#kegodecember

[bananaink]

KeGo December Day 11 - Loud

Izuku was running as fast as he could, ducking and zick-zacking his way through the flood of students. Heart hammering in his chest and turning around a corner, he barely evaded Aizawas scarf zipping by his waist. Panting, he glanced over his shoulder, finding Aizawa a good distance away but quickly catching up. The adults’ hair was down and his eyes not flashing red so Izuku used that to his advantage, slapping the next student he saw with his palm.

A surprised yelp, then he felt the ground just behind his feet shake and lift up. He didn’t care what the other students quirk did, he just jumped to the side, sidestepping a floating tile and then running around another corner in a very tight curve. He smacked against the wall there but after running for a few more seconds he didn’t feel the angry glare digging into his neck, so he quickly and carefully crouched low behind a door and glanced back.

No Aizawa. Just confused students rubbing their heads.

Suspiciously squinting, Izuku scanned the hall, but no enraged black jumpsuit bulldozed his way through the many different students, so Izuku tentatively decided that he had left the underground hero behind for now. Somewhere at least. But he couldn’t be sure and as experience had taught him – standing still was a death sentence. He looked up and was met with the big dining hall and a good number of stares send his way. The older students were used to him running around the school and only gave him a small wary glance, but the new ones, the fresh ones, here for a few days, openly stared at his disheveled look. Hair askew, wet with red paint on one side, yellow on the other, shirt muddy and pants covered in even more paint. Who would have thought painting an All Might mural would have to use up so much paint? Now – where should he hide?

“There you are.”

Izuku squeaked and rolled to the side, scrambling up to sprint as Aizawas scarf got hold of his foot.

“Shit!”, Izuku gasped and face-planted on the ground. He turned around, kicking his legs out and trying to entangle the scarf, but Aizawa managed to get his other foot and reeled him in like a very big, wriggly fish. Izuku had barely a second to estimate the true scale of the trouble he had put himself into before he found himself staring up at his guardian, lying flat on his back. A red splash of paint dripped down Aizawas face and hit Izuku on the cheek. Nervously grinning, Izuku put both hands together, palm against palm and took a breath.

“Heeey, what’s up? Didn’t see you there! Like what you’ve done with your costume!”, he babbled high-pitched and subtilty tried to kick his legs free but his guardians eyes had a dangerously red glint to them. So Izuku gave him two little jittery finger guns, trying to sound casual.

“Suits you.”

Aizawa just glared some more, blue splatters thankfully taking a little bit away from the burning picture of anger in his face and Izuku felt sweat running down his neck.

“Um, so, okay, let me just say that I didn’t mean for the paint to explode like it did and that I have an excellent explanation for the question I can feel coming. The answer might surprise you.”

But Aizawa didn’t want to hear it. Instead he blew a breath out of his nose like a bull in front of the color red. Izuku gulped.

“Aizawa, uhm, you look kinda, you know, murderous and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to look at your helpless, innocent and hardworking foster child like-”

Suddenly the loudest, piercing alarm screamed through the cafeteria and Izuku clasped both hands over his ears. For a very confused second, he thought that Aizawa was responsible for the sound – patience finally snapping -, but then he saw Aizawa straightening up. Despite the colorful splatters of paint over his jumpsuit Izuku immediately recognized the underground hero coming forth and his nerves thrummed with the sudden change.

Izuku kicked his feet in earnest and tried to stand up – get up get up get up, away from the ground – when AIzawa gripped his scruff and pulled him to his feet. The scarf entangled itself and wrapped back around Aizawas throat, while Izuku took a step closer to the hero. He didn’t let go of his scruff.

“Security Level 3 has been broken. All students - please evacuate in an orderly fashion.”, echoed a prerecorded message through the speakers and Izuku instinctively looked at Aizawas face, searching for a sign if he needed to freak out as much as he was.

“What is that?”

“The alarm?”

“What happened?”

Suddenly there was so much movement around them, everyone jumping up and racing to the exits, stumbling over themselves in a hurry. Izuku startled at the students running so close by and even got an elbow to the shoulder before he pressed his back at Aizawa, still holding his hands over his ears.

The pro hero let him, loudly speaking over the alarm to the students closest to them.

“Someone infiltrated the building.”, he said and frowned over the panicked students, obviously displeased with the rapidly growing mass of people blocking the exits. He pulled himself up to his impressive height.

“Calm down.”, he commanded loudly to the students turning to him for guidance and grabbed a girl that had been pushed from behind. Steadying her, he frowned after the kids pushing their ways to the doors.

“I’ll find out what's going on. In the meantime, stay calm and evacuate.”

Aizawas scarf shot out and caught a boy who had fallen to his knees.

“And help your classmates.”

With that he started pointing and ordering and generally dictating the kids around him to stay calm, move, stop pushing – but Izuku was too busy fighting off his fight or flight response jerking in his limbs, the only thing keeping him grounded was the strict hand holding his scruff. The alarm, combined with the bodies drowning him in sound and touch and movement threatened to sweep him away, out of the now and into the then. The room full of bodies, stuffed together like sardines, moaning, screeching, crying and pleading, Izuku right in the middle because he had been bad, had opened his big mouth and said something his father didn’t like.

He felt himself slipping, hands twitching over his ears, losing his grip on his birth quirk in a mass of agitated quirked people - and when another elbow dug into his sternum, he pushed it away a little bit too roughly. A shout and he dumbly watched a boy almost twice his height shrinking down to the size of his boot. Immediately Aizawas hand left his scruff, but before Izuku could truly panic - don’t leave me here don’t leave me here don’t leave please – two strong hands grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him from the floor. Rigid and tense he suddenly sat on top of Aizawas shoulders and out of the living mass around them.

His guardian hadn’t stopped shouting and directing but now he had two hands to do so, without the threat of an unstable liability setting of people's quirks at random. Izuku felt his breaths coming in short rattling gasps, but his ears had stopped ringing for now – or he had stopped hearing in general because the high pitched whistled couldn’t be healthy. Healing already buzzed through his whole body and he crossed his ankles over Aizawas chest to better hold on to the moving pro hero. He buried his hands in Aizawas hair, without tugging too hard at him, and felt for his quirk, the familiar glow of sight, the piercing prickle in his fingertips, as if holding a weightless little hedgehog with too long spikes.

Aizawa startled as his hair lifted itself up but kept working despite his active quirk. Izuku knew he should let go, shouldn’t use his quirk on his guardian, busy with directing the evacuation - but he couldn’t stop his birth quirk from reacting to the stress, from reaching out out out and holding onto something he knew was good and comforting and safe. He caressed Aizawas quirk awake despite the pins and needles it send out, curled in on himself as much as he could and waited the panic out.

It really didn’t take too long, someone somewhere screaming about journalists and false alarms and that everything would be fine. Aizawa patted his right leg as the general panic simmered down to a nervous chatter around them, so Izuku reluctantly let go of Aizawas quirk to stuff his hands in the scarf instead, rubbing the material between his fingertips - away from the quirk and away from reaching out again. He found the color blue staining his hands and stared at it. Everything was fine. They were fine. Aizawa was already moving on and talking to one of Ectoplasms clones to find out what had happened. There was no reason for his ears to still ring, for his heart to hammer its way out of his chest. No reason for him to stay up on Aizawas shoulders, curled around him and eyes blinking away the resurfacing memories. But Aizawa didn’t set him down and Izuku didn't feel like getting down on his own. So, he focused on breathing and staying as still as possible.

Everything was fine.

If he had taken a quick look outside, as Aizawa was beelining for the principal's office, he would have seen the crumbled entrance, reduced to a mere pile of dust

_________

So, now that I have taken care of most of my earthly duties as a human, I want to write today to at least get another prompt in.

I’m so far back, guys, send help ᕕ(◉Д◉)ᕗ

But before, check out @banashee - her day 15 is so cute, I loved it! Short and sweet and everything good!

Also, as usual, this chapter is crossposted on AO3 :D I will now fade back into my cave, thank you for your patience.

[banashee]

24 - Overprotective

It's early in the morning, and the upstate facility lies there in silence. Clint is awake, however, curled against Thor, who is fast asleep but holding on just a little too tight. Clint let's him – he knows that he is terrified of losing another loved one, so he holds on as if he was about to disappear, too.

Gently, Clint brushes his fingers through the long, matted strands of hair, detangling whatever knots he can without waking Thor up. Both of them have trouble sleeping, and he's glad he finds at least a little bit of rest. Thinking back to how it all started, to how they started, feels like a completely different life.

*+~

They fell in love with each other nearly 10 years ago. It's a long time for a human person, but barely more than the blink of an eye for a demigod.

Time is a construct, but that still doesn't make it stop. The two of them have talked about this before.

The first time has been after a battle, and Thor... The best way to describe it would be simply him being overprotective because that's what it comes down to, even though it's a bit more complicated than that.

He had cut off a threat while they fought in a battle, something that Clint would have been easily capable of handling himself. Clint is annoyed, but writes it off as a one-time thing. Except it keeps happening. By the end of the day, he's no longer annoyed but truly pissed off.

When they're back in the tower and in private, he confronts Thor about he and may or may not explode a little bit.

Thor lets him rant, until Clint stops on his own, blurting out,

“What is even going on, why the fuck are you doing this? You've never doubted me before!”

He is confused, angry and hurt. He's not sure how or why this happened. But Thor looks more and more upset, and what even is happening?

Then Thor motions for him to sit down with him, and he explains.

Human lifespans are painfully short compared to his and he knows he will long outlive Clint, has known this from the start, even before there was anything romantic between them. But it scares him, and he does not wish for this time to come sooner than it needs to.

“I apologize for making you think I'd doubt you. This was never my intention, it's just that I care very deeply for you and do not wish any harm upon you, my love. You are a capable warrior and very much able to fight for yourself – I've always known this, and that has not changed. But my fear of losing you has clouded my judgment today, and for this I am sorry.”

It takes all the rest of his anger out of Clint, and it leaves him speechless for a moment. This wasn't what he'd expected. Slowly, he reaches out for the other man, and they slide into an embrace, holding on tight.

“I'm sorry I didn't realize this.” Clint admits, and presses a soft kiss onto his lips before pulling him close again.

*+~

Over the years, the topic comes up every now and again. After close calls on the battlefield, or in the dead of night when thoughts run wild and keep them awake.

After Ultron, they get separated. A lot if things happen, and then half of every living beings get snapped out of existence.

Even after years with very limited contact, their feelings for each other are the same. After grueling uncertainty if the other was even still alive, they meet again to prepare for a fight like never before.

That first night in private quarters after such a long time, they hold each other close and it is a tearful night. They have changed, life has been cruel to both of them, but the love is still there, and so is the support. They have lost most others.

Asgard is destroyed, and it's only survivors have relocated to earth, trying to build a new life here. Thor struggles with this, having lost family, friends and his home. The failure against Thanos the first time stings deep, keeps him awake at night if he doesn't drink himself stupid before the thoughts get too much.

Barney, Laura and their kids have all disintegrated to ashes, and it leaves Clint to five long years of pain and loneliness. While he is on the run all over the world, slaughtering mafia bosses and drug cartel leaders, Thor hides in Norway and attempts to drink his sorrows away.

Then their ways cross again, and although they are changed people, both in a physical and emotional sense, the love is still there.

It doesn't matter that they feel more broken than whole these days, it doesn't matter that Clint aged beyond his years, or that Thor has grown softer, his body no longer in peak condition. They love each other in any way, shape or form, and that knowledge helps them mastering the worse days. Because lately, every day is a bad day.

Sometimes, one of them is too exhausted from sadness to even get out of bed for days. If there is any strength left, the other helps them shower, eat and take care of themselves.

Other days, neither of them has the energy to do so, and then it's all they can do to hold onto each other, for as long as they have.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Show her some love because she’s great

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954154

Happy Holidays everyone! ♥

[bananaink]

KeGo December Day 12 - Hallucination

The shadow was back.

Izuku pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders but made sure his hands and arms were free as he sat with his back to the wall on his bed, knees pulled up and ankles crossed. He didn’t dare look away from the dark shadow sitting on the other side of the room. It was huge, not moving, just sitting there. Being still. And judging. Pleading.

Izuku could feel it staring. With big soulless eyes, hidden in the pitch-black nothingness.

Logically he knew that he was being dumb. There was nothing there. Just a particularly dark corner of his room. Just two hours ago, with light streaming through his window and Aizawa placing a new table beside it, the shadow had merely been another corner of the room. Two walls meeting each other. Izuku had left some scrapes in the wallpaper on the left wall when he had adjusted the placement of the table to his liking. He had panicked and quickly hidden it with his barely living plant he was supposed to not kill and then nervously avoided the table all together. Not even looking at it in hopes Aizawa wouldn’t find out that he had further damaged his home. 

Instead he had rearranged everything in the fridge and then swapped the coffee for cocoa-powder. 

Everything had been fine. Just a dumb table in a dumb corner. And now it was dark, lights out because he was supposed to go to sleep, get ready for tomorrow. Suddenly nothing was fine anymore. 

The shadow looming beside his table, squeezed into the tight spot watched him and Izuku knew he mustn’t let it out of his sight. Right now, it was only looking but how long would it take to change? To separate from being a harmless absence of light to a very real force tearing into him? How long before hands were grasping for him, quirks reaching out to him, shoving themselves under his palms in hopes to feel alive and well and whole again? So many quirks, there was no room. All shoved into that one shadow staring at him and soundlessly crying for help, to leave, there is no room, please, we want to be whole again, we don’t like it here, help us out, get us out. 

But he couldn’t do that. 

And the shadow knew that. 

 Izuku sat as equally still, staring the darkness down and breathing through the many things his eyes were seeing that probably weren’t there at all. Aizawa would notice it, right? He would come in here if what Izuku saw was real, right? 

But he couldn’t know for sure without setting the shadow off. 

And so he sat there, waiting for the light to come back and scare the shadow away for him.

_____________

Okay, this time it’s pretty short, sorry, but it felt kinda right like this :’D And I managed to write something for Day 13 but I won’t be able to finish it today, sorry again :’D

Check out @banashee! And the prompts over here!

Also, posted on AO3 :D

[bananaink]

Alrighty! :D

So, @banashee and I made our prompt list while cackling like mad scientists, a little bit too drunk on sudden ambition. :D

I pretty much gave up on NaNo for now and instead I wanna focus on this because the only rule is one story per prompt. No matter how many words or what or how good or whatever - just write something and keep going till you’re done :D

We’ll be posting our stuff hopefully daily from December 1st to December 24th on tumblr and AO3 :D

If you’re interested, @banashee writes awesome stuff for marvel (while I’ll keep it coming for my Imprint AU :D)

And if people wanna join, feel free to do so! :D Just have fun doing it!

Have a nice day!

(and check @banashee out :D)

________

UPDATE 04.12.19

You can find the KeGo December Series over here :D

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558936

[banashee]

14 – “Did you ever truly love me?”

The first time James Rhodes meets Tony Stark, it's when they move into their college dorm and learn that they are roommates. His first thought is,

“Jesus, he's way too young to be in college already” and thus his “must protect”-switch is activated and glued into place.

The first time Mama Rhodes meets Tony, it takes her all of two seconds to decide, “This strange boy is my son now.”

Over the years and the close friendship that forms between the two boys, she meets Tony's parents twice. While she would love to have a (very strongly worded) conversation with Howard, it's only her manners and hospitality that hold her back from ripping the man a new one. Marina, however, is lovely and she likes her immediately.

Ana and Edwin Jarvis, she has opportunity to see more often than that. These two are amongst the nicest people she's ever met, and she loves them right away, if only for the way the sight of them makes Tony light up like a christmas tree when they arrive for a early holiday dinner at their house before Tony travels back with them. He always greets these two with a big bear hug, as far as she can see, no matter if it's as a “too cool for anything” teenager, or a young adult, it doesn't make a difference.

She is happy to know that her James is by his side when they're back at college. These two stick together like glue, and it eases her mind to know that both of them have a bit of family near.

*~+

“Coffee?” Tony asks, sitting on the floor, surrounded by books, notes and crumpled up paper. He looks like he's been awake for days.

“Yeah, no. How much caffeine did you have and when was the last time you slept?”

“Not nearly enough.” is the only answer, and Rhodey figures that answers both questions well enough, and says as much.

“You have a cup right there.” Tony replies, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, that's my morning coffee. And you've been awake for fuck knows how long. I'm cutting you off, Short Stuff.”

“Uh-huh. Try it.” says the 5'6 guy, 120lb's soaking wet with the giant purple eye-bags and the Metallica shirt over his science themed pajama pants.

Rhodey does try it. Successfully.

“Nooo! Coffee... My precious...” Tony wails dramatically, and then, “Did you ever truly love me?!”, with a hand clutching his chest.

Rhodey rolls his eyes, but he still snorts with laughter. This is his life now.

“Yes, even when you're obnoxious at 6 in the morning.”

That makes Tony laugh, too, even when he hangs head down over his best friends shoulder.

“Love you too, Honey Bear.”

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792250

[banashee]

22 – “On a scale from 1 to 'fuck everything' how screwed are we?”

“Get out of there, now!”

They're already running when Coulson barks this over the comms, because fuck whoever is responsible for the intel they've received for this mission. The walls are crumbling and parts of the ceiling crash down behind them.

“Fuck! Run!” It's a pretty useless statement, seeing this is what they're already doing, but it feels right to say it, if only so they can hear that they're still alive. The exit is in plain sight, but of course the building comes crashing down around them before they have a chance to reach the door.

There is a lot of yelling and cursing, then dark nothingness.

When Clint wakes up, his entire body is screaming in pain. Confused, he blinks and finds himself in a pile of dust and rubble. He can taste blood. When he looks around him, as far as he can from his current position, he can see Natasha a few feet away – not far away, but too far to touch. She is wide eyed and awake, her legs stuck under a piece of building. Instincts scream at him to get up and get over, but he can't – big, broken pieces of concrete with metal stuck in them are pinning him down, holding themselves up on other pieces of rubble, which miraculously lead them to not crush him in an instant. Moving still looks very much impossible and like a bad idea to try. Some of those pieces stab him in the back, shoulders and tights but at least he is alive to feel that.

Clint blinks again, roughly calls out,

“Nat, are you okay?” which is a stupid question given their situation but still.

She looks over to him, clearly shaken.

“I thought you were dead for a moment.”

“No, still here to get on your nerves I'm afraid.” he tries for a joke but it falls flat. Then he asks, “Legs?”

“Stuck. At least I can feel them, so that's something. How about you?”

“Peachy with a side of stabby.” He's feeling out of breath. Natasha looks at him darkly.

“I'm being serious.”

“So am I. There is metal stuck in my body where no metal should be.”

She curses.

“Comms?”

“Dead.” He doesn't dare shake his head, afraid to move and make this any worse.

God, dying in a collapsed building, just a few feet away from the front door seems so... Stupid.

He never had the nerve to go and finally ask Phil out on a date. He feels kinda stupid and regretful for that, too. And he can't even get any closer to Nat. What bullshit. He's tired.

“Stay awake, Clint.” Natasha orders out of breath, sounding just as exhausted as Clint feels right now.

“On a scale from 1 to 'fuck everything', how screwed are we?” He forces out, noticing that his speech starts to sound a bit like he's drunk.

“Pretty close to 'fucked'?” Nat replies, and time gets a bit funny after that.

One moment, he blinks against the dust, trying his best to not pass out but he's not sure if that is successful. Next thing he knows, a tremendous amount of pain shoots through his entire body and he may or may not be yelling bloody murder, and then everything goes black.

He wakes up in a bright, white room with a hard bed underneath him. But he's clearly alive, at least that's what he figures, what with the needles and tubes stuck into him and the thing that beeps near his head. Clint feels fuzzy – chances are they put him on the good drugs.

He dozes off and wakes again to a familiar voice talking to him.

“Phil?” he rasps.

“Yeah, it's me. Please try not to talk too much right now. You'll be okay, we got you in time. Both of you will be okay.”

“Natasha?” He asks, voice like sandpaper and panic rising in his chest. The machine beeps faster, and Phil reaches out to place a gentle hand on his arm.

“Just a few rooms over. She woke up and needs time to recover now. And so do you. Neither of you is allowed to get out of bed yet!” he adds quickly, gently holding Clint back from his sluggish attempt to get up.

“She will be fine. Both of you will be fine. I can try and set up a video call for both of you, okay? Natasha has been asking after you, too.” Phil offers, and that seems to reassure Clint for now.

Later, he and Nat communicate mostly through finger spelling and grimaces over a video call. There isn't much they can do, and talking too much hurts. But they're both alive, even when they have a long way back to health in front of them.

As soon as he can manage it, Clint slips out of bed and heaves himself over to Natasha's room, holding onto the IV pole that he's dragging with him.

When a nurse comes looking into the room the next morning, she finds the two assassins cuddled up in the too small bed, fast asleep and holding onto each other. She smiles, and leaves them to it.

This is exactly how Phil later finds them, too. He simply sits down on a chair in the corner and starts on his paperwork.

He might as well work here and keep an eye on his two favorite people.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Show her some love because she’s great

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21900658

[banashee]

KeGo Day 5 – “Look how disgustingly cute they are. Ugh.”

“Look how disgustingly cute they are. Ugh.”

“I'm getting cavities just looking at them.”

“Couples...” Tony scoffs while he watches Bruce and Thor shoot heart eyes at each other – nevermind the fact that one of his hands currently makes itself at home in one of Clint's back pockets.

“To be fair, it was about time.” Clint muses, and empties the coffee pot while his right hand circles the other mans waist. The silver ring on his left hand glimmers in the kitchen light while he can feel it's matching partner through the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah, it was.”

As if on cue, Thor drops a spoonful of pancake batter all over his shirt because he's busy watching Bruce drinking coffee. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because he keeps grinning like an idiot and it really is adorable to watch the whole thing. The half prepared breakfast is almost forgotten.

“Move. You're blocking the stove.” is Natasha's morning greeting as she shoves herself inbetween Clint and Tony who have their backs turned to it and watch their friends instead of cooking.

“There is no breakfast. Which I was promised roughly 30 minutes ago.” She frowns at her best friend, who simply shrugs.

“I have cookies if you want to –  Jesus Fucking Christ don't eat my entire hand, woman!” he exclaims suddenly, snatching his fingers back to safety while Natasha is chewing with a satisfied smirk on her lips. Even after all those years he's not 100% sure if she does that on purpose (although he is like 80% sure that she does).

Bruce and Thor either ignore or don't realize the talk taking place in the room – truth be told, it's probably option one. They've been close for a long time, but it was only recently their relationship had grown romantic. Happiness looks good on them, eyes sparkling and a small smile hovering around for most of the time.

That, and they have years of practice in ignoring their teammates early morning bullshit.

“You know.” Natasha muses while she steals another cookie and elbows Clint in the hips, “They got their shit together much faster than the two of you did.”

“Excuse you, we already put a ring on it.”

“Yeah, and the years before that were painful to watch for everyone else. These two” she nods towards Bruce, who leans onto Thor and is humming under his breath while reading on a tablet, “Were and still are adorable the whole time.”

“Yeah, we love you, too, Nat.”

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679507

Bonus: my incredibly rushed and shitty attempt in capturing Nat vs Clint's hand food

[banashee]

19 - Caress

Lucky sprawls heavily over his favorite humans lap, belly up and tongue lolling. He loves getting petted. Whenever, all the time. He loves it.

The dogs head is resting on the side of Clint's shirt, pressing close and moving a bit, as if Lucky is trying to pet his human back. Which – is totally something he would do, because Lucky is just that amazing.

Clint runs his hands through the thick fur for hours on end, either while doing paperwork, reading, watching a movie or talking to someone. He keeps caressing Lucky when he's up on the roof to watch the stars, or when he's in his apartment to face another sleepless night.

Lucky stays especially close when he's sad or anxious, attaching himself to Clint like he's glued into place. He helps a lot, just with being there. Another living, breathing creature with a heartbeat to listen to and a warm body to chase away the chill.

Sometimes, Clint will discreetly nudge Lucky near a teammate, when he can tell they're not okay. Often, they'll keep to themselves, not yet ready to talk. He gets that, it's pretty much the same for him. So he doesn't ask. Some days, he doesn't even have the energy to spare for it. So he just nudges his dog in their direction, and Lucky will let them pet him for however long they need it.

Having an animals close helps all of them.

Lucky might not be registered as an emotional support animal, but he does a marvelous job of being just that – for Clint, for other Avengers.

The team falls in love with the mutt on first sight.

It's after one of those “not world endingly awful but still fucked”-days that the team just piles up in the common room, one after another. They didn't have a mission, but the day has been filled with meetings, trouble shooting, bad nights and about a million little things that just add up. They're left in several levels of done.

They end up in a tangle of limbs, heads pillowed on various teammates body parts and a cuddly, sleepy dog wandering about, as if he's trying to get close to every single one of them – it's heartwarming and adorable.

By the end of the day, all of them are fast asleep, save for Tony, who is cuddled up half on Clint and half under Thor, and his legs are numb by now but he refuses to move. Lucky has his head pillowed on Tonys shoulder, and the inventor happily scratches the dog behind his ear just the way he likes. Lucky is dozing, leaning into the touch and drooling onto the designer suit. Tony really doesn't give a shit.

A suit can be replaced, moments of peace like this not so much.

He finally drifts off to sleep, with a slight smile on his lips.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Show her some love because she’s great

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

[banashee]

Keep going December (KeGo)

Hello lovely writers of the interwebs!

My friend @bananaink and I put together our collective two braincells and we came up with a small, relaxed writing challenge.

The NaNoWriMo left us both a bit like

So we decided to keep going but to keep it easy. So here we have 24 prompts, and basically all there is to the rules is one story per prompt. That's it.

No specific word count, no nothing. Just write however much you can or want to. Want to whip out a 10k per prompt, or keep it short and dirty or anything in between, just go for it. It's about keeping up a writing habit but not stressing about it.

So feel free to use the prompts and just keep going.

We will be posting our stories daily from December 1st to December 24th to AO3 and probably tumblr, too (although I can't speak for @bananaink on that ;) )

She will be writing for her bnha AU and I'll write Marvel.

Have fun everyone! 💜

( @xthebasilwitch @spectralarchers @lilolilyr the prompts are ready if you're interested)

[banashee]

23 - Support

When the whole mess is finally over, Tony hides out in his workshop with a bottle of something strong and obscenely expensive. He doesn't even attempt and try and work on anything, except drinking more. He's well practiced with that.

The images burned into his mind don't seem to disappear until most of the amber liquid has vanished, and by then it's hard to even hold onto the bottle. It slides out of his grip and shatters on the floor.

He doesn't make a move, doesn't flinch. The room spins, and when he is about to pass out, someone slaps his cheek. Not hard enough to actually hurt, but clearly trying to keep him awake.

“Tony, look at me. Don't fall asleep, look at me. Tony!”

He blinks sluggishly and manages to look up into Rhodey's dark, worried eyes.

“Hey?” he slurs, and Rhodey holds him upright, keeps talking to him – probably, because Tony is passing out at this point.

When he wakes up, there is a steady beep somewhere next to his head. It's kinda annoying. He groans and tries to tune it out.

Later, when his brain isn't as foggy, he realizes he's in a hospital bed, and hooked up on a lot of stuff. Next to his bed and in an uncomfortable plastic chair, Rhodey is half dozing, looking rumpled and clearly concerned about him. A pang of guilt stirs in his stomach.

He manages to give himself alcohol poisoning, which is kinda impressive for someone like him with alcoholic tendencies and a pretty high tolerance as it is.

Pepper comes by later, and she looks like she's been crying, but also angry and Tony knows he must have scared both of them badly.

He fucked up. He fucked up big time.

*+~

Rhodey is hovering. Which is a sure sign of him being worried and Tony still feels bad about the whole thing. He tries to put up his facade with the blinding smile and inappropriate jokes, but Rhodey knows him far too well to fall for it.

He interrupts Tony rambling about nothing, with a calm and even “So, are we going to talk about the fact that you're clearly not OK and need help? Because drinking yourself into an early grave clearly doesn't work.”

It takes the air out of his lungs and Tony physically deflates, too, sitting down heavily. Anybody else would have overstepped a line with this, but Rhodey is allowed to voice these things. It's what he does, calling Tony out on his bullshit and kicking his ass when he needs it, but it also comes with the knowledge that Rhodey will always be there for him and support him unconditionally. He knows it's always coming from a place of love.

“I just- I can't stop thinking.” Tony finally blurts out while the image of Obadiah Stane ripping the ARC reactor out of his chest and gloating over him creeps back into his mind and leaves him ice cold. He notices his hands shaking, and then Rhodey grabs them in his own warm, dry hands and just holds on. He's so warm, like a furnace compared to him.

Tony leans forward until his forehead rests against his best friends shoulder. Rhodey hugs him quietly, and they just stay like that for a while.

After a while, he asks, “If I give you the number of a good shrink, will you call them? It might help.”

He sighs, but finally nods in defeat. It seems to be good enough tho, because Rhodey just nods back, says “Okay.” and stays close until Tony pulls away himself.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Show her some love because she’s great

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

[banashee]

16 – Freezing

A massive cold front has made itself home in New York for the better part of the week, and the chill that comes with it has settled deep down in peoples bones. Most places are closed, because no one wants to go out. Instead, anyone who can stays home, and they wrap themselves in blankets and drink anything warm they can get their hands on.

The residents of the Avengers Tower are no exception – even supervillians stay home, so they take the chance to do the same. Well, that, and the fact that... Most of them don't deal well with the cold, especially when they don't have to focus on a fight.

When Bucky opens the door to their bedroom, a wave of hot air puffs out and he quickly snuffles in, deposits the big thermos he's just refilled with tea on the nightstand and wraps himself back around Steve. Steve who runs hot most days but can't stop shaking when the temperatures drop. It reminds him too much of being frozen, of landing a plane in the arctic ocean.

Bucky knows this – and the others know, too. He himself is not a fan of the cold either, having spent too much time of his life either frozen in cryo or in the snowy abysses of Russia and other places he remembers in bits and pieces.

Even before that, they had many winters where there just wasn't enough money to pay the heating bill. Those days, they spend many nights holding onto each other in an desperate attempt to find a bit of warmth. It's been those days where Bucky was the most afraid of waking up one day and to find that Steve, small and sickly, didn't make the night.

This, amongst other things, is why he's glad that in the end, he did enter Project Rebirth – neither of them would be here now if that had been different.

The cold now is bearable, because they have each other, and a warm home. It's a luxury even now, after years of having it.

*+~

In another room, two levels up from Bucky and Steve, the kitchen smells heavenly of hot chocolate.

Clint “get the hell away from me with your fucking sleeves, they hinder my range of motion” Barton pads out of said kitchen, wearing three hoodies, fluffy socks and a long scarf wound around his neck while he carries two giant mugs of hot chocolate, rich, dark and creamy, with marshmallows on top. There is not one drop of caffeine in it – just pure, sweet comfort. He steers towards the couch, where Tony is wrapped in roughly a billion blankets. He looks up and happily reaches out to take one of the mugs from Clint, and he holds up a corner of the soft pile for him to crawl back under. Which he does, settling against Tony and they wrap their legs in a knot. He lets out a deep breath, and snuggles closer.

The cold hurts.

For Tony, it's mostly the fact that he carries a hunk of metal in his chest and it always cools down rapidly. It also takes up space that should be there for his lungs to expand, which makes breathing hard when he is sick, or anxious. The scars around it ache even after many years, like old injuries tend to do in bad weather.

Clint carries healed but hurting injuries as well. Some are very recent, some are over 30 years old. Those always act up when there is a storm, too.

But the chill and the snow also remind him of years on the run, when he was a kid or young teenager, curled up in the straw next to the elephants to seek out their warmth when there was no heating in the trailer. It reminds him of years on the run, where he had to make do with cheap, crappy motel rooms when he was lucky, and street corners when he wasn't. The cold reminds him of days on end spent in a snipers nest, both before and after he joined SHIELD. Most of all, the freezing temperatures remind him of being young, hurt, scared, tired and hungry.

Clint doesn't want to think too much about the fact that being in a place where he could afford to stay home on a cold day, or even having the luxury of a warm home, let alone any food or drinks his heart desires is so new. And so nice.

He's been used to being cold and alone, although it had bothered him, not that it mattered. But now, having a place and having people... No, fuck that. He's way too tired and relaxed to get emotional about this now. He won't.

Instead, he finishes his drink and snuggles up closer together with his boyfriend.

It might be cold as balls outside, but things are good.

*+~

In the common room, Natasha is currently reading a cheesy romance novel that no one dares to make fun of. Even if they did, she'd just blame it on Clint.

Natasha, despite being Russian and claims to be immune against the cold, is wearing a thick turtleneck sweater over soft fleece leggings. And fuzzy socks – purple. They clash with her hair, but she loves the dang things. Natasha leans against Thor, who is like a living space heater, unaffected by the cold himself. He still likes to cuddle up under warm blankets, so that's what they do. On the other side of the couch, Bruce has tangled his legs with her, and he's wrapped up in many layers, seeking out his friends body heat under the blankets. He's reading, too – fiction, for once, and nothing work related. Thor is currently crocheting something that looks like it'll be a very big and fluffy sock. It's made of colorful wool that seems to contain an entire rainbow. He's content, happy and humming low into the otherwise quiet room.

When evening hits, the three of them chop up veggies and meat, which they turn into a thick and hearty stew for everyone, and call for their resident hermits when it's done.

After dinner, they pile up on the giant couch together, limbs tangled and with another batch of Clint's hot chocolate warming their hands while the frozen outside world grows darker and darker.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822136

[banashee]

18 – “Stop lying to me!”

The thing is, sometimes his brain just betrays him.

It usually doesn't affect his work or anything, but when he's off the clock it throws him back on his ass, keeps him awake at night and has him doubting everything he thinks he knows.

He's used to that – it's been that way ever since he can remember and he's trying to deal with it. Sometimes, it almost works. But sometimes it creeps up on him, just when he thought he might be okay.

Clint is used to that, too.

Right now, it's four in the morning and he's spent the better part of the night sobbing on the bathroom floor. Sometimes that's just how it is, when his brain runs crazy and he's overthinking everything, terrified and desperate to catch his breath for just a second. It feels like drowning in a deep black abyss of ice cold water where he can't see.

But he's not alone.

Phil is sitting in front of him, both arms wrapped securely around his shaking and slightly larger frame, slowly stroking his hair with one hand and talking to him, slowly, calm and even. It's been hours, but he still keeps it up.

Reassurances, “I'm here for you” and “You're not alone”, but also little bits and pieces of random things. Movies. Books. Recipes, little fun facts. Memories. Good memories, of things that made them happy.

“I love you.” and “You're safe now.” is what he keeps repeating more than anything else.

It's the truth, and they've had this talk about their relationship and the whole love thing a while ago. The feeling is mutual, and they started saying this on a regular basis, whenever they can.

But today, while his brain fails him and makes up hurtful lies, even when evidence for the opposite is directly in front of him, Clint can't cope with that.

“Stop lying to me!” he angrily forces out in between ragged breaths, shaking harder and pulling on his own hair.

“It's the truth, sweetheart. I promise you, I'd never lie to you. Not about this, about us.”

Phil gently detangles his hands, in an attempt to stop him from hurting himself.

'Lies, lies, lies.' everything in Clint's head is screaming, but there is also a small, logical part of him, that's still calm, telling him 'This is Phil. He does love you, you know this. He loves you and you're safe.' but the rest of the unstable, messy part of his brain is shrieking much, much louder and almost drowns it out.

“Stop lying to me.”

The words are quiet and broken this time. He's completely falling apart, but Phil is still here, won't leave. And he doesn't stop with the support and the reassurance, waiting for the storm to pass.

Hours later, things have evened out a bit.

Phil has managed to get Clint out of the bathroom and into bed, where he falls asleep almost immediately, exhausted after this emotional night. He's holding onto Phil with an iron grip, even in his sleep, but he doesn't mind. He stays close, one arm wrapped around his partners waist and one hand stroking up and down his back in a slow, even movement.

This has been hardly the first time he's seen one of those breakdowns, but it's been one of the worse ones. He knows this isn't something he can just fix, knows there is professional help needed.

But he needs to ask if there is anything else he can do to help in those moments. For now, all he can do is be there and hold on.

Maybe one day Clint will believe that good things happen to him, too, even when his brain tried it's hardest to convince him otherwise.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Go show her some love because she’s great ♥

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829720

[banashee]

17 - Home alone

Clint is pacing back and forth in his apartment. He knows his steps must make at least a bit of noise, but he can't hear it.

When he wakes up that morning (early, way too early) he does so with a start and a strangled yelp on his lips which he is unable to hear then, too. His heart is beating too fast, and he's shaking, sweating. Slowly, he reaches out for his hearing aids on the bedside table, fumbles them in and switches them on. They pick up the low noises from the street, cars driving by, howling sirens. It helps him a little to come back to reality, to even out his breathing.

But then, glass is breaking and a man starts yelling down on the street, causing Clint to flinch violently and rip out his hearing aids again.

A low noise must be escaping his lips, and he's glad that no one is around to hear.

He almost flinches again when something is touching him, but it's soft and heavy on his back, and then a long wet tongue is affectionately slobbering all over his ear, and he can smell the dog treat breath near his nose. It's Lucky, and he relaxes a bit, stroking one of the paws that made its way around for him to reach.

Clint concentrates on the weight and the heartbeat on top of him, trying to calm down his breathing. The dog nudges him a little, as if to say, “I'm here, I'll help.”

When Clint manages to breathe better, he gently pushes Lucky off of him, but he keeps stroking his soft golden fur in the process, lets him lick his face and then Clint heads into the kitchen to give the dog his breakfast and to make some coffee for himself.

He doesn't remember the last time he's eaten something. When was the last neighbor BBQ again? Friday night, right? So that was roughly two days ago. He's not hungry.

Clint drinks another cup of black coffee, staring ahead on the wall by the breakfast bar. Now that he thinks about it, his last shower must have been a while ago, too. Too much work, too little energy.

He sighs and runs a hand through his shaggy blond hair – it feels greasy. He drinks another coffee and Lucky presses his head against his leg.

It takes him a while to get up and force himself into the bathroom.

Clint avoids the look into a mirror at all costs and slowly undresses himself. When he turns on the shower, he waits for it to get warm. His energy has left him by the time it does. He sits down on the edge of the bathtub for half an eternity, then shakes his head to get up and under the spray of water.

(Useless. Wasteful.)

Only, it's turned ice cold again by now. Clint curses all the way through washing up, getting it done as quickly as he possibly can, and by the time he's out and dressed again, his energy runs lower than before.

He ends up falling asleep sitting on the tile floor, head propped up against the bathtub behind him.

When he wakes again, he startles from a nightmare and he can already feel a wicked crick in the neck. Clint curses and pulls himself up from the floor. It hurts more than it should, but he steps out of the room.

All he wants is to curl up on the couch with Lucky and hope it'll get better on its own. But the dog isn't there. Instead, there is a short note taped to his kitchen table.

Hi Hawkeye,

Sorry I don't have more time, but you are in the shower right now, so. I'm out of town for a bit, Lucky is with me like we agreed. We'll be back soon, see ya!

Kate

it says in her handwriting. Clint blinks at it, confused. He must have forgotten about that. What day was it again? He checks his calendar on the wall, and yes, it says it right there.

He feels incredibly stupid, but he already misses Lucky. His day so far has been utter crap (let's be real, so have the last few months) and this ridiculously wonderful mutt really, really helps. But now he's gone, too.

Clint sighs unhappily. His phone lights up next to the note, and it's a message from Barney. Chances are that his brother is drunk off his ass right now, so Clint opens it cautiously. The text is full of typos and it proclaims how sorry he is for everything, that he misses him and loves him.

It leaves Clint numb and unfeeling, but later that day he spends about an hour crying over a fucking commercial, who knows what even for, but there is a happy, smiling family with your stereotypical 2.5 children and a big, cheerful dog.

Depression is strange like that.

Clint passes out on the couch, and when he wakes up, he has no idea what day it is – it's dark out, but his phone tells him that it's still the same shitty day, later in the evening. He scrubs his face with one hand, looks around him. There is something out of place on his kitchen counter. Something new. A bright blue plastic container. He frowns, gets up and steps closer. A small note sticks to the lid, and he reads through it.

Hi Clint,

This is leftover lasagna, enjoy. You were asleep when I came by, didn't want to wake you up.

I hope you're okay.

Simone

Bless Simone and her good heart. He makes a mental note to thank her later, and maybe bring something nice for the kids, too – they always appreciate it, and they do way too much for him, anyway.

There is a lump in his throat, and a gaping hole in his growling stomach. He puts the food in his microwave and eats dutifully. It makes him sick later, but that's okay. It's not Simone's fault that everything tastes like ash to him right now. If she asks, he'll lie and say it was great.

When he's done heaving into the toilet, he feels hick neck prickling, and the tell-tale panic in his guts.

He bolts out of the bathroom, stumbling with shaking legs, tremors in his hands, rushing through the apartment, searching every corner.

No one is there. No threat. Nothing.

He puts his hearing aids back in while his brain still runs crazy.

'You keep passing out when you can't even hear shit. Anyone could walk in at any time and you won't know. You're lucky it was only Kate and Simone earlier. You'll be useless kicking anyone's ass when they sneak in and overpower you! Stupid, weak! Waste of space!' His mind is screaming at him.

And Clint paces again, keeps shaking his head, trying to calm down his breathing.

His phone keeps ringing, but he ignores it. It turns over to voice mail, and it's Barney again. He's slurring badly, and he sounds like he might be on the verge of tears, as he begs Clint to call, he's so sorry. When Barney starts retching, the call ends abruptly and Clint closes his eyes, sliding down on the wall and stays seated on the dusty, wooden floor.

He wishes, his dog was here. But no one is around, so Clint manages to get up, go to the couch and curl up there, hugging a cushion close to his chest in an poor attempt to mimic company. He laughs out loud at that, but even to him it sounds sad and pathetic.

When he wakes up, the sun is high in the sky, so some amount of time must have passed. Also, his ears feel gross since he fell asleep with his aids in, but there wasn't anyone in his apartment, as far as he can tell. Clint want's to look on his phone, but it's dead.

He stares at the landline on the wall.

'Don't do it, it's not worth it!'

He gets up and steps closer.

'You're just lonely you idiot! Do. Not. Call. Your. Brother.'

But he does.

Barney picks up after a few rings, barking “What the fuck do you want?!” into the phone.

Ah, so he's sober today. Great.

“You called me first. And texted.” Clint replies flatly and Barney scoffs, “Bullshit!” and then he hangs up again.

It's like a punch in the guts. Just more painful. Clint doesn't know what he expected but he feels ('Stupid! Stupid! Useless!') and then he realizes that there are tears burning in his eyes.

Cursing, he hangs up violently enough for the phone to fall back down, but he doesn't care and just crawls back into bed.

He really wishes Lucky was here with him.

He sleeps restlessly, and with more than one panic attack interrupting him.

The next two days are so bad, that he can't even get out of bed.

Clint is in a constant state of questioning why he's even alive, shaking and clawing on the sheets, drenching them in sweat, tears and snot. It's probably a good thing he's too tired to do anything, or else he would have found some some sort of tool to end it.

He doesn't.

On the third day, he manages a shower and a cup of coffee with some dry crackers because his stomach is revolting by now.

Water. Would be a good idea, probably. So he forces himself to drink a bottle, too.

Then his pager sounds. Avengers Assemble, and so he suits up, packs his bow and heads to the rooftop, just in time for Iron Man to pick him up – literally. He swoops by and Clint holds on, long used to this way of transportation.

“Hey Clint.”

“Hey man. What are we going to shoot at?”

“Doombots. Again.”

“Aw. At least they're satisfying to blow up.”

“Sure are, once we know the latest shit update Doom gave those little fuckers. You look awful by the way, are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” but it comes out pressed and flat. He can't see Tony's face behind the helmet, but he just knows he gives him a look.

But then they're busy fighting annoying killer robots, and it's the most alive Clint has felt in weeks.

When all is said, done and wrapped up, he's being dragged along along to the tower for one of their “Yai, we live another day”-parties. Clint plasters a smile on his face and it feels awfully fake. It probably looks just as bad.

But Clint tries to keep up chatting with his team mates, putting up a happy appearance which he hopes can fool people at least a little bit. It probably doesn't work, because they're starting to hover.

“You okay?” they ask, and he nods, smiling just a little bit brighter, joking and claiming he's just a bit tired.

Clint leaves rather quickly, sneaking out of the tower as soon as he's got a chance.

Back home, he drops his cheerful facade because keeping it up is exhausting. He skips the shower, even though he knows he's going to hate himself for it later. What else is new.

Clint burrows into the couch and wakes up to Natasha sitting on his coffee table, calmly cleaning her guns.

“Hey, Nat.” he rasps, and she looks up.

“Hi. Anything you wanna talk about?” she asks lightly, but it doesn't fool him. She's worried.

“No.” he replies hoarsely, and forces himself upright.

“Go shower. I'll have food here when you're done.” she instructs, and it's easier to just obey. Nat gently squeezes his arm when he walks past her.

Shower. Get dressed. Walk back out. Face potentially uncomfortable talk. Great. He's got this.

Natasha has moved to his couch in the meantime, and when he sits down next to her, his leg keeps bouncing up and down. Clint doesn't say anything, just stares right ahead into nothingness. His vision gets foggy again, and he faintly notices that Natasha puts the cup of soup she was offering him on the table and folds herself down on the floor in front of him, running a gentle hand through his hair until he slowly leans forward, into her touch until they sit in an embrace.

It would be so easy to give in and let go, but he holds himself back. The human contact feels good, tho. It's been too long.

Still, he pulls away when he realizes that he's going to have a complete breakdown if Nat hugs him for any longer now. Clint manages to pull himself together, holding onto threads at this point.

“Don't lie to me right now. How not okay are you, Clint?” Natasha asks quietly.

“I don't know.” he shakes his head slightly.

He could tell her about days spent in bed, wanting to die but feeling too tired to actually get up and do something about it. Clint figures she knows or at least suspects that.

“Things are fuzzy right now. I'm... I don't know how to explain it. But I'll be fine, I'm always fine.”

He can only hope that this will be true – it's getting harder to actually be fine lately. Natasha looks at him with concern and something... soft in her eyes as she keeps her hands placed on his knees. She doesn't come closer since he's pulled away, but she refuses to leave him alone and he loves her for it.

“You don't have to be fine all the time. I'm here. You've got me, the team, Kate... We're all very much willing to help you, if you'll let us. But we don't know how.”

“Can you stay with me for a little bit?” he asks, too silently for his own hearing aids to pick up but Natasha nods.

“Of course.”

She sits back down next to him on the couch, handing him the now lukewarm cup of soup and a bottle of water. Then she turns on the TV, filling the room with something light and brainless. Natasha settles against him, letting him choose how much physical contact he wants. Clint puts an arm around her and rests his head on top of her bright red curls.

Some time later, the front door opens and a second later he's greeted by a lapful of dog, and Lucky excitedly slobbers all over him.

“Hey Pizza Dog.” he says softly, burying his hands in the soft, golden fur and he can't help the small smile.

Lucky looks up at him, tail wagging and his one eye fixed at his human with an open mouthed doggy smile on his big, fluffy face.

Kate follows, and flops down onto the couch on Clint's other side with a “Hey Hawkeye” and grins when she gets the same words back as a greeting.

Something eases in his chest, and Clint pulls her close, too.

“What's up with the sappiness?” she asks, half jokingly, taking in her friends appearance – pale, eye bags, too much stubble, lost weight.

“Deal with it, Katie.” he grumbles goodnaturedly and she huffs but squeezes him in a tight hug.

“Yeah, whatever. Missed you, too. Hi, Nat.”

Clint leans back. There is still the heavy darkness inside of his head, and he's not sure if or how or when he can get rid of that. Or at least get a better grip on it.

But right now, with two of his best friends by his side and with his beloved dog sprawled out on his lap, drooling all over his sleeve while he pushing hid head into his stomach in an attempt to get even closer, Clint thinks that this car crash life of his looks a lot more bearable again.

*+~

OK so I know I've posted part 16 last night and it's like 6:40 in the morning on the 17th where I am now, but in all honesty, this story is one of my, if not THE favourite of all the stories I've written for KeGo. So I'm kinda excited for it to see the world because I'm kinda, super proud of it? I hope you like it, too.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo  ♥

Go show her some love because she’s great ♥

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829720

[banashee]

KeGo Day 4 - Shaking Hands

He looks down on his hands in disgust. They're shaking.

The worst thing is, he can't even blame it on fatigue or the cold – he's not even been in his perch for a whole day yet, and it's sunny without being hot, no strong winds. The weather is in his favor, and he's slept a solid four hours, which is more than he usually manages most of these days. He should be fine. Has to be fine.

But he's very much not and now his hands are shaking. So much that he can see the rifle in his hands moving in a erratic pattern and how the fuck is he supposed to make a clean shot like this?

Clint is breathing carefully in and out, but he feels like he can't get nearly enough air in his lungs. He's closing his eyes, trying to get a grip on himself, but he's starting to panic and the shaking in his hands only gets worse.

'Get it together, get it together, get it together' his brain keeps repeating and all he can do is hold on tight onto his weapon.

His comms are muted. No one can hear his ragged breath, and it's all he can do to hold onto the rifle in his hands until this is over.

When the kill order comes, he misses. Not enough for anyone but him to notice, still a kill-shot and the mission is accomplished.

Clint fells sick. How is he supposed to be useful if he can't even shoot straight anymore?

That night, he lies awake while the scene plays in his head over and over.

Useless, useless, useless! His brain hammers the whole time, and Clint can't stop shaking.

*+~

Clint spills coffee all over himself. His hands are shaking bad enough that he can't even handle a fucking mug, and the useless-mantra inside his head starts all over again. He doesn't even realize how badly he's shaking by now, until he spills more coffee, and then gentle hands remove the mug out of his deathgrip and then take his hands hands in their own warm and dry hold.

His head is spinning and faintly, he realizes he's sliding into a full blows panic, but the warm hands don't disappear (he doesn't want them to.)

A soft and calm voice keeps talking to him, and although his vision is blurry and his hearing shitty enough as it is, he doesn't even try to find out who it is. When he leans forward until his forehead rests against a soft, sweater clad shoulder, the hands start running through his hair.

It's been a long time since someone did that, and he goes boneless under the touch. Selfishly hoping they will stay.

He doesn't want to be alone anymore. Apparently he vocalizes such a thing, because there is the warm tickle of breath next to his ear, and he can clearly make out the words and who the soothing voice belongs to.

“I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. You need help.”

And yeah he probably does. So he just nods, and holds onto Bruce.

Just like promised, he's not going anywhere.

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672694

[banashee]

KeGo December day 2 - “Let me help.”

The air in this room is hot and dry from the boiling heater, but Bucky feels frigid and he's shivering and shaking under too many blankets. A thin layer of sweat drenches his hair and face, makes the back of his shirt cling onto him uncomfortably, but he feels like his bones must be frozen, waiting to shatter like glass when he as much moves wrong.

Bucky is twisting and turning in his sleep, muttering and flinching. Then he wakes up with a strangled scream, hands clasped tightly over his mouth. He looks around the room with huge eyes, burrowing deeper in the blankets as if they protect him from the world.

He's alone in a large, dark bedroom. It's tinted in a very low, faint light. Only a little bit of the street lamps and the moon over New York City is filtered through the window, something he worked out with JARVIS, and also a small night light in the corner by the door.

Bucky was embarrassed about that one at first, because what is he going to say to explain this, should anyone ever find out, a grown man needing a night light? It sounds almost laughable, but then he found out that it's nothing unusual here in this tower, where words like “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder”, “Depression” and “Coping mechanism” are casually mentioned at the dinner table. It makes him feel understood and a little bit less alone, but...

He doesn't want to bother anyone.

Bucky keeps his quarters very clean, doesn't have many possessions. It's part habit, what with him growing up in the Great Depression and being in the army, but his main reason to live like this is that it's much, much easier to keep track of a room when there is no clutter.

He immediately knows when something changed, immediately knows when somebody entered the place while he was gone. Which isn't always a bad thing, he's learned, even though he knows he's safe here and no one in this place intends to hurt him.

One day, he returned from a therapy session and noticed that someone came by while he was gone – frantically, he'd started searching the apartment for any sign of danger, ready to fight whoever or whatever is the threat, only to find that there is a worn but remotely familiar sweater folded on his bed. There is a post-it note with Steve's handwriting on it

This was yours back in the day, I found it in a museum and “borrowed” it back for you.♥

It made him laugh, and some of the tension disappeared.

Another time, there was a Tupperware container with chocolate chip cookies on his kitchen counter, and a note pinned onto his wall with a garishly purple nerf arrow, which introduced Bucky to the worst chicken scratch he's ever seen in his entire life, but there is no doubt who it's from.

Come by the shooting range later. Gotta show you some real cool shit :) →

It's small things, little gestures. Friendly, nothing overwhelming but clearly supportive. All of the other Avengers do it to each other, all the time. And somehow, they include him in this. It still stuns him a bit.

The best thing, however, is the company that comes with living here and most of all the fact that he's still got Steve around, even after almost 100 years.

So he does the logical thing and sends out a quick text to him.

Are you awake? Can you come over here please?

A minute later, the door opens and a rumpled looking, but soft and warm Steve enters the room. He steps near the bed, lowers himself onto it and embraces Bucky, who sags against him and huddles closer to absorb the body heat that's radiating off of him.

“Bad night?” he asks and gets a quiet nod in response.

Steve runs one hand through Bucky's dark hair, gently detangling the knots and lightly scratching his scalp with blunt nails.

“Let me help. I'm here for you.”

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo 

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642748

[banashee]

KeGo Day 3 - “She freaking bit me!”

Morgan is only 1 year old, but Tony can't seem to remember a time without his daughter. She changed his entire life – their entire life. Neither Pepper or him would have thought that this would be their choice just a few short years ago. But then everything went to shit, fell in place, went to shit and fell into place again, and in between everything they got married and then little Morgan was born. Now they built their life around a beautiful place in nature, with a cozy and comfortable house by a lake with trees instead of a cold, modern palace made of glass and metal.

They wouldn't want it any other way.

Tony is walking around their backyard by the lake, with Morgan securely in his arms and a bluetooth headset in his ear. Pepper is on the phone with him because she needed to leave for SI business in LA, and she's using a break to call home and check on her little family. They chat away about anything and everything, and Morgan chimes in with happy baby babble every now and then, which both of her parents encourage enthusiastically.

While he tells Pepper in great detail about their afternoon, they pass by Gerald the Alpaca. Morgan squeals in delight, and Tony steps closer so his little one can reach out and carefully stroke his thick fur. The animal barely looks up, continues munching on the goji berries he keeps stealing from Peppers flower bed. Gerald is of patient and gentle nature, letting the little girl run her tiny hands through his fur to her hearts content.

“We need to plant some more gojis, by the way.” Tony informs his wife and Pepper groans over the phone. Against her better judgment, she loves the silly alpaca, even though she often claims otherwise.

“And Gerald will end up eating those, too.” she huffs, but there is laughter in her voice.

“Well, we can always plant more. I'll do it, I like gardening.” Tony answers, and can't stop smiling. This is his life now. He's happy.

“Yeah you do. Didn't see that coming, to be honest.” Pepper replies, and she sounds fond. Happy.

“Me neither. But hey, here we are.”

Morgan babbles something back, looking up at her dad with huge, brown eyes. Tony smiles down at the little girl in his arms and strokes her hair back and out of her face. She squeals again, and then she gets a surprisingly fast hold of his hand.

“Ow! She freakin' bit me.” Tony exclaims, blinking a bit stunned at Morgan who gurgles in baby talk. Pepper is outright laughing on the phone.

“Jeez. You wouldn't think that such a little human can bite so hard. She doesn't even have that many teeth yet! Don't you, Morgie?”

Morgan giggles, and grabs the collar of Tony's shirt in her small fist.

“Okay Honey, repeat after me. Daddy's fingers are not a suitable chewing toy. Alright?” he directs at the little girl, smoothing back her hair once again and caressing her soft cheek.

Morgan gurgles again, then she snuggles closer to her dad.

“You know, I thought the same thing, and then I started breast feeding her.” Pepper chimes in in between laughing. Tony winches slightly in sympathy.

“Yeah, okay that's fair.”

“Alright. Love you both, I'll be back soon!”

“Love you too, Pep. We miss you.”

*+~

About the KeGo https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

Also, go check out @bananaink she is the other mastermind behind KeGo

Check out my AO3 while you’re at it ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661423