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They don’t belong here. On this team. In this tower.
They think they’re better people than what they really are and Clint doesn’t know how to tell them that they’re really not, doesn’t even know if he wants to break the illusion. How long has it been since someone looked at them and saw them as something good? Saw past all the blood until they were staring into their untapped potential?
Clint knows it’s coming. They’re all going to see them for what they really are and they’ll be running from gods, monsters, and super soldiers any day now. The people they call friends will one day be their greatest enemy and even though he knows it’s coming, it’s still going to hurt. It’s going to maybe break him. Break them. But it’s okay. They’ve been broken before. Shattered under the hands of many and half-heartedly pieced back together under the guise of necessity.
They’re practically masters at rebuilding themselves.
Still. He sees the way Nat smiles at Bruce, sees the way she treats Steve and Tony like the little brothers she never had. He doesn’t want them to see them for what they are. Doesn’t want them to see how truly monstrous they really are.
Because Clint has no doubt there will be no turning back once they know. They will never be able to breathe the same air once they know how many people they’ve killed. How many people they’ve tortured in the thinly-veiled name of the greater good.
Their kills had been for survival. For revenge. For something that amounted to more than a desperate attempt to scrub off all the blood caked under their nails.
They were neck deep in blood that translated into dollar bills and numerous safe houses.
They even liked to fool themselves that some of that blood wasn’t for pleasure. Wasn’t because they touched too much, said the wrong thing, was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Clint has no illusion of who they are. He’s too intimate with the feel of blood spurting onto his hands for him to ever think otherwise. Natasha’s even more familiar with the inner workings of the human body.
But for now? It’s nice.
It’s so damn nice to have people look at you and see all the good you can do and not all the bad you’ve ever done. It’s fucking intoxicating.
Still. He’s had his bags packed for months now. Never unpacked if he’s being honest.
People like them don’t belong here.
“Hey, I ordered you a calzone. It’s on the kitchen counter,” Steve says, interrupting his inner musings. “Sausage and olives.” His favorite.
Clint’s mouth spreads into an easy smile. “Thanks, I’ll be right there.” Steve nods and walks back to the kitchen.
Fuck.
It’s going to hurt so much.