Work Text:
Fiction: Clint Barton is the worthless Avenger.
Clint is not a powerhouse. Clint is not a spy. Clint is a man with a very strong skill set, both as an archer and a master tactician. He can't keep up the same way as everyone else can, but he tries. He does what he can.
And apparently, he can also be a fantastic handler.
"You all are the worst motherfucking-"
"Who thought making Barton a handler was a good idea?" asks Natalia skeptically before shooting the shit out of the incoming HYDRA agents, all headshots, all direct hits.
Meanwhile, Bucky rolls his eyes.
Somehow, Clint refocuses on the main event. "Stark, watch your six, you got two missiles comin’ in hot." There's a bit of sharp breathing from Clint. "Thor, stick closer to Hulk to minimize his collateral, he's close to a building that we don't have entirely evacuated, which reminds me, Sam, we need some help clearing out the tenth floor. Scans show some of the stairs have collapsed."
Bucky isn't sure that he could be any prouder.
"Hawkeye, where'd Widow leave my shield?"
"Check about thirty paces to your left and behind that car. She used it to decapitate someone, just so you're warned. Also, you’ve got two agents at your eight, so-” Clint pauses. “Well that was easy, didn’t need to show off, Rogers."
Bucky tries to focus on spotting for Steve and Natalia. He's dropping agents like it's nobody's business, making sure everyone with boots on the ground is safe. Still, he's tuned carefully into the comms, listening to his husband give directions. He’s incredibly relieved that Clint isn’t on the ground anymore.
"Oh, hey, Barnes."
Bucky clicks a new cartridge in. "Yeah?" he asks before staring down his scope again.
"Got a nice view of your ass."
"Good." And he effortlessly kills three more men.
Fiction: Bucky Barnes had the worse brainwashing experience.
Clint is nestled in Bucky's lap, face pressed into Bucky's chest; his fists are balled up in the soldier's shirt. He sounds absolutely pathetic, throat still thick from crying, as he whimpers, "I shouldn't be this bad."
"S'fine," breathes Bucky, carding his hand through Clint's hair, gentle, loving, careful. "You can't help it. Just happens."
Another episode of intense paranoia had gripped Clint to the point of him trying to gouge his own eyes out, but Bucky had managed to pull him back in time before he could actually hurt himself. It had taken almost an hour to settle Clint down and then another fit of crying had occurred. Like cycles. And Bucky had to walk Clint through all of them.
"But it's not..." He pauses to take a breath; at least he's making an effort at the breathing exercises Sam showed them. Once the thoughts are sorted out in his head, he continues, "I was only under for a couple of days. It shouldn't be this bad. It's not like..." He swallows hard. "You were under for seventy years. I only had three days and-"
Bucky squeezes Clint tighter. "Clint, don't."
It's too late because Clint is still going in that tired, sad sort of ramble he does. "I shouldn't be dumping my problems on you." He sniffles. "I shouldn't. My issues are like nothing-"
"Stop." And it's Bucky's turn to sound choked. He's holding onto Clint so tightly. So incredibly tightly. "It doesn't matter who suffered for longer. It only matters that we're both still suffering." He presses a kiss into Clint's hair, trying so hard to reassure his husband that this is fine, this is what they both need, this kind of love, this sort of talking it out. Bucky can't appreciate it enough.
It sounds like Clint's crying again.
"We can't compare our shit, okay?" Bucky moves his arm from being wrapped around Clint so that instead he can rub it up and down along Clint's spine. "It's different for both of us." Which is why Bucky ends up in violent fits of uncontrollable rage while Clint ends up screaming at himself in the mirror. "Your shit's awful. My shit's awful. But it happened, and all we can do now is deal with it."
Clint's crying again, his head buried in Bucky's shirt, holding onto his husband for dear life.
All Bucky can do is hold onto him and kiss his hair and hope he'll be alright. It's just a matter of patience, practice, and love.
Fiction: Clint Barton is fine with everyone ragging on him all the time.
"Legolas, you left your arrow supplies out." Tony tosses some feathers at Clint where he lays sprawled out on Bucky before plopping down on the opposite side of the couch.
"Fletching supplies," corrects Clint only half-heartedly before Bucky starts to pick the feathers off of him and carefully put them in a pile on the arm of the couch. Valuable supplies. Necessary supplies. Basically Clint’s livelihood.
"You know I could set you up with energy arrows or something, right?"
"So you've said a hundred times, Stark, and yet I keep saying no."
Bucky can feel Clint's breathing hitch.
"We could make you better, you know," insists Stark, but he also says it so casually because this is a regular argument. "Pull you out of the Stone Age."
"I don't need it."
Bucky wraps his arm a little tighter around Clint.
"I'm just thinking out loud, Katniss." Stark gestures loosely to the air while basically ignoring Clint’s refusal. "You could be so much more than you already are. Energy arrows and some kind of energy bow, wouldn't take as much power to draw it back either if I designed it right, and-"
Bucky watches as Clint moves slightly, inconspicuously, and turns off his hearing aids.
"Shut the fuck up, Stark." Because Bucky won't listen to this anymore.
It's like Tony is startled out of his train of thought as he looks Bucky's way with a raised brow. "What? I'm just saying, he's not as good as he could be. Just some upgrades."
While Bucky presses the 'I love you' sign into the small of Clint's back, he's lowly saying to Stark, "He's already fought most of his life to be the best he can be. Doesn't need to hear shit from you."
Growing defensive, Stark goes, "I don't hear him trying to-"
"He turned off his aids." Bucky's eyes are narrowed. "He can't hear us. Didn't want to listen to you givin' him shit." He moves his hand from the small of Clint's back to rub up and down Clint's spine. "I know it’s all with good intentions, but just cut it out."
Tony goes quiet.
Clint puts his hand over Bucky's heart.
Bucky just wants a fucking drink.
Fiction: Bucky Barnes is a villain.
"Hold on, there were kittens in there!"
"Bucky, the building is going down!"
"Gimme two seconds!"
Clint is so fucking sick of Bucky's shit. What a hypocrite. "Clint, stop pettin' dogs." "Clint, don't let the dog sleep on the bed with us." "Clint, why’d you give the dog half our pizza?"
Oh, but it's totally different when Bucky runs into a burning building to save kittens. Totally different. Definitely not a hypocrite. Just an asshole.
Clint's left outside, fingers itching to get in there and chase after Bucky. Energy is basically buzzing through him until- "Fuck it." And he's running into a burning building after his husband because their lives are basically just a bunch of bad choices strung together.
He's barely through the door before Bucky's right there, handing him soot-covered kittens. "C'mon, move, move," ushers Barnes before trying to get Clint back outside, doing everything short of actually shoving him.
"Did I just see Barnes run out of a building carrying kittens?" comes Tasha's voice over comms.
"So much for the Winter Soldier," scoffs Stark from where he's soaring over the city, pulling people from the rooftop and back to safety.
"He's just the Winter Snuggler now. Barton's made him soft," Sam adds, and Clint actually looks up and can see Wilson smiling down at them as he zooms overhead.
"Shut up," Clint and Bucky say simultaneously while both carrying mewling kittens.
Fiction: Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes have the loudest sex imaginable.
On one side of the wall, Steve is groaning because he and Tony apparently can’t get a decent night’s sleep during their vacation time.
"They don't have to be so damn loud." Tony pulls a pillow over his head while burying his face in Steve’s chest. "That's just excessive."
Steve's silent. He’s trying not to think about the fact that his best friend is sleeping with his teammate in such a dirty manner.
On the other side of the wall, Clint and Bucky are both fully dressed and making explicit noises because the last time they went on a trip with Steve and Tony, the super husbands fucked on the kitchen table, meaning Bucky and Clint couldn’t eat there for the rest of the stay.
Vengeance involves Tony and Steve not being able to sleep.
"Did you just break the headboard?" asks Clint a little too loudly while Bucky chuckles under his breath. "I think you definitely broke the headboard."
Bucky keeps pounding on the wall with a fist while watching Clint, who is currently jumping on the bed in a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt. "You know I'm gonna have to actually break it now, right?" asks Bucky lowly, maybe just a little disappointed in Clint about this one because nothing needed to get broken until he said that.
He whispers, "Stark can pay for it." Clint keeps bouncing. "No big."
When they actually sleep together, it's quiet and gentle and tender and loving.
This right here is just because they like having clean surfaces to eat off of and refuse to deal with that shit a second time.