve gotta do this for Mr. Stark. Now, I’ve really gotta go.”

He tried to turn away, but in a bold move, Lila grabbed his arm, “T-Tony Stark is a c-certified genius, and even he stayed in school. Why can’t you?”

“Because when the Avengers move upstate, I’ve gotta be there. The best school I could have would be by learning from him. Who knows, maybe - maybe I’ll get a tutor or something-“

“P-Peter, you’re chasing a-approval from someone who already gave it to you. I mean - look at what y-you’ve already done. The whole school’s b-been talking about it for the entire w-week.”

“Lila,” irritation at still being in school was what made Peter grow short. Lila flinched at the tone. “You don’t get it. I can do so much more if he could just see it, that’s why I’ve gotta go.”

“You do so much, Peter. You - you saved my life twice-“

Peter snapped, “Lila, stop. I’ve made up my mind. I can’t just be Peter Parker anymore, you know? I finally have a chance to prove that I’m so much more than just a nobody now. Because while that might be fine for you, it’s not for me.” The words left his mouth harsh and bitter before his mind could even keep up. Peter didn’t even realize what he’d said until he watched Lila take a step back.

White hot anger burned her skin and flushed her face. Hurt came quickly after, and Lila blinked furiously to stop the tears from rushing to the surface. She released a short breath and made eye contact with Peter. He felt bad, she could tell, but he didn’t offer any kind of apology.

So much for being friends.

“You w-wonder what that life is like, Peter? Being an - an Avenger?” Her voice was quiet, more quiet than normal, but the emotion seemed to amplify it down the empty hallways. “I’ll t-tell you. It’s staring d-down at people who are dead for the sole r-reason that pure evil just likes it that way. It’s being unable to s-save the people you love most, and l-living with that when all is said and - and done.”

“Lila, I-“

She angrily brushed the lone tear away that managed to escape. “You wanna hear wh-what I think? I think that if - if Tony Stark wanted you to b-be like him, he would’ve given you an I-Iron Man suit. Instead he gave you the Spider-Man suit. But what do I know, r-right? I’m just a nobody.” She gave Peter, the boy who broke her heart, one last look. “Good luck out there.”

And she turned around, walking away from Peter Parker with a few tears falling down her face.

#peter parker #spider-man #tom holland #mcu x ofc #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #spiderman x ofc #spiderman homecoming #spiderman #peter parker x ofc #marvel

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supraveng · 4 years

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Cocktail Hour

Summary: you work for Stark in his lab and get to know the Avengers, you also moonlight as a bartender

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanof, Reader

Warnings: SMUT and story and a bit of fluff, alcohol consumption,

Word Count: 4312

“What do you want, Wilson?” you asked without looking up from the project you were working on. “Is that anyway to treat your favorite Avenger?” he responds with a smirk. “Oh, I didn’t realize you brought Bucky with you” you smirk as you look up a bit shocked to see Bucky standing behind Sam and with a shit eating grin.

“Wow, really Y/N? I thought we were friends'' he responds in a huff. “Wilson, you only come visit when you want something from me, it’s never friendly chatting. I’m busy, what do you want?” you deadpan knowing the more you agitate him the longer this is going to take, but you don’t care. Getting Sam all riled up is one of your favorite past times, and one that you and Bucky have been bonding over.

“Fine, I’ll make it short and sweet. I need you to put in a good word for me with your girl, Savannah'' he states as he wiggles his eyebrows. You freeze and slowly look at Sam, with a slight squint.

“WHAT?” you respond exasperated that he’s interrupting your project that seems to be never ending. "Please? She's cute and we really hit it off, but I'll be coming back to the bar this week to get her number and you can make sure she knows I'm more than worth her time" he tells you with a smug look on his face.

"First of all, since when does the, and I quote, great Sam Wilson need help getting numbers? Second, her name is Sienna not Savannah. And last but not least, you aren't her type" you respond with a smirk, knowing just how much your points are getting under my skin.

"Alright now, I don't need your help getting numbers, women love me. I just wanted you to be a supportive friend" he grumbles at you. You just raise an eyebrow waiting for him to continue.

"Second, she said Savanna like the city in Georgia." "Its Siena, like the city IN ITALY!" you interrupted.

"And third, how could this not be her type?" he said as he gestured from his head to his toes, flashing that ridiculous smile and beginning to flex his biceps. You let out a heavy sigh and you can tell he thinks he's got you stumped.

"While all that" you waive your hand towards him "might interest some women, you just don't have what she wants" you state while slightly shaking your head sadly. He's about to start up with another dispute and any other time you would love to spend hours tormenting him like this, but you were still working and had a few hours left to finish the reconfiguration of your latest project, so you step closer.

Putting your hands on his shoulders and looking up at him with an apologetic smile "Sam, you don't have a vagina. I'm sorry, but she's not interested unless you do."

Bucky couldn't hold it in any longer and was doubled over in laughter. "Now, if you boys didn't bring me coffee, get out of my lab" you say as sweetly as possible. "But she was so flirty, are you sure? Maybe she's bi?" he asks trying to understand what he missed.

"She's a waitress Sam, flirting gets you bigger tips. I mean did you give your usual amount or did she earn a bit extra?" you ask only trying to get him to see the reality of their interactions.

"Damn it!" he huffs as he turns around to leave. Bucky straightens up trying to calm himself down when he looks up at you "I'll be right back with your coffee"

A few minutes later, Tony walks in with a quizzical look on his face "what did you do to birdman and gramps?" He moves past you toward the back of the lab.

"Why would you think I did anything to those two?" you ask as innocently as possible. He arches an eyebrow and you concede "ugh, why does that always work? Ok, it's no big deal, Sam was asking about my coworker Siena, and I told him he had no chance since she's into women. But apparently when a waitress flirts its interest and not just trying to get a bigger tip, he learned a lot today" you sigh as you continue working.

"What do you mean "coworker Siena''? He asks using air quotes. "I've never seen her in my lab, who is she?" " She's a waitress at the bar" you mumble realizing Tony didn't know about your other job. You have been an intern for him, working on your doctorate in Biomedical engineering, for the last year and he didn't know you had another job. This isn't going to end well you thought to yourself.

"How is it possible you have another job? You are here all the time, how do you have time to work at a bar, write your dissertation, find time to sleep and have a social life?" he asks, seeming like he's been swindled or something.

"And why do you have another job? This internship pays above average for engineers, I'm not even sure what's going on around here anymore."

"Ok, Tony, first of all, I thought you knew, I cleared it with legal before I accepted the internship. I've been working at The Rum House since my freshman year and they are flexible with my hours. Two, the work I'm doing here is my dissertation, three who are you to question my sleep habits? And four, I like staying busy, I don't have a social life per say and I'm ok with that" you state with a shrug just as Bucky comes walking in with a huge cup of coffee.

"One venti flat white with hazelnut, sorry am I interrupting?" he questions as he hands you the coffee. You immediately bring it to your face and take a deep breath closing your eyes to enjoy your favorite beverage and miss the small smirk on Bucky's face, feeling a bit of joy that he could make you happy with something as simple as a cup of coffee.

Taking a sip you moan and open your eyes to see Tony and Bucky starring at you. With a smile you look at Bucky "thank you, this is exactly what I needed and no you didn't interrupt a thing, we're done,"

"We are so far from done, did you know she had another job? Hmm? Am i the last to find out everything around here?” Tony mumbles to himself as he goes back to his work station. Bucky smiles and waves as he leaves and you watch him longer than you should but damn the way he wears jeans just does something to you.

"And what was that? You have a crush on the centurion now too?" he asks. "What? You are ridiculous! I'm just appreciating the coffee and wondering why you never bring me coffee. I mean, I thought you took your title of "World's greatest boss" seriously but I guess that's not the case" you respond as seriously as possible as you sit back down and get back to your project.

You've been working non stop most of the day and don't realize how late it is until your phone chimes and you notice it’s after midnight. .

You are probably already in bed but I wanted to say goodnight

I'm actually still working. I guess I lost track of time. I should head home and get some sleep

It's late, you could stay with me ;)

That's so tempting but your roommates are very nosey, not sure how to sneak out in the morning without getting caught

You're right, as always. Can I walk you home?

I would love that, meet me at the corner in 15?

I'll be there in 10

"Even tired you still look beautiful, how is that possible? " he states as you wrap your arms around his torso for a long overdue hug. "And you are always the charmer, how did I get so lucky?" you mumble into his chest as you inhale deeply.

His scent always felt calming and safe. "I'm the lucky one" he says as he kisses the top of your head. Beginning to walk arm in arm down the street, "now let's get you to bed, you work too much"

"In my defense it will all be over once I complete my dissertation, then when I find a real job, I'll be a normal person working 60-80 hours a week" you smile at him and peck his cheek.

"That's more than normal people, and the part time job at the bar? Are you going to give that up?" he questioned with a smirk.

"I like the bar and I thought you liked the tiny uniform" you wink as you turn the corner towards your apartment.

"You can wear that for me any time and I would love it, not just at work, or better yet, nothing at all" he responds in a low growl. You chuckle and swat his chest, "then we would never leave the apartment" "and I don't see that as a problem at all!" he spins you towards him and kisses you passionately, then releases your arm.

"Aren't you coming up?" you ask a bit disappointed. "I definitely want to, but you need sleep and if I go up to your place, I will not let you get any." he states slowly backing away.

"I have tomorrow off, do you think you can break away from your roommates and we can have lunch?" you ask. "If you have the whole day off, you call me when you wake up and I'll take you to breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I will make sure we work up an appetite in between'' he responds with the wiggle of his eyebrows.

"That sounds perfect! I'll call you in the morning" you smile as you make your way into the building. Flopping on your bed exhausted, you have a smile on your face for the plans you have for tomorrow.

Waking up you look at your clock and gasping, 10:33, you hadn't slept that late in ages.

Hey handsome, you probably don't believe me, but i just woke up! I'm gonna hope in the shower or should I wait for you to join me ;)

Oooo, I am on my way, do not start without me!

😘

The knock at your door was barely 10 minutes later, and you opened it laughing at the look on his face. "Did you run the whole way here? Your place is a 20 minute walk away."

"I needed to work up a sweat for the shower, been thinking about you naked since last night, which makes it very HARD to sleep" he responds while following you into the apartment.

"Well, you are overdressed so maybe I can help you out of those clothes" you respond in almost a whisper. You bat your lashes as you start to unbuckle his belt, looking up at him biting your lip "it's been such a long week, I feel like I hardly get to see you."

"I know, but today will make up for it, I promise" he mumbles into your neck. You are walking backwards into the bathroom when he is finally in just his boxers, you turn on the shower before dropping your robe to the floor.

He drinks you in from head to toe with a low moan "Damn beautiful, I've missed you" he practically purrs as he grabs your hips to pull you closer. The long shower was a much needed tension relief for both of you and lasted until the water ran cold.

“So what would you like for breakfast, beautiful?” he asks as he’s kissing your neck and wrapping his arms around you. “Actually, I was thinking maybe we order in, that way we don’t need to bother getting dressed at all.” you respond biting your lip and enjoying his lips traveling down your neck to your collarbone. He practically growls in response before picking you up and carrying you out of the bathroom, “you are brilliant, you know that?” before throwing you on the couch and poncing on top of you.

Several slices of pizza and orgasms later, the two of you are cuddling on the couch when his phone dings, “they can’t leave you alone for a day can they?” you quip knowing it’s his roommates checking to make sure he’s still alive.

He kisses your forehead before grabbing his phone “they are a bunch of smothering assholes, that’s what they are!” he responds before reading the message with a large sigh. Looking at him you know exactly what that means “what time do you have to leave?” you ask as casually as possible.

“I’m sorry, it’s a last minute “important” meeting, I can shower here and leave at 8ish to be on time” he responds apologetically.

“Which means you are supposed to be there before 8, but I will take every minute I can get!” you state as you straddle his lap and kiss his jaw.

“Trust me, I would much rather be here with you, kissing every inch of your body. Maybe I can fake that I’m sick” he mumbles against your neck.

You are about to respond when your phone starts ringing, you snarl as you look up ‘who the hell is calling me on a Saturday afternoon?” you whine as you reach for your phone. You toss it on the coffee table almost as quickly as you picked it up.

“You can answer that, I don’t mind, I can be a very good boy when I want to” he says as he winks at you. “That is the bar, and it’s my day off…...and you are never a good boy, one of the many traits I love about you” you hum as he begins to assault your chest with his sinful mouth and tongue.

Before he can continue, your phone starts ringing again and you whine as he stops “noooo, don’t stop!” He hands you your phone as he gets up and heads into the kitchen.

“This better be important” you practically yell as you answer the call. “Uh, hey Y/N! It’s Gary, and I know it’s your day off but we got a last minute backroom booking and I need the best bartender in NYC. Can you be here by 9?” You don’t respond, only sighing into the phone “I’ll pay you double! And you can have tomorrow night off” he throws in trying to change your mind.

“It’s not about the money Gary, I haven’t had an entire day off in 4 months. My body and brain need to do nothing but eat take out and catch up on bad reality tv” you argue, knowing it will do nothing to deter him from getting you into the bar tonight.

You look up to see a beer being handed to you and smirk on his face “I can go down there and scare him if you want” he whispers, only making you giggle in response.

“Ok, I’ll pay you for not working tomorrow night, please I really need you!” “Fine, quit begging, but I’m only agreeing because I lost my evenings entertainment. See you at 9!” you say before hanging up without letting him respond.

“Looks like my evening just got filled and I’ll be slinging booze rather than recuperating from today’s activities” you pout as you sip your beer. “Well it’s almost 6, so let's order some Chinese food and go for round 5 before we have to return to the real world” he responds sitting next to you with his arm around your shoulders.

“Yes, but food first, I just hope I’ll be able to walk tonight. You have one hell of a libido!” you yell as he attacks your neck again. “Only for you, beautiful”

The time passes by faster than you like and you both shower before dressing. You are dressed and starting on your makeup when he walks into your room for a final kiss goodbye. “Damn, it is hard to leave when you look that good with clothes on” he eyes you up and down causing you to blush.

“Hey, why don’t you come by the bar after your meeting and we can continue what you started, handsome!” leaning back into his strong chest. “That sounds perfect, I’ll text you on my way!” and before you can respond he is running out the door, you just shake your head and laugh knowing he’s gonna be late and doesn’t even care.

Heading out of your apartment you decide to stop for coffee before hopping on the subway. It’s been a long and tiring day, in the best way possible, but you are expecting it to be a long night too since it’s a private event and there are always stragglers that have no intention of leaving when someone else is footing the bill.

Walking into the bar, you begin to wonder who books a last minute party on the weekend but decide it doesn’t really matter. You had an amazing day with your amazing man and were getting paid double, so it was definitely a win/win, even if your thighs were more sore than you realized before you left your apartment.

Note to self, uber the next time you have an all day sexcapade. You start to giggle at the thought when you make your way to the back room and start rearranging the bar to your preference. .

”Finally! I was beginning to worry you were going to stand me up!” Gary yells as he makes his way over to you. “Are you kidding? You offered me a lot of money to be here, and I have student loans out the wazoo! This is the second best thing that's happened to me today.” you state, not bothering to look up as you are wiping down the bottles.

“And by the look of that stupid grin on your face, I’m going to assume a certain someone is the first?” he questions, but you just shake your head and smirk.

“When is the party supposed to arrive? Any special requests I need to know about?” you ask in an attempt to change the topic as quickly as possible.

“They will be here any minute now and you are the only one back here tonight, but it’s only 10-12 guests so you should be fine. But let me know if you need a cocktail server or bar back, I can’t spare both but I’ll pop in and help when I can” he smiles and turns back to the bar area of the bar.

You are digging for the better rocks glasses when you hear people enter the room and turn to smile at the arriving guests, only for your face to immediately fall.

“Are you kidding me Stark?!” you grit out. “I can’t get away from you for a damn day?” you ask.

“Oh, is this the bar you work at, behind my back? I had no idea” he states dripping in sarcasm. “HA!” you fake a laugh “so this is my payback for not telling you?” “No, actually, Birdman told me about the uniform and I had to see for myself” he says, eyeing you up and down.

“I have to say, you look different than I anticipated and a little hurt that we don’t get to see this side of you in the lab.” You shake your head and laugh at yourself, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go, but at least you knew your clients weren’t just a bunch of assholes.

These people were your friends, practically family since you started working for Stark. “So Tones, what can I get you? I don’t think we’ve ever drank together, so I honestly don’t know if you are a Scotch neat or martini kind of man”

“Well, a little birdie told me that this bar has cocktails named after me and my friends, so that’s why I’m here, I wanted to check them out!” he smiles and you realize he’s either testing your bar-tending skills to prove to you that you don’t need this other job or his curiosity is going to be boosting his ego, either way, tonight will be fun.

“We do have a few, here is the Avenger cocktail list.” you say handing him the list with a smirk, knowing you will be making all of these drinks by the end of the night.

“Well, since you’ve worked here so long, what do you recommend?” he replies while looking over the various drinks “and why am I not listed at the top? If it’s not in alphabetical order, it should at least be listed by best Avenger at the top”

“Well, it’s listed by most popular drink, so if you want something sweet, I would go for The Cap America, if you need something more of a punch try the Black Widow, if you want to get revved up but not remember much of your night you should go for the Hulk. The Iron Man is an acquired taste, but it’s definitely worth a try, but most people don’t order a second one” just describing the drinks to him, you wonder if he thinks you are commenting on the drinks or the people behind them.

“Thor is pretty good if you want something simple, Hawkeye is both strong and sweet, Scarlet Witch is one of my personal favorites, along with the Bucky.” you stare at him with your hands resting on the bar top.

“Wait a damn minute! I am in this bar all the time and there’s no Falcon cocktail? What the hell Y/N?” Sam yells from behind Tony.

“I’m sorry, I don’t get to decide what goes on the menu, but I am working on creating your drink” you respond as sweetly as possible. “I’m just stuck on how to make a drink that people will enjoy, but is also a pain in the ass" you smirk as Sam realizes what you just said.

"I didn't know it was pick on Sam day, but I've had enough! Can I have a beer and tequila shots? I came here to have a good time and I feel attacked right now."

"Of course, whatever you want Sam" you say as you grab a mug and start to pour his favorite beer. Handing it to him with a smile, he leans in and pecks you on the cheek, “you’re lucky I love you enough to put up with your shit” he grumbles as he walks towards the tables.

After fixing all of the specialty drinks for everyone to try the signature cocktail you are certain that the night has just begun. You are wiping down the bar top when you look up to see Bucky grinning at you, turning you realize Natasha is at the bar for another round.

“Same drink or would you like something else, Nat?” “Do you have any decent vodka or am I just wasting your time?” she asks with a laugh. “We actually carry Jewel of Russia, but that’s about as good as it gets, I’m sorry Tony dragged you out tonight just to torment me.” you mention while grabbing the bottle from the fridge and a handful of shot glasses.

“I was wondering what this last minute outing was all about, I figured it was Barnes trying to let you see him in a more relaxed state” she quips while trying to gauge your reaction.

“Bucky? Him and Sam are in here all the time, and I’m not sure why you think he would want me to see him relaxed…..” you reply while setting up a tray for the shots. Natasha grabs two before you can even fill more. “Well, I’ve never seen him gawk at a bartender, like he is tonight”

“I think you are reading into something that isn’t there, but why don’t I take this tray over and test your theory?” you say while grabbing the tray of shots and placing the bottle of vodka in an ice bucket.

Noticing that Bucky was watching most of your conversation you make sure to sway your hips a bit extra and set the tray down in front of the team.

“Alright gang, let me get some of these empties out of here and grab a couple more rounds for you. Any special requests?” you smile around the group seated in the overstuffed chairs and couches.

“Hey Buck, anything you want to ask Y/N for?” Natasha says with a sweet tone. “Like a date maybe?” she adds just as Bucky was about to ask for a drink. You chuckle slightly look over at Bucky who seems to be a bit in shock.

“Uh, nah, I don’t think I’m Y/N’s type” Bucky says attempting to brush off Nat’s comment and not draw more attention to the conversation. With the glasses gathered in your hands, you start to head back to the bar before responding ‘yea, tall, dark and handsome isn’t my type” you smirk as you walk away.

Immediately the entire crew is carrying on like a bunch of teenagers and egging Bucky on to follow you to the bar. You are starting to pour a few pints when Bucky clears his throat to gain your attention.

“So you think I’m tall, dark and handsome, huh?” he almost whispers. “Well, that’s the PG version of what I think about you, didn’t want to get you into any trouble with your roommates. Are you coming back over when this little party is over?” you ask with a smirk.

“Oh, you know I am, I owe you a couple more orgasms today. As long as I get to help you out of that sexy uniform.”

#avengers x reader #bucky barns x reader #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #sam wilson #tony stark #natasha romanoff #avengers reader insert #marvel reader insert

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tonystarkreactor · 5 years

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Summary:

Barnes lifts his metal hand. Three, two, one.

The door slams open, bouncing off what is presumably an AIM agent. Clint immediately darts around the door, using Barnes’s arm as cover. He grabs the gun off the agent, along with a couple clips and a knife. With a flick of the wrist, he flings the blade and it hits the other agent in his chest, dead-center.

Clint smells the stinky breath before he can hear anything, before he sees the blinding sun through the crack in the curtains, before he feels his head hurt. He rolls his right leg over, turning himself onto his side, only for his cheek to be met with the warm, rough tongue of his doofus of a dog. His mouth involuntarily curls into a grin.

He pats a quick hand to his chin, before pulling it back down to ruffle Lucky’s ears. Lucky simply leans his head in further and continues to cover Clint’s face in kisses. Clint grins, before shoving his face into his pillow once he gets a bit too much of his dog’s slobber on his mouth.

Then, the dumb dog is putting his paws on Clint’s side and pushing himself up, which really gives the archer no choice but to face the day. If he knows his dog, and he does, he won’t be letting him get another wink of sleep.

“Dumb dog,” Clint mutters, but he pushes himself up onto his elbows anyway. He shoves Lucky away, though the dog is hesitant to let that happen. Clint reaches over to slap around for his hearing aids, only to find them not where he’s sure he left them. He twists and rolls himself out of bed, squinting at his nightstand.

He’d put them there last night. He tilts his head. Well, this morning. Eh, semantics. Where the fuck are his hearing aids?

(read more)

He tries to look for the flash of purple, checking every shelf, every drawer, under the nightstand, under the bed-- but nowhere. What the fuck?

Clint just scowls, placing his hands on his hips. He’s about to shout for Kate when he remembers that she headed out around midnight. She could be back by now, but he doubts it. He’s pretty sure she’s got a date with some girl she saved the other day anyway, so he doubts getting back to the apartment is exactly a priority for her.

He turns to Lucky. “You eat ‘em?” he asks, not above blaming his doofus of a dog.

Lucky simply tilts his head, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Clint sighs, before turning and tugging on some sweatpants from the floor. With that, he heads out to his kitchen, his hands already grabby for coffee. He feels the graze of Lucky’s fur against his calf, so he goes ahead and gives the dog a pat as he starts up the coffeemaker.

He spots his phone plugged in a little way down the counter, and he sees that it’s lit up. It’s not flashing, so he knows there isn’t an Avengers issue-- still, few people text him, and Katie-Kate mentioned that she would probably be too busy to chat for a while (on a date, not that she’d tell his nosy ass that).

While he waits, he picks up his phone, thumbing through his notifications to see several texts from the Avengers group chat.

Dad: hey losers, we’re going out to that pizza place in hell’s kitchen, the one with the giant slices at 7

Mom: I’m sorry, what Tony meant to say was: do you guys want to go at 7:00 tonight?

Dad: Don’t ruin my fun, snookums.

Inferior Birdman: If you never call him snookums again, sure

Dad: gosh darn sam cant make it! What a fucking shame

Mom: Tony

Nat: Sure. I’ve got a debriefing at 5, but I should make it.

Bruce: Sure, I don’t have anything to do

Dad: Buck told me he’ll come

Bruce: Thor’s out of the realm again, right?

Dad: Sure is! Sorry, Brucie-kins, but at least this way i don’t have to pay for an Asgardian amount of pizza

Nat: Pretty sure that with the three of them, Bucky, Steve, and Bruce can make up for that amount.

Bruce: i mean… probably.

Nat: And that’s excluding Clint

Mom: speaking of… clint?

Nat: He’s probably asleep

Bruce: its

Bruce: nvm I was going to point out it was two in the afternoon, but it’s clint

Clint puts his hand to his bare chest, before remembering there was no one to fake drama for. That, and Bruce’s last message had been sent four hours ago.

He grimaces, tapping out a quick response: Excuse. I was asleep and I was enjoying it.

And I can go, he types. He glances at Lucky, who’s giving him the look he always gives when he somehow knows pizza is being discussed. “Calm down, I’ll bring you some leftovers,” he says , setting the phone down.

He skirts around Lucky to grab his coffee. It’s not as good as Stark’s, but it’s caffeine, so who the hell cares? He tips up the pot and takes a sip, reaching over for his phone when he sees it light up again, this time just a separate text from Natasha.

Nat: I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but did you really just wake up?

He’s typing out a sassy response when he receives the next text.

Nat: how many hours did you actually get?

He scowls. He does the math in his head, approximating twelve, from the time he’d actually gone to bed around six that morning. He’s pretty sure that that’s too much. He shoots her a quick message of a normal amount, before grabbing a box of cereal to snack on before it’s time to go.

He’s halfway through shoving a handful of Captain Crunch into his mouth when he then gets a text from Phil.

Phil: Have you been trying the meditation your therapist recommended?

Clint groans, turning his phone’s screen off before plunging his hand back into the box.

Pretty soon, he’s hopping around to put on jeans, almost braining himself on his door frame as he nearly trips over his pant leg. He throws on a flannel over a black t-shirt. He flexes in the mirror, just to make sure he looks like, as Kate says, a snack. He thinks he does.

“What do you think?” He turns to Lucky, who’s sitting up and wagging his tail by his water bowl.

“Shit, dog, you’ve probably gotta pee, yeah? Okay, hold on,” he says. He slips his phone into his pocket, grabbing Lucky’s leash off his dresser. He clips it around his neck, grabbing a plastic bag out of the trash bag hanging from the back of the front door just in case.

Lucky leads him outside, and Clint gasps as he notices a fire hydrant a little down the street, painted to look like Iron Man. “Come on, Lucky!” he says, tugging him along. Lucky stares at him for a moment, but seems to be happy for the short trip anyway.

When they reach the hydrant, Clint points at it. “Pee on it.”

Lucky just flops his head to the side.

“Pee on the fire hydrant, for the love of God, please, please,” Clint begs, pointing more and more enthusiastically at the hydrant. “Please, if you want me to be happy for the rest of my life, pee on Tony Stark.”

He is definitely getting stared at, but he’s got his phone out, ready to take a picture. “Lucky! Piss on Stark!”

Lucky still looks a little confused, but he follows Clint’s pointing anyway. He lifts his leg, and--

“Ha! Got it!” Clint exclaimed gleefully, bouncing on his toes. “Good boy!” he praises, once Lucky’s done. “You wonderful, wonderful boy!” he says. By this point, a gaggle of old ladies has actually stopped to stare at them, so Clint figures it’s probably time to head back inside.

After making sure Lucky’s not going to take a surprise dump on the steps of the building, Clint brings him back up to their apartment. He refills Lucky’s bowls, feeds him a treat, and tosses a toy before heading out, grabbing his bow and quiver on the way. Just in case.

Clint’s a little late to the pizza place, but it’s pretty easy to find a table full of Avengers, no matter how crowded the place is. He finds them in a spot near a corner of the restaurant, two tables shoved together, chairs pulled from a few others.

There’s a spot open next to Nat, across from Barnes, so Clint takes it, dropping his bow and quiver so they lean against the table. Tony immediately starts talking at him, so Clint has to put up a hand to stop him. He puts his fingertips together, drops them, then taps an X behind his ear. “I lost my hearing aids,” he signs.

Tony throws his head back, rolling his eyes before looking back at him, tapping a V to his forehead. “Idiot. In the future, tell me! I’ll bring the prototype I’ve been working on,” he says, signing along. He only gets the grammar wrong once-- Clint will give him kudos later.

Tony plunges back into what he’d been saying before, this time signing along-- apparently, Steve had attempted to help him assemble a suit, but he ended up breaking multiple fingers off the gauntlet.

“I said sorry!” Steve says, his face screwing up in defense as he circles his fist against his chest.

“Fuck!” Clint says, and he realizes from the flinch of an old lady at a neighboring table that it comes out a little loud. He works to lower his voice, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Lucky pissed on Stark!” he says, tapping across the screen to get to the photo.

From the corner of his eye, he notices Barnes’s hands still halfway through a breadstick. Okay, maybe he should have phrased it differently.

He glances up, sees everyone staring at him, but Tony’s head is jutted forward, his eyebrows furrowed, as he repeatedly signs, “Excuse me?”

Clint cackles to himself, turning the phone around to show everyone. He sees Tony scoff before flipping him the bird, while everyone else starts laughing. Natasha’s grinning and shaking her head. “Idiot,” she signs, pressing the V to her forehead.

He grins, putting his phone away, but not before sending it to the group chat quickly. Tony obviously realizes what he’s doing, as he flips him off once again.

“So what’d you order me?” Clint asks, turning to Natasha.

“We ordered you a slice of your usual, along with half a slice of pepperoni to go for Lucky.”

“You know me so well,” he says, throwing himself against her side. She shoves him off, and he nearly falls off his chair, which he should have expected.

He pouts, grabbing a breadstick from the tray resting on top of the napkin box. He pulls it away, the mozzarella dragging along with it. It doesn’t separate itself from the rest of the cheese, unfortunately, and it all drops back down to the greasy parchment paper. Clint pouts. “Aw, cheese.”

He notices the movement of Barnes’s shoulders, and he glances up to see the man laughing at him.

Clint scowls, flipping him off before picking up the pile of molten mozzarella. He shoves it in his mouth, only burning his fingers a little. He wipes his hands on his pants, leaving greasy streaks, before lifting his arm to scratch his hair.

Natasha’s face immediately scrunches up. “Jesus, Clint, when was the last time you took a shower?” she asks, not bothering to hide her disgust, even as she furrowed her eyebrows for the “when”.

“Uh,” he says, dropping his arm.

She curls her lip and circles a clawed hand around her stomach. “Gross.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything when you dyed your hair blonde, you don’t say anything about my body odor.”

“That was for a mission --”

Clint stops her hands by throwing his own wildly, before actually signing. “You looked like an old woman. It emphasized all the lines on your face.”

A hand shakes the table, and Clint looks over to see it’s Tony’s, slammed onto the surface. His eyes are wide, his eyebrows raised. “Do you want to be killed?” he signs, his movements sharp.

“Natasha loves me,” Clint replies. “She won’t kill me. Not until I’m forty-five, like we discussed.”

“I did not agree to that, Clint,” Nat says.

“I--” Clint starts, only to stop when he notices the unusual stillness in the corner of his eye. He glances over and sees that Barnes is staring with his mouth hanging open, just a little bit.

“What?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

He sees Bucky say something like “uh” before he hesitantly gives a flick by his ear, tilting his head just slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh.” Clint belatedly realizes his and Natasha’s spat had not actually been voiced out loud. He’s pretty sure ASL was not one of the languages HYDRA decided to teach, so Bucky is not nearly as fluent in it as the rest of the group is. Clint shrugs. “I called Nat out for her ugly blonde days,” he says. “It wasn’t a good look. Also, Nat’s gonna kill me when I turn forty-five.”

“I am not,” Natasha argued, raising her hand as she spots an employee carrying two much-too-large trays of food. The employee looks starry-eyed as he brings the pizzas over, his face slack with shock.

“Please!” Clint says. “Kill me,” he signs. “Unless I look like George Clooney or the Trivago guy, kill me.”

“Forty-five isn’t old,” Tony signs from across the table. Clint ignores him.

“Man, why are you obsessed with the Trivago guy?” Sam says, tilting his head. He’s trying to sign, but he doesn’t know much, so he’s mostly fingerspelling everything.

“Have you seen him?” Clint asks, already grabbing a piece of his slice before the kid’s even set it down. “He’s a silver fox.”

“Meanwhile, Tony is just silver?” Bruce suggests.

“Hey! I don’t even have a single grey hair!” Tony argues, puffing his chest.

“Right, because he’s already dyed it this week,” Steve says, tilting his head and giving Tony his I’m-A-Perfectly-Innocent-All-American-Treasure look. It doesn’t stop Tony from grabbing his arc reactor and hissing, “You traitorous bitch!”

Clint grabs Tony’s attention, because this is important. “If Nat doesn’t kill me, will you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

The billionaire shrugs apologetically. “Sorry. Pepper says I can’t murder anyone unless they’re a supervillain. It’s bad for the press.”

He pouts, sandwiching another two pieces of pizza and shoving them into his mouth. “Goddamn it. I don’t wanna live past forty-five!” he says, but it most likely just sounds like muffled noises through his chipmunked cheeks.

“I feel hurt,” Tony says. Clint ignores him again.

“Don’t worry, Clint,” Steve says, grinning too-innocently. “I feel great, and I’m barely ninety-eight!”

“Shut the fuck u--”

He stops. There’s a woman sitting a few tables away, and she just got up to get her third refill drink since he’d gotten there. Normally, he wouldn’t think anything of it, but he’s pretty sure he catches her lips moving as she goes.

Clint quickly changes course, signing a quick story of Lucky, except halfway in, he throws in their emergency signal for “Avengers”-- just a quick double-tap of an A on his wrist.

Everyone catches it, even Barnes, who’s been staring like he’s mostly lost the whole time. Clint cranks his neck, acting as if to pop it, but he’s gesturing towards the woman. Everyone subtly arms themselves-- Tony flexes his hand just right, and his watch unfolds into his gauntlet, Steve’s own watch doing the same into a version of the shield; Sam, Nat, and Bucky each slide a gun out of… somewhere; and Clint slips his quiver onto his back and his bow in hand in one fluid motion. Bruce just braces himself in case of a Code Green.

Unfortunately, since a bow is hardly as discreet as a gun, it definitely catches the enemy’s attention.

Clint can’t hear the gunshot, but he sees the man near the door fire. “Get out!” Clint yells, even as people start running towards the exits. Luckily, the bullet doesn’t hit anyone, but he’s pretty damn sure this is about to turn into a firefight.

He smoothly nocks a few arrows, firing them off. He hits two of the other side-- the drink lady, and a man in dark gear who’d just snuck in from the back. The lady goes down, an arrow in her chest, while the man simply stumbles from the arrow to the shoulder. Clint ducks the man’s bullet, firing another shot. The man goes down like a bag of bricks.

He spins around, and he spots a door behind the counter swinging shut-- but the cook he sees through the window had been far closer to another exit.

He sprints across the room, springing himself off the counter. He shoves through the door, sees the cook, but then he spots a woman near the fridge, aiming a gun at the cook. The cook has his hands up, shaking awfully.

Clint has an arrow aimed at her in less than a second. “Let him go,” he says.

The woman raises an eyebrow, and he reads her lips: “You think your outdated weaponry scares me? A gun is a hell of a lot faster than a bow.”

Clint shrugs a shoulder, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “You haven’t seen me shoot,” he says. The arrow sprouts from her head and she falls to the ground without another word.

“You good?” Clint asks, approaching the cook. “Any injuries, or--?” he says, extending a hand to help the guy up.

“Thank you,” the man says, still visibly shaking.

“No problem. Now,” he says, “Get out of here. Take a back exit, avoid as much fire as you c--”

Clint can barely think as he feels a blunt force being thrown into his side, along with a hot, fiery pain as the cook, obviously an agent in disguise, plunges a knife into his left shoulder. Then, his head hits the floor, and he can’t think at all.

Clint blinks blearily. His head hurts like hell; it’s like someone is inside his brain and has taken to thudding a crowbar against his skull. And that’s not even mentioning his shoulder. He’s pretty sure that, if his shoulder wasn’t connected to the rest of his body, it would already be dead and haunting Nick Fury. In other words-- fucking ow.

Clint can’t move his hands-- when he tries, he feels the bite of coarse ropes holding them back. Still, he can tell it’s a standard handcuff knot-- it is locked in place with a reef knot, though. That makes it a little tough, but he should be able to get out of it in not too long.

He scans his surroundings. It’d help if he had his hearing aids, to hear for any noise outside, but he’ll have to do without. He opts for watching under the door instead-- no footsteps yet.

He cranes his neck back, trying to get an idea of his situation. The room is dark, and the air is heavy and cold enough to assume he’s underground. Wait-- they’re underground.

Because behind him, just a few feet away, is the Winter Soldier himself. Actually, Clint doesn’t know if Barnes likes that name. He hasn’t exactly spent much time with him.

Clint whispers, “You up?” before realizing he’s a dumbass.

He presses his tied feet to the floor, pushing to the left. The chair moves just slightly. The noise is probably terrible, but ha. He keeps going, pushing himself by just a few inches each time. Eventually, he’s moved and twisted enough that he’s facing Barnes, now to the left of Barnes rather than directly behind him.

He sees Barnes’s lips moving, so at least he’s up. However, his speaking means absolutely nothing to him.

“Still can’t hear you,” the archer says. “And it’s too dark to read your lips clearly. The angle’s shit, too.”

Barnes winces. A glance tells Clint that Barnes’s own restraints are fraying, but he still can’t do any actual signing yet. However, he can see Barnes’s fingers moving, even as he tries to rip through the rope. S-E-E W-H-O?

Clint shakes his head, before pausing. He thinks through the events of earlier, whenever they were. He thinks he remembers seeing a glimpse of yellow on one of the agents’ suits.

He moves through a quick A-I-M, then flattens his hand and shakes it. Maybe.

He looks up at Barnes’s face, only to see him still staring at Clint’s hand, his eyes narrowed.

Oh. Probably too fast. He slows down. A… I… M. He shakes his hand again. “Not sure,” he whispers.

Barnes nods, before flexing his metal wrist sharply. The rope around that hand falls limp, and he’s able to pull the other loop loose soon pretty easily. Then, he’s bending over and sliding the metal plates of his fingers roughly against the ropes around his shins once, twice, three times, and then the rope splits and falls. Clint nods, impressed. He wishes he had a metal arm, not for the first time.

Then, Barnes is behind him. Now he can actually get in a decent position to use the full strength of his arms, and he easily grabs the rope between Clint’s wrists and yanks, and the rope just completely snaps.

That was hot, Clint thinks, and Barnes pauses mid-step as he’s making his way around to Clint’s front, his eyes darting towards him. Aw, mouth.

“Wow,” Clint says. “Did you hear someone say something? I did not,” he says.

Barnes just purses his lips before shaking his head, looking slightly amused. He crouches down and quickly rips the rope around Clint’s ankles, and all of it is way faster than Clint could’ve done. That metal arm is awesome, man.

Barnes taps his own shoulder, standing to his feet. He’s looking at Clint with concern.

“Fine,” Clint says, tapping his thumb to his chest, even though his shoulder is definitely throbbing like hell and probably bleeding too much.

Barnes gives him a look that tells him just how much he believes that, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he just gestures to his head, tapping his indexes together, his eyebrows raised.

“That’s fine, too,” Clint says, tapping his chest again. He stands, moving towards the door, ignoring Barnes’s disbelieving glare. At least Clint’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a concussion. If he does, it’s a teensy-weensy one, so he’s good.

“Hear anything?” Clint asks, his eyebrows raised.

Barnes pauses, walking towards the door. He puts his hand against the wall, tilting his head towards it. After a few seconds, he finger-spells F-E-E-T, then meets his thumbs together before pushing his right one forward, angling to the right of the door. Footsteps, but they’re far away.

Clint throws his hands up toward the air, opening them. “How many?” he whispers.

Barnes holds up two fingers.

Okay, cool, this should be easy then. Clint crouches down, pulling a lock pick from his sock. He immediately starts jimmying the lock, and it doesn’t take long at all. Barnes taps the top of the lock when he hears it click, and then puts his hand on the handle.

He lifts his metal hand. Three, two, one .

He loots him, too, pulling out another gun and knife. He hands them off to Barnes, before retrieving his bloody knife from the dead body.

Clint barely has the word “which” out of his mouth when Barnes starts walking the way the agents came. Well, walking is a light word for the Winter Soldier Strut, but that’s not important.

They’ve only come across three more agents when they reach a staircase. Of course, that’s when lights start flashing. Briefly, Clint’s glad he doesn’t have his hearing aids.

They each break into a run, shooting down agents as soon as they appear. The staircase quickly becomes chaotic. Agents start spilling in from every story-- the two assassins are hitting the first floor below ground when even Clint can feel the noise coming from the gunfire. He feels a sharp pain explode in his thigh, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it.

In front of him, Barnes propels himself up onto the shoulders of an AIM agent. From there, he shoots down at least four agents coming at them from above, all while twisting his thighs around his mount’s neck. Barnes lands on his feet easily, even as the agent beneath him falls heavily.

Clint takes the open opportunity and dashes up the steps, using his good shoulder to burst through the first-level door.

The door bursts open, and Clint immediately fires down any agent in sight. He distantly feels a dull pain in his shoulder, but it’s probably just a little bruised-- he’s had far worse. He pulls up his gun and takes down another agent as he sprints down the hall. He spots a sign pointing towards the exit-- maybe not the best idea for a place you plan on keeping captives?

It made it easy for Clint, though. He was already running-- a quick glance told him Barnes was following, so he didn’t slow down.

He rounds the corner, his feet going even faster as he sees the exit. Of course, that’s when half the doors in the hallway slam open, revealing a shit-ton of agents that are armed.

The archer takes down several of them, shooting down most and hurling his knife so it stabs one of them in the sternum. He clocks one in the jaw, knocking him over like a bowling pin, before kicking a charging agent directly in the chest.

Unfortunately, even if he can take them down while extremely outnumbered, it doesn’t stop him from taking hits. He gets a few punches to the face, along with a harsh kick to his side and a sharp pain that he’s sure is another shot in his leg. Still, he keeps going, and soon enough, he’s bursting through the door at the end of the hall.

It’s far brighter outside, even coming from the lit halls of the base, and Clint stumbles for a second as the light hits his eyes. He feels a hand grab his upper arm-- it’s his good one at least-- in a tight grip, and he’s being pulled along.

A glance to the side tells him it’s Barnes, so he’s okay. Clint steadies himself and quickly starts pulling his own weight. Barnes is running forward, but his body is half-turned to shoot down the agents chasing after them. A super-soldier is a hell of a lot faster than the agents, and Clint has enough adrenaline to keep up with him.

They navigate between the trees around them-- Clint can’t see another building anywhere. The upside, at least, is the agents trailing after them have been thinning. Clint estimates that they’re maybe a mile out by the time they realize that there isn’t anyone chasing after them anymore.

Of course, with that realization, Clint’s adrenaline starts on the decline, and he fumbles clumsily to the ground.

He braces himself with his arms, but that hurts like hell on his shoulder, which is… not feeling good. His entire body is not feeling good.

He feels a metal grip grab his not-shot shoulder and then he’s being roughly turned onto his back. He groans, and he forces himself to open his eyes. Barnes’s face is hovering above him, a crease between his brows. He signs roughly, tapping his indexes together, then waves one.

“Shoulder,” Clint says, “And leg. Two shoots. Shots.” He winces, reaching a hand up towards his shoulder, because it is throbbing in a nasty way.

Barnes bats it away, shaking his head. He lifts his hands as if to say something, but then he just shakes his head. With one quick motion, he tears off the sleeve of his jacket. He looks like a doofus, but Clint supposes he probably isn’t one to talk, what with being the proud new owner of two bullet holes and a stab wound.

Pretty quickly, Barnes ties the disembodied sleeve around Clint’s bloody shoulder. The pressure doesn’t feel great, but Clint knows it’s better than bleeding out all his shoulder guts. And hey, at least it’s not a tourniquet. Shit could be worse.

Next, Barnes rips off the sleeve of his shirt. Clint would give an appreciative whistle at those biceps if he wasn’t in so much pain. He ties up Clint’s thigh, then rips off one of Clint’s own sleeves to wrap around his calf. As he finishes up the knot, Clint mutters, “Is this kinky? It’s probably kinky.”

Barnes just swats his good leg.

“That’s kinky, too.”

Barnes stands up, and he walks near Clint’s head. He waves his arm, and Clint sees him say, “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Ugh. Can’t this just be my new home?”

Barnes just waves again.

Clint groans, but he puts his hands on the ground and pushes himself up. He stands, and he rolls his shoulder, regretting it immediately. “Ow.”

In front of him, Barnes simply signs, “Home.”

They start walking. It’s a little chilly, but he has other things to worry about. His wounds are definitely still bleeding, even if the ties help, so he tries not to apply too much pressure to his right leg, without making it seem too obvious.

Unfortunately, he’s so distracted by his pain and masking it, he doesn’t realize that Barnes is trying to sign to him. He feels a hard nudge on his good arm, and he looks up with a start.

Barnes is frowning at him, with his eyebrows furrowed in the same way they’ve been since they got kidnapped. Clint groans, stepping forward with what’s definitely too much pressure on his right foot, but he forces down a reaction. “S’rry. You were saying?”

Barnes’s fingers move quickly- he doesn’t know much, but at least he’s a quick finger-speller. How. You. L-O-S-E. A-I-D.

“The ‘how’ goes at the end, buddy,” Clint says. When he notices Barnes cast his eyes to the ground briefly, he immediately feels guilty. “It’s okay, though. Most of the others don’t even have it yet, ‘cept Tasha.”

“Sorry,” Barnes signs.

“S’chill. Besides, I’m not one to talk. I’m pretty stupid when it comes to regular, basic English.”

Barnes rolls his eyes, shaking his head, but then he repeats his question from before, this time using the correct grammar.

Clint shrugs, wincing as it aggravates his shoulder. “I dunno. It’s somewhere in my apartment, I think. If Lucky didn’t eat it.”

He freezes. “Lucky!” He twists around violently, throwing himself off balance. He stumbles for a moment, before two hands grip his waist and help him upright.

Barnes’s eyebrows are knit together, but Clint barely notices. His eyes are still darting around the forested space, as if there’s any way he can find his dog in wherever-the-fuck-they-are.

Barnes quickly moves in front of him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know how long we’ve been gone! Lucky’s all alone in the apartment! What if something happens to him?”

He feels a feathery-light hand on his good shoulder, despite the hand being made of metal. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Barnes says. “We couldn’t have been gone for more than a day. I’m sure he’s fine.” The former-assassin places a hand on his own chest, taking in an exaggerated breath. “Come on, he’s fine.”

Clint tries to steady his own breathing, tries to shush the not-actually-there noise in his ears. “He’s fine.”

“Yeah. Worst case, he took a dump on the carpet.”

“I don’t got a carpet,” Clint mutters, shaking his head.

“Even better,” Barnes says. “You can clean it up real easy. Hey, and what’s to say that Kate girl hasn’t checked in?”

“Uh… I dunno,” Clint says, finally able to take an actual breath. “He’s fine.”

“Damn right he is.”

Clint shut his eyes for a moment, continuing his full breaths. Once he feels steady, he opens his eyes again. “Sorry,” he says, taking a couple steps back. “For being dumb.”

There’s a sharp flick on his arm, which seems unfair. “Hey, knock it off,” Barnes says, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Knock what off?” Clint asks, stepping forward, wincing as the pain in his leg gets a little louder.

“Callin’ yourself dumb. Stop that,” Barnes says, frowning.

Clint squints at him. “Wh- dude, I dropped out of school when I was like ten. It’s pretty safe to say I’m stupid. I know that, and it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Barnes says, and now his frown is getting into Angry Frown territory. “You’re not stupid, stop saying that shit about yourself.”

Clint pulls his head back, still squinting. “It’s fine, man, I know the truth-”

“Well, clearly not, because you’re spoutin’ lies-”

“I am not, and it’s not a big deal anyway-”

“It is if you believe it! You can’t just-”

“Be honest with myself? I deserve at least-”

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hits Clint like a club to the back of the head. He trips over his own feet, hands reaching out to catch himself. He feels hands grab at his torso, but he bats them away, feeling the acid fill his throat.

He lowers himself to the ground with the help of the hands bracing his body, but it doesn’t stop the jolt shooting through his shot-up leg. Before he can spout a warning, he feels the bile swell up. He quickly twists to the side, barely acknowledging the fire in his shoulder, as he retches. Nasty remnants of whatever was leftover in his stomach falls into the grass. He chokes and spits, his head bursting with pain with every movement.

He sits there for a second, a string of vomit hanging from his mouth to the ground, and he groans before coughing again, trying to get whatever’s left out.

Distantly, he feels a soft pressure on his back, but his head is pounding, so he can’t really pay any attention to it. He hacks a little, trying to clear the rest of the burning acid from his throat.

Finally, he rolls back so he’s sitting up. He still feels sick, but he doesn’t think there’s anything left. He blinks a few times, trying to get the spots out of his eyes. “S’rry.”

He feels another flick, and he blinks his eyes open. “Hm?” he says, feeling very gross and exhausted. His mouth tastes disgusting.

“Stop saying sorry,” Barnes says, and it’s a good thing he’s signing because Clint can not concentrate enough to read lips right now.

Clint feels like he should argue, but he is very tired. So instead, he just mumbles, “‘Kay.”

He shuts his eyes again for a moment, and then he feels a hand gently maneuver its way under his good arm. He gets the message and pushes down on the ground, using Barnes’s steady grip to slowly get to his feet.

He barely catches Barnes’s question of O-K? He nods, even though it hurts.

Now that he’s watching, Barnes signs out, “You have a C-O-N-C-U-S-S-I-O-N.” His eyebrows are raised, and he looks kinda annoyed.

Clint could make a sarcastic remark, it’d be really easy, but he guesses he probably should have listed that earlier while reciting his injuries. Instead, he barely nods.

“We’re going home soon,” Barnes says. “For now, you need to stay awake.”

Clint knows the rules of concussions. He waves Barnes off. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, and his throat is still burning and gross. “How soon, do you think?” he asks.

“I bet you they’re just a few minutes out. You know how pissed Nat gets when you go missing,” Barnes says.

“Says you, Mr. Cap’n-America-followed-me-even when-I...was-a-Terminator,” Clint says, and his words kind of trail off into nonsensical mumbles, and even he can realize that without hearing it.

“Then we have even better chances,” Barnes says.

“Good,” Clint says, and he squeezes his eyes shut as a sudden wave of nausea passes through him. He pauses, waiting for it to pass. When it does, he opens his eyes to see a pair of concerned gray ones. Clint blows through his mouth, before nodding determinedly. “‘Kay. Let’s keep going.”

“You sure?” Barnes asks. “We can stay here. When I hear the quinjet, I’ll fire a shot.”

“You don’t got a flare gun,” Clint argues.

“So? JARVIS will sense it, if Steve doesn’t hear it first. We’re stayin’ here.”

Clint sighs. “Fine. Can we sit back down then?”

Barnes helps him to the ground again, this time against a tree. He sits down across from him, tucking a knee to his chest. He locks an arm around the knee, before tilting his head towards Clint. “Tell me about this apartment of yours.”

“Why?” Clint asks, leaning his head against the tree. Barnes snaps his fingers at him, so Clint sits up again.

“To make sure you stay awake, dumbass. Go on,” the ex-soldier says.

Clint rolls his eyes for a moment, before letting his head roll to the side. “I dunno. I share it with Kate, but only kind of. She just comes in every few days to make sure I’m not dead or bouncing off the walls.”

Barnes just nods, so he continues.

“And then I have Lucky. I got him from the same guys I took the building from. Some Russian guys who were shitty dudes. They’d broken his leg, so obviously I made sure that wouldn’t happen again. And I also now own an apartment building, which kinda sucks, because I don’t know how to do any of the things a landlord is supposed to. Like I dunno how to fix leaky sinks or adjust the AC. I kinda just go off YouTube videos.”

Barnes shrugs. “Whatever works,” he says.

“I guess,” Clint says. “We have barbecues sometimes. I think half the building actually thinks my name is Hawk guy, which is a thing, I guess.” He pouts.

Barnes cracks a grin, and Clint realizes he’s laughing.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says. “Mr. Weiner Soldier.”

Bucky quickly stops, fixing Clint with the stink eye. “That doesn’t count. That’s just Sam.”

“It counts,” Clint argues. “Anyway, the other half of the building don’t actually think I’m an Avenger, so.”

“Do they not watch the news?” Barnes asks.

“They’re all old and pretty blind, so it’s a possibility. That or they’re messing with me,” Clint ponders. He squinted at a random patch of grass. “I think that might actually be the case,” he says.

Barnes grins again. “So what’s Lucky like?” he asks.

Clint then details all of Lucky’s quirks. He talks about the way the dog used to try to attack the door whenever someone knocked. He talks about the time he found a half-chewed hearing aid under the coffee table, which is why he’s so willing to blame him this time. He talks about Lucky’s infatuation with pizza, and he talks about the time Lucky once saved him from the Russian mafia. He has to pause a few times to get his head to stop hurting and for his shoulder to be more bearable, but Barnes is patient. Come to think of it, after all this, Clint figures he should probably stop calling the guy by his last name.

His voice feels raw (although that’s possibly due to the earlier puking) by the time he notices Bucky suddenly straighten up, his eyes darting towards the sky.

“Our saviors?” Clint asks, his arms moving sluggishly.

Bucky nods, before slipping his gun into shooting position. He fires a shot towards the sky, and Clint can feel it.

The archer shakes his head, but he can’t help the corner of his mouth that’s creeping up. “S’not a flare.”

Bucky smirks, and he flicks a finger towards the sky. Not thirty seconds later, Clint can see leaves begin to flutter off the ground. He glances back, and Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Clint rolled his eyes, and he tries to ignore the way it makes his head pulse. He doesn’t think he did a great job, though, given the way Bucky frowns.

The assassin budges over so he’s next to Clint, and he worms an arm around his torso. He pats Clint once, a clear signal of “let’s go,” so the archer takes a deep breath. He lets his own arm grab at Bucky’s, fingers gripping tight at the metal plates. He feels himself grunt as they push themselves up. The pain in his legs flare up, but he just digs his teeth into his lip and pushes past it.

Finally, he’s at least at his full height, but his legs and his arm (not to mention his head) are screaming. Now that he knows help is close, everything is suddenly feeling a helluva lot worse.

Clint feels Bucky tense weirdly, and he glances over to realize that he’s shouting. He squints, catching a glimpse of “Steve!”

He glances in the direction he’s yelling at, and in just a few seconds, he sees a flash of red and gold.

The Iron Man suit zooms into view. Clint feels the body next to him tense a few more times as Tony lands.

He sees a quick “What happened?” and as the faceplate retracts, Clint can see the frantic look on his face.

Clint taps a thumb to his chest, but Tony immediately gives a mechanical, yet fluid, “Bullshit.” He visibly sighs, shaking his head, but then he says, “But we’ll talk about that later.” Clint sees him glance down before saying to Steve, presumably, into the comms. “Hawkeye’s hurt.”

He looks up again, and he taps his indexes together, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Two bullets in the leg,” he says. “And I got stabbed in the shoulder.”

He feels Bucky start talking, and he looks over to see him add, “Concussion, too.”

Clint sees Tony mutter a shit, but he doesn’t catch much else because then he’s glancing over the armored shoulder as he sees a figure clad in red, white, and blue emerge from the trees, dashing at full speed.

“Hey, Mom,” Clint calls, then immediately regrets it as he feels his brain beat itself up.

Cap starts slowing down as he reaches Tony, but he still hurries to Clint's other side.

Clint feels Cap tuck an arm under his bad shoulder, and he bites back a string of curses. He tastes copper, but he tries to ignore it. “Home now?” he asks.

In front of him, Tony nods. “Yes,” he signs. “We’re going home. Bruce is gonna start patching you up on the quinjet, but you’re going straight to medical once we land.”

Normally, Clint would argue, but his shoulder and his everything are screaming a bit too much for him to complain. So he just nods, slumping his head forward.

Together, Bucky and Steve take a step forward, and Clint’s feet more or less drag across the grass. He can’t feel much besides the pain, but he can tell that the super-soldiers are talking to each other.

“Man,” Clint says, and he has no idea how the words are coming out. “If all I needed to… get in on a super-soldier sandwich was... get shot a bunch, I woulda done it ages ago.” He feels a metal flick against his side, which, rude.

He thinks he might’ve dissociated for a little, as the next thing he knows, they’re edging up the ramp to the quinjet.

“Oh, we’re here,” he mutters, and he sees Bruce rushing down towards them. He might be imagining it, he’s not exactly fully lucid, but he thinks he sees a tinge of green in the scientist’s face.

He watches, as they slowly make it up, Bruce say some things to one of the super-soldiers. He feels one of them respond, but he doesn’t bother trying to see whatever they’re saying. Once they’re actually onboard, he starts being led towards a cot.

Once he’s settled, Bucky and Steve finally pull away.

Bruce begins prodding at his leg, so Clint quickly looks away. He sees a glimpse of Tony back at the controls, but more importantly, he sees Natasha moving towards him.

He rolls his eyes towards Bucky. “She’s gon’ kill me,” he says. “She’s gonna… like, murder me.”

Bucky cracks a grin, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. Kick your ass? Maybe.”

Clint glares at him, and he lifts a tired arm enough to hit his chin with a sharp B. Bucky just gives him a cheeky smile before he’s suddenly shoved aside.

“Dumbass!” Natasha signs, giving him his least favorite Murder Glare.

“I didn’t choose this. You should be feeling sorry for me. Get me- oh, God, fuck, fuck, fuck- Banner, what the fucking fuck are you doing?” he grits out, glaring at the scientist.

Bruce simply smiles apologetically, holding up a bullet with a pair of tweezers. “Sorry,” he signs, but it’s kinda gross because he has some blood on his gloves. “If I could do this painlessly, I would.”

“Yeah, fuck off,” Clint grumbles, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling. As he does, he feels the quinjet become to take off, more in his stomach than anything else.

“Ugh,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing at the edge of the cot. “Stark, I’mma fuckin’ kick your ass.”

Obviously, he doesn’t hear a response, but he doesn’t care. He’s a little busy trying not to barf again. “I hate… so much,” he grumbles.

This time, it’s a sympathetic pat on his good shoulder, and he can feel that it’s metal. For some reason, it helps.

Finally, he feels the quinjet stabilize, and he lets out a slow sigh. “C’n I sleep now?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

Bruce moves away from his leg, grabbing one of his tiny flashlights from the extensive first aid kit. He flicks it on and points it in Clint’s eyes.

The archer flinches, but he tries not to blink too much, looking a little to the left of the light itself. Then, the light’s gone, and Bruce pats hits shoulder. “You should be fine. The ride back isn’t too long anyway, so we’ll be waking you up soon enough,” he signs.

“Ugh,” Clint says, but he shuts his eyes again. He feels Bruce begin to dig again for the other bullet, and it sucks , but soon enough, he feels himself start to drift.

Clint wakes up to the very familiar smell of dog breath.

He blinks his eyes open, grinning as he sees Lucky’s panting face inches from his. “Hey, buddy,” he says, grinning widely, and he reaches a hand up to pet him. However, he immediately feels that his shoulder is very restricted, and he puts together where he is.

“Huh,” he says, tilting his head at Lucky. “You’re not supposed to be in medical.”

He feels a nudge in his side, and he looks up to see Bucky grinning at him. He extends a hand, and Clint’s eyes widen when he spots the purple hearing aids lying on his palm. He reaches over Lucky and grabs them, immediately placing them in his ears, carefully clicking them on.

He quickly starts to hear the monotone beeping next to him, along with Lucky’s panting breaths. His smile widens as he lifts his good arm to scratch at his dog’s ears, and Lucky grins and starts trying to get closer, lapping at his face.

He hears a chuckle, so Clint glances up to look at Bucky. The man has a soft look on his face, one he doesn’t see very often.

“Where’d you find them?” the archer asks, pointing at his ear.

“Kate came in after Natasha called her. She said she found them wedged between your nightstand and the wall,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” Clint whines, sinking back into his pillow. Lucky, of course, follows, so Clint can’t frown for long. “How did you guys get him in here?” he asks. “Because I’m sure he’s not actually allowed.”

Bucky shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The docs might generally be used to our shit, but when the Black Widow gives puppy dog eyes, it’s kind of terrifying in a very strange way.”

Clint squints, trying to think of what that would look like, but he reckons that he’s probably better off without figuring it out. Instead, he decides to assess the damage that’s been strewn across his body.

His legs are both bandaged up, he can see that much past the hospital gown. When he cranes his neck, he can see that his shoulder is also wrapped, his forearm lying beside him. He also sees an IV next to him, filled what he assumes is antibiotics or maybe painkillers. Actually, given the distinct lack of pain he’s feeling, he’s very willing to bet it’s painkillers.

He grins up at Bucky. “I’m on the good stuff, aren’t I?” he says. “The good good stuff?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh, before nodding. “Yeah, you are. You’re also stuck here for another two days.”

The grin immediately falls off Clint’s face. “No,” he whines. “I hate it here.”

“You got your dog, what else do you need?” Bucky teases, giving Lucky a quick pat on his belly, which apparently rocks his world because the dog immediately perks up, lifting his legs away from his stomach for more. Bucky, obviously, obliges.

“You’re a traitor, Luck. A traitor,” Clint grumbles, but he gives him scritches anyway. He looks up at Bucky then, and he gives him a glare. “And for your information, coffee. And pizza,” he says.

“No coffee,” says the super-soldier, “But I’ll see what I can do about the pizza.”

“Good,” Clint mutters. “When’s debrief?”

Bucky waves him off. “Already done.” Clint clearly makes a face, because he continues, “You and I were together the whole time, and I was awake longer anyway. You can give Steve more details later, but you don’t got to sit in a conference room for an hour this time around.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Clint says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “You’re welcome. As a return favor…”

Clint pouts, turning his head to glare, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What?”

Bucky grins innocently. “I get to walk your dog at least once. I’ve been staring at his adorable face for an hour.”

Clint’s face breaks into a smile, and he laughs, nodding. “Yeah, I can do that. Just make sure he pisses on Stark again,” he says, and he closes his eyes to the sound of delighted, and decidedly pretty, laughter.

#hawkeye #clint barton #winter soldier #bucky barnes #winterhawk #deaf clint barton #i did a thing! i hope you like it!!#i love lucky and i will sneak into clints apartment and move there #(i was gonna say i would steal lucky but lets be real clint needs him)#my writing #clint #bucky #lucky #steve #tony #nat #bruce #sam #kate

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