Work Text:
He'd noticed before, to an extent. The way Clint would focus more on lips than eyes, the way he was focused when he spoke to to people and how he liked to be in front. From time to time James would notice that Clint didn't respond when people yelled across the room. And yet sometimes he did. The signs were there but James had no reason to suspect anything, no reason to think it was anything else other than who Clint was.
Until a wet Thursday afternoon when James was seated on a window sill staring out of the Tower at the pouring rain outside. They'd had an overnight mission in Uruguay, James had slipped up and gotten captured to save a group of civilians (something that Steve had hugged him tightly for) but it smarted. They'd gagged him, restrained him and he'd been reminded of a time where he spent half his life restrained, the other half muzzled like a dog. It had bothered him, deeply so now James was half dressed from his shower and staring out over the grey city as the rain washed away it's sins. He didn't even hear Clint approach until the man slapped his hand away from his shoulder and pressed a cold cloth there. James' head whipped around in surprise, his question of what Clint was doing answered when Clint pulled the cloth away and it was stained with blood.
Oh.
James had become so lost in his own darkness that he'd began picking at the scar tissue where flesh joined with metal, to the point that it had begun to bleed rather heavily and that's when Clint had walked in to see Crimson staining steel. "Didn't even feel it," James commented, gaze dropping away from Clint and back to the window. He was silent as he felt Clint clean up, press the cloth down and then James expected him to leave but no, the archer slid into the small remaining space on the window sill and let out a noise of irritation.
"You're probably the only person I know that damages their own body like that. You know there are disabled people that would kill for a prosthetic half as good as what you've got," Clint stated, keeping close so he could keep the cloth pressed on the tears James had dug into himself.
"I'm not disabled," came James' short reply, without a beat of hesitation, to which Clint laughed and rapped the knuckled of his free hand against the metal.
"Oh yeah? And just how well would you be able to play Xbox without this then huh?" It was a dangerous topic, James was not one to discuss anything with anyone and the hatred he had for the arm and what it stood for ran deep. And Clint knew this and yet he was acting as if James should be grateful? "Pretty poorly that's how," Clint continued in the wake of James' silence. "Being disabled isn't a bad thing James, in fact it's unique. There's only one of you. And I know it must be hard, that it must be a reminder of what happened to you during the war, and everything since. Everything you did with that arm but you shouldn't let it define you. You can be so much more than the assassin with the metal arm and red star."
"Oh yeah? And what would you know about it? About any of it?" James snapped angrily, finally breaking his silence before Clint had even finished speaking. He glared angrily at the archer, disgust churning in his gut for everything he was, everything the arm was and everything ounce of pain he had caused with it. In his eyes it was a fitting reminder, the arm was a punishment to make sure he never forgot his sins.
"I know more than you might think," Clint spoke gently. "Did you know I was deaf? Not 100% but it's getting there. I have a hearing aid for most of the time, for missions and the like but it can only work with what I have. Sometimes it hurts or it gets uncomfortable so I take it out and then I live in a world of near silence. I have to rely on lips and actions, I have to hope that we don't get EMP'd in the field like last night. I couldn't hear a word you were saying behind that gag, or Tony behind his helmet. I would give anything for a super bionic permanent solution because without my hearing I lose most of my usefulness in this team. I know what it's like to fight with a disability James. I know." There was something almost dejected in Clint's voice as he spoke, as he bared a part of his soul that no one knew existed, as he searched for common ground with the worlds deadliest assassin. James was listening, hearing that Clint was deaf, was getting worse, was quite a surprise but it made a few things slip into place for him and his angry stare at Clint became less furious and more guilty.
"You haven't killed anyone with your disability though," James pointed out, to which Clint scoffed and checked the blood flow under the cloth.
"Not yet no, but it will happen. It's bound to. I won't hear an order to back someone up or I won't catch an important piece of information or hell, I might even not hear someone yelling at me to get out the way and then it's me dead. But just like I have no control over my condition getting worse, you had no control over your disability and what it was used for. You couldn't stop your arm from tearing off, couldn't stop what they turned you into and it's not your fault. But this?" Clint tapped James' arm again, gentler this time and his touch lingered. "They gave you a solution, warped it's ability and filled it with bad intent but you can take it back. Don't resent the arm, resent that gave it with cruelty. Don't tear into yourself like this, don't try and remove it because I'd bet they want that. They'd love to have that arm back and leave you arm less. But you James?" Clint shrugged and leaned away, happy the bleeding had stopped and caught James' gaze. "This arm does not define you any more than my hearing aid defines me. Just like what they made you do doesn't define you and what Loki made me do doesn't define me. Not a miracle fix I know but... think about it," Clint smiled softly and glanced out at the pouring rain. "You're James Barnes, Bucky Barnes, friend and ally and... really handy when there's a jar that won't open."
Finally a smile from James, and Clint folded the cloth before sliding off the window sill. "Just think about it at least, you can only beat yourself up for so long." With that Clint left and James watched him go. This... revelation that he wasn't the only one struggling with someone he had no control over was rather refreshing and he found himself wiggling the fingers of his bionic arm. In some ways, Clint was right. He hated the arm and what it stood for... but it only stood for those things because those evil deeds had been forced upon him. He had control now. He could change that.
Clint didn't put his hearing aid back in until he'd reached the kitchen, having removed it when he'd seen James ripping into his shoulder.