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It was just one of those days, y’know? It’s not like Clint wasn’t used to them. Days where he would curl up in his bed, or on the couch if he was feeling particularly adventurous, and do nothing but stare into space, dozing off at times just to wake up feeling more shitty. Days like these were the worst, and there was nothing he could do but push through and hope that the next one would be better.
After Loki, SHEILD made Clint see one of their psychologists, who then referred him to a psychiatrist, who then referred him to a shit ton of medication that was supposed to help with days like these. He remembered at the time looking at the newly prescribed meds with distaste, and the feeling of shame and guilt pooling in his stomach at the confirmation that he was too broken to function without chemical interference.
Needless to say, as soon as he got back to his apartment all the pills went straight down the drain.
That was about a year ago, when Clint was living full time in Bedstuy and it was easier to hide away from the world. Now, however, he lived in the fancy pants Avengers (formerly Stark) Tower, and being a good-for-nothing sad sack was a lot harder to get away with. It was okay at first, because he could always just hide away in the vents if he wanted to be alone, and nobody (except maybe Nat) knew where he was and wouldn’t bother him, in the off chance they even noticed he was gone at all. Besides, the pressing emptiness he felt hadn’t started with Loki, it just grew stronger, so the Avengers were kind of used to Clint darting off to be by himself, and just assumed at this point that it was a part of his personality.
Then Bucky came along.
Bucky, with his understanding eyes and soft tones laced with that calming Brooklyn drawl, and of course the uncanny ability to always notice when Clint was feeling off and knew where to find him. He hadn’t known Clint before the Now York incident, but still didn’t make assumptions about what was normal and okay for him to be acting like. If he noticed Clint looked sad, he did something about it. Simple as that.
Clint hated Bucky. Well. Maybe not exactly, but the only other option was way too scary to think about, wasn’t it?
Laying in his bed, tangled and wrapped like a burrito in his blankets, Clint mourned for the coffee he had no energy or motivation to make. It was roughly seven- maybe closer to eight now- in the morning, and he could already tell that he wasn’t leaving his bed anytime soon.
He’d been laying there, still and unable to find the energy to do so much as roll over, when the door to his bedroom opened to reveal Bucky, looking slightly out of breath. Huh. He was carrying a mug of coffee, and though Clint’s brain begged to reach over and grab it, his body wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t even find the will inside him to care that Bucky was seeing him like this.
Bucky took a few steps closer, crouching down beside the bed to be level with Clint’s face. Clint blinked heavily.
Bucky started talking but, realizing he didn’t have his hearing aids in, set the mug of coffee down on the bedside table and switched to sign language.
How’re you doing?
Clint blinked.
Do you want to sit up and have some coffee?
Again, nothing. Bucky paused; thinking.
Okay, blink once if you’re with me.
This, he could do. He blinked.
Good, good. Do you want your hearing aids? He didn’t know the sign for that one, spelling out the words instead. Blink once for yes, two for no.
He waited, considering, before slowly blinking his assent. Bucky smiled warmly before reaching for the bright purple aids. He put one in, adjusting the volume to where he knows Clint likes it (he’s put them in and taken them out multiple times by now due to Clint’s overall laziness and willingness to rely on Bucky).
“Hey Clint.” He smiles again, a little sad. “Can you turn over? Or at least your head? I can’t get to the other one this way.”
Clint doesn’t really know if he can. It’s annoying to only have sound in one ear, but he doesn’t know if he can muster up the energy to move. Then again, Bucky is looking at him with that soft look on his face, and he knows that if he doesn’t - can’t- move, Bucky won’t be disappointed in him. It’s that knowledge that there’s no pressure being put on him and his own determination that force him to move, shifting on his back. Bucky, after setting up his other aid, brushed his metal hand through his hair.
“You want help sitting up?” Bucky asked gently, once again leaving his suggestions open ended in a way that let Clint know he could say no. Strangely, Clint found he didn’t want to say no to Bucky, and he nodded.
“Okay sweetheart, is it okay if I touch ya?” Bucky asked, and Clint nodded again. In the back of his haze filled mind he mused the prospect of ever being able to say no to that.
Bucky slid on onto the bed then, and slowly maneuvered himself to sit against the headboard with Clint sitting between his outstretched legs, leaning against his chest. Clint tilted his head up to look at Bucky, who subsequently tilted his head down. “Hey there darlin’. You doin’ okay?”
“Hey Buck.” Clint replies weakly, his voice still raspy with sleep (and tears, but he’ll never admit to that one). “I’m alright, I just-“ His voice caught and he shamefully held back tears. He suddenly felt very small in Bucky’s hold.
Before he could get too into his own head, a mug was being pressed into his limp hands. “You’ll feel a little bit better after you drink some,” Bucky murmured, lips brushing Clint’s hair with how close he was.
Spurred by Bucky’s quiet support, Clint slowly brought the mug to his lips, taking a few sips before putting it back beside his bed. Bucky turned him in his hold and wrapped the blankets more securely around them both. Clint tucked his head into Becky’s neck; unable to do much else. He had done no more than take a few sips of coffee and already he was drained. Fucking pathetic. Some Avenger you are.
Before he knew it, there were tears streaming from his eyes and wetting Bucky’s soft hoodie, and his body shook with sobs. He made no noise (years of experience taught him that much) but Bucky must have felt him shaking because the arms wrapped around Clint’s waist and back tightened significantly, and he felt himself starting to be rocked back and forth soothingly. Someone was talking, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying through the white noise he heard as he cried.
Eventually he calmed (hours? minutes? it was hard to tell how long they had stayed in that position) and could tell that Bucky was still talking to him and pressing chaste kisses around his jaw and neck close to his ear. “You’re okay sweetheart, you’re okay. I’m here, alright? I’ve gotcha.”
Clint hiccuped a few times- the most sound he’d made- and pulled away slightly to meet Bucky’s eyes with as much bravery as he could muster. “Thanks. I’m sorry.” He croaked, rubbing furiously at his eyes.
“It’s okay, of course it’s okay… but how long has it been this bad?” Bucky asked.
“Oh, uh, just since I woke up-“
“Clint,” Bucky interrupted, “You know that’s not what I meant.” Yeah, okay, maybe he did. Whatever. Bucky has already way more of Clint than he needed to in one morning, and Clint wasn’t adding to that anytime soon. Instead of answering, he burrowed deeper into Bucky’s chest in avoidance.
Bucky sighed. “Does Natalia know at least?” Clint cuddled impossibly closer in a last attempt to avoid his questions. Some may call him childish, but Clint prefers the term resourceful. Unfortunately, not answering sort of provided an answer on its own.
“Sweetheart,” Bucky sighed, hugging Clint closer. “I’ve seen this before with some guys back home,” by ‘back home’ Clint assumes Bucky meant back in the 40s because I’m fucking old, “and I know you can’t deal with it on your own Clint, it never works out well.”
But Clint wasn’t on his own, was he? He had Katie and Lucky, the Avengers and Nat, and Bucky, right? He didn’t really know what he and Bucky were in relation to each other, because well, Bucky kissed him sometimes and calls him pet names, but he never kisses him on the mouth and never calls him anything but Clint (and occasionally Barton) unless it’s to soothe him or when it seems to slip out. It’s honestly way more likely that all those things were just the way that bros used to act in the 40s than that Bucky feels anything more than friendship towards Clint, of all people.
But really, whatever he and Bucky were, they were still friends.
“‘m not alone, Buck, I’ve got friends.”
“I know you’ve got friends Clint, I meant that dealing with depressive episodes, or whatever this is-“
“This isn’t-“
“It’s something Clint. It’s somethin’ and not recognizing that it is s’gonna do a lot more harm than good, alright? And what I’m tryna say is that dealing with this shit is a hell of a lot easier when people close to you know and can help you through it, okay? That’s all.” Bucky finished, pressing a kiss to Clint’s now upturned forehead.
“But- I’ve got you, don’t I?”
Bucky looked surprised, strangely. “Uh- I mean- yeah of course you do, I just thought you might prefer Natalia to help you or-“
Clint, realizing he must have made a mistake, quickly backtracked. “Oh yeah, that’s fine I just thought maybe because you already know something's up with my head that gets all screwy-“
“Clint-“
“-and besides you kinda help me already and you know what I don’t really need anyone anyways just Lucky-”
“Clint I-“
“-except actually I’m pretty sure Tony has a no-dog policy so maybe not I’ll just-“
“Clint!”
He stopped rambling, head falling to Bucky’s shoulder. “M’sorry.”
“Honey, no, it’s okay. I just thought you might feel more comfortable with someone you’re closer to.” Clint blushed furiously and thanked the gods that his face was hidden from view.
Exhaling heavily, Clint replied, “I’m close to you though. I mean, we’re bros, right?”
Bucky stilled against him. He replied, sounding puzzled, “Clint, Steve and I are bros. You and I are different than that, I think.”
Now Clint was just confused. Also, his brain still seemed a little slow on the uptake, so that could have been a part of it as well. While he was contemplating all the many ways that he and Cap were different (it was a long list, okay), Bucky tilted his head up and away from his shoulder, using his flesh and blood hand to swipe along his cheek. Clint was too busy thinking about how oh, hey, that feels nice to notice that suddenly there were another pair of lips on his own and oh.
Bucky was kissing him. Even though he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet or shaved in like, three days, and was just an overall train wreck- Bucky was kissing him. Clint should probably kiss him back, right? That’s what people do, right.
He was just threading his hand through Bucky’s hair when he pulled away, and Clint made a pitiful little sound that he wasn’t exactly proud of at that development.
Bucky laughed at him (the audacity) and took his face in both of his hands, pressing a few more quick kisses on Clint’s mouth before pulling away and smiling brightly at him.
“See?” Bucky asked, looking rather pleased with himself. Clint did see, because as much as people liked to think, he wasn’t a total idiot.
He was also very, very tired.
Even wrapped up in Bucky like he was, Clint could still feel the murky edges of his darkest thoughts pressing into the edges of his conscience. It fucking sucked. He should be happy. He has this beautiful kind funny wonderful guy holding him close and being the exact kind of grossly affectionate that Clint adored, but he still felt weighed down by some invisible force out of his control.
Bucky must have read something on his face, because he was laying them down together on the bed so that Clint could curl up half on top of him and clutch at his sweater, grounding himself and breathing in the comforting smell.
“Hey Buck, could you- could you maybe stay for a bit?” He asked softly, tucking his head into the crook of the other man’s neck so that he didn’t feel quite so vulnerable.
“Of course sweetheart, whatever you need,” Bucky replied, tugging the blankets up to cover them both. “JARVIS, dim the lights please.” He asked quietly, rubbing along Clint’s back with one hand and through his hair with the other.
So maybe things sucked sometimes, but maybe they’d suck kind of less with Bucky there, Clint thought as he drifted in a half-sleeping state. He wasn’t alone with his head because Bucky was there, and Clint was pretty fucking sure he wasn’t going to be up and leaving any time soon.