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Clint didn’t believe Steve and Tony at first. Or Fury when he confirmed it.
No one else understood.
They just didn’t. No matter what bullshit they spewed claiming just that. Liars.
Nat had been his best friend for more years than he cared to count. She knew him inside and out. No one - not even his ex wife - knew him that well. Fuck, some days she seemed to know him better than he knew himself.
It was like missing a limb.
Sam had tried twice to discuss a memorial service. That stopped after Clint put an arrow in the wall mere millimeters from Sam’s cheek. Steve had tried too. Him Clint had actually hit with an arrow. It was the shoulder and Steve had tried that shit before he’d even had one cup of coffee so he didn’t feel bad. Rhodey just steered clear, proving that rocket scientists were actually smart and capable of taking cues from others. Bruce sat with him, but didn’t bother with platitudes or even checking to see if Clint had his aids on (he didn’t because it was easier that way). Tony launched a ‘mission’ to actually track down her body, since Clint had been adamant that without one he wouldn’t accept her death.
Bucky didn't try platitudes or missions to find Nat or any of that. He just dragged Clint to the range and supplied him with endless amounts of ammo - bullets or arrows or both - until Clint practically collapsed from exhaustion. He stood watch while Clint tried to sleep. More accurately, watched over him after he passed out, his body physically unable to stay awake another moment. Bucky also supplied an endless flow of coffee and pizza. Smart, sneaky man.
Had he not been drained in all the ways, Clint probably would have acted on the attraction they’d had going before the world shattered. He almost considered it when Bucky showed up with all the supplies to fabricate some his more insane arrow ideas. Actually considered it when Bucky had jumped in to help him actually make them reality. He couldn’t though. That would mean allowing someone that close and he just couldn’t do it. Everybody left. That's the way it worked for him. It was something he should have understood before now, but no one had ever said he was a genius.
Two months after the initial news, Tony and Steve showed up with her body. They’d had a funeral. It was simple; Clint had managed to fight for that much at least.
Three more months passed and Clint still denied it. It didn’t feel true or right.
He hadn’t worn his aids in months, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t read lips. He knew they were sitting around the kitchen table talking about mandatory inpatient counselling and a break from S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers duties. Fuckers. Clint made his way back to his apartment as silently as he’d made his way to the communal kitchen.
The only reason he’d gone down there was because Bucky was off at counselling and he was out of coffee in his apartment. He methodically packed his assorted bows, arrows, guns, and other essential equipment and clothes. If they thought he was going to stick around to be booted from the Avengers, they were all fucking morons (genius scientists included). He hadn’t been able to see what Bruce was saying, but he’d been there and that was enough.
He was still almost capable of feelings other than grief and despair, so he did leave a note for the one person who’d not (to his knowledge) betrayed him.
B,
Needed to get away. Tell those fuckers that just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’m heading to someplace safe and no, I don’t have a death wish. Thanks for everything.
C
--**--
Bucky had been calm, cool, and collected since his return. Thanks to a lot of counselling. But, still it was an achievement he was proud of. He stepped off the elevator onto the communal floor, hoping someone had left coffee in the pot. If not, he had no objections to taking the whole can. Clint would be up soon and the grocery delivery wouldn’t arrive for another couple of hours. His jaw nearly dropped when he caught the conversation.
“Do you really think that having Clint Barton loose on the world with no mission, no objectives, and no backup is viable? Or locking him up being something that would actually work? Do none of you remember who you are discussing?!” Bruce asked angrily, his skin taking on a light green tinge.
“He needs time!” Steve muttered stubbornly. “He’s ghosting around here and that isn’t helping!”
“A residential program might be the best option,” Sam said, almost pleadingly. “I’m concerned about his mental health. He can’t ignore the facts there. It is borderline delusional!”
“You absolute fucking bastards!” Bucky’s hand twitched over one of his many knives. “How fucking dare you!”
Steve looked all sad, yet determined. “We don’t want to, Buck. Clint isn’t helping himself, so we have to.”
“I have no part in this.” Bruce held his hands up in a surrendering sort of motion. “If you want to shoot them for being morons, let me leave first.”
“I won’t be shooting anyone … yet.”
“We need to clear out Natasha’s things.” Tony sighed. “Not because we need the space, but because it isn’t helping him to have some sort of fucking shrine to her here.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I will fucking shoot you and it won’t be in some non-vital part of your fucking body if you even step one foot on Natasha’s floor.”
“He’s right, Tony,” Rhodey said with a sigh. “We weren’t allowed to touch her things or even be on her floor before. It is …,” he seemed to search for the right words, “disrespectful to her memory to do that. Clint will do it when he is up to it.”
“Oh two of you don’t have a death wish. Stay off her floor and that means bots as well. While I’m at it, stay the fuck away from Clint too.”
Steve had that ‘I’m right’ expression on his face. “Buck … we know you have a … thing … for Clint. But … you’re compromised in this. I’m sorry.”
“I always said I’d be with you until the end of the line, Steve.” Bucky sighed, hating this. All of it. Nothing had gone right since Natasha took some secretive mission from Fury. Nothing. “I just didn’t think the end of the line would look like this.”
With that, he turned and walked away. If Clint was awake, maybe, just maybe Bucky could convince him to leave the Tower for coffee. It hadn’t worked so far, but there was always a chance. He made his way to Clint’s floor and panicked the moment he stepped inside. Thankfully, his months and months of counselling allowed him to push it down just enough to keep him functioning. The five bows that usually hung on the wall so you saw them first thing were all gone. His eyes scanned the room and yeah, so were all of the arrows that had been strewn around the main room. Some of them had been in the walls holding plans or posters up and others just because. His heart sank even as he spotted the folded note on the counter leaning against one of his own guns. His name was scrawled hastily in Clint’s messy handwriting.
He tucked the note in his pocket and engaged the lock that even Stark couldn’t get through before exiting the apartment. He went down to Natasha’s floor to check the same type of lock Clint had installed months ago was still intact. It was. Good. By the time the elevator stopped again on the communal floor, he was downright homicidal. He also knew exactly where Clint had gone.
“He’s gone, you fuckers can stop your fucked up plotting now.”
He was met with disbelief, shock, and (from Rhodey and Bruce) even a bit of remorse.
“He’s deaf not blind, you idiots. He saw you talking about him and packed up. Don’t go looking for him. You won’t find him. He’s one of the best spies in the world.” Bucky’s grin was just this side of crazy. “Don’t go forgetting he’s one of the world’s best assassins too.” He turned to go and pack, calling over his shoulder, “So am I, just in case any of you forgot that too.”
--**--
Clint was probably more surprised than he should have been when the knock at the door of the Bed-Stuy apartment Nat had set up years ago ended up being Bucky. Why he’d decided to put his aids in for the first time in months, let alone turn them on, was still a mystery. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Bucky looked pained, but sighed. “I’ll go if you want me to. But, I threatened them too. They’re wrong. Yes, even Steve.”
Clint allowed the door to fall open. “I’ll take the couch.”
Bucky snorted, dropping his bags just inside the door. “I don’t sleep much. I’ll take the couch.”
Clint didn’t have it in him to argue. He just closed the door and locked it. “I haven’t ordered food.”
Bucky chuckled. “I will. If you want, you can go try to sleep.”
“It’s not even noon.”
“Did you stop for coffee?” Bucky asked knowingly.
Pouting, Clint headed for the stairs up to the bedroom. “No. Well, yes. But, I only had three cups. Had too much stuff with me to try even a bodega for a can of coffee.”
“Sleep. I’ll shoot anyone who tries to get in. I’ll also put in a grocery order.”
Clint took out his aids and set them on the nightstand. Maybe he could sleep now that he was safe? It wouldn't hurt to try.
--**--
It was a shock, though Bucky really should have noticed the time passing. They’d been in Brooklyn for three months. It hadn’t been peaceful or without fights. Not between the two of them, but with a few troublemakers in the neighborhood. He and Clint had taken to the streets, not because Bucky had really wanted to tangle with idiots like the tracksuit bros, but because Clint had to do something, anything to take his mind off of things. Clint with time on his hands was not a good thing. The good news was that the tracksuit bros were no longer a threat.
They’d also somehow acquired both the whole apartment building and a dog. Everyone who lived in the building adored them both, but Clint most of all. He didn’t mind, because (sappy as it may be) Clint deserved the adoration. Clint didn’t think so, of fucking course, but between Bucky, the other residents of the building, and the dog … they were making progress on that.
Bucky called the dog Lucky, Clint usually went with Pizza Dog. The poor dog answered to both, though he managed a dog version of confusion when they both tried to call him at once, using different names. Lucky really did enjoy giving cuddles, something Bucky hadn’t missed that Clint had come to count on. Hell, Bucky had come to count on them too.
Clint was currently sleeping, his head on Bucky’s thigh, sprawled on the deceptively comfortable couch. It was a relatively new development though a welcome one. Their nightmares were worse as of late, so they’d taken to cuddling no matter their location in the apartment. That included curling up together in the bed, Lucky sometimes curled up at their feet and sometimes retreating to his purple floof of a bed.
He brushed his hand lightly over Clint’s hair, a small smile forming. Clint was slowly healing. Slowly letting him in. They talked more these days. Never about Natasha, but every other thing that came to either of their minds. At first, it had been so strange. Both of them had a habit of pausing to give Natasha a chance to chime in on the conversation, only to remember that she wasn’t here any longer. Clint would bite his lip and look away, in those early days. Now though, he’d curl himself up in that ‘oh god that should hurt’ way he had and lean on Bucky.
He glanced out the window and sighed. He would let Clint sleep another hour, but any longer than that and the blond would pout adorably. The two of them had work to do, or so Clint claimed. Bucky never minded, though he had a concern or two about the new persona Clint was using when they went out at night. It never seemed like the right time to bring it up. Plus, it was helping Clint. So was a big ass sword and a suit that had not one bit of purple on it really that big a deal in the grand scheme of things? He hadn’t really decided and until he did, the concerns wouldn’t be discussed.
Until then, he’d happily keep doing what they were doing.