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Bruce sat alone in the park, late one night, hugging his knees to his chest and staring off into the middle distance as the stars twinkled overhead. He shivered, feeling isolated and cold, and listened in silence to the sounds of the city, wondering why he'd ever decided moving here would do him any good. There was no one to talk to, no one to help him when the episodes got too bad. He was utterly alone, and Halloween eve rose around him, black and cloying. He'd gone out with the intention of going to a bar, but had somehow ended up in this park, fingering a penny gently and staring into the ink-black waters of a fountain, thinking out loud at he did.
"I wish I had somebody," he murmurs, closing his eyes. "Someone kind, and strong, and loyal." He rubbed at his eyes, staring sadly at his own reflection. "Someone handsome, someone self-assured, someone who will love me with all their heart."
He went on to babble about other things he wanted, things he felt were important, and after his long, drawn out description, he tosses the coin into the fountain, staring as it silently sinks with a plop. Bruce knew it was all useless, but he had to try.
Clint coughs as he gasps for air. His throat felt raw and his neck aches. He rubs his neck and feels dry blistered skin. It feels like he chaffed it. He wonders how he got it along his neck. He holds his head as he stands up and catches his balance. He doesn’t remember anything and looks around him as he brushes off his clothes. He doesn’t recognize the place at all. There are too many lights.
His feet start moving on his own accord and he keep walking maybe his feet know where to go? He doesn’t know he just feels a pull in a certain direction and follows it. He looks around at the people walking around at night and raises an eyebrow, “people sure are dressing up funny,” he says to himself as he keeps walking.
He arrives outside a small apartment and looks at the door labeled 3B. Did 3B mean anything to him? He doesn’t remember ever having to go to the third floor. They didn’t even have third floors in his town. He sighs and knocks on the door feeling a compulsion to knock on the door right at that moment. He waits for whoever is behind the door to open it. They have to have some answers because compulsion to knock on someone’s door in the middle of the night was crazy and unnatural. He looks down sadly, “well I am unnatural but if I fake it I can make it.”
Bruce had gone home that night to sit and think; think about a lot of things, but mostly about how useless it was to stay here. Well, not here as in the apartment. Here as in the /world/. Everything felt sad and dim and hopeless, and frankly that wish had been a sort of last hope desperation. He didn't know what else to do. He hated his job, he hated the people he knew, and all the people he loved were either dead and gone or hundreds of miles away. Putting a bullet in his own skull seemed like a far better option than letting himself fester for any longer.
He was still contemplating this when a knock came on his apartment door, and he paused his depression, standing up with confusion. It was late. /Really/ late, and Bruce didn't get visitors. He wondered who it was as he came wandering over to the door, unlatched it, and peaked outside. "Hello?"
Clint was standing outside the door when he say the guy open it and nearly lost his cool. Freckles it had to be freckles damnit. Be normal Clint don’t be one of those freaks. “Hi my name is Clint. I had a feeling to come here…I don’t know why and well I don’t know where I am, or how I got here but I think you can help me out,” he asks lamely scratching the back of his head.
Bruce blinked wide eyes in surprise, sucking in a breath of surprise and almost shutting the door; he was beautiful. Strong jaw line and beautiful blue eyes, bright blond hair...Bruce was sure he'd walked right out of Bruce's own daydreams and he was knocking on Bruce's door for help? He could only wonder what kind of cruel trick this was.
Or perhaps...
"Y-you're lost?" He asked, opening the door wider and biting his lip, glancing around. There didn't seem to be anyone else around looking to punk him. "Yeah, sure, you can, um, come in, if you need to use the phone, or..." he paused, shrugging. He looked the man over once more, swallowing; just like out of one of Bruce's fantasies.
“Yeah I’m lost,” he smiles as he enters the house and feels better. It doesn’t look nearly as bad as people outside. There doesn’t appear to be any weird devices people are talking into or maybe they were crazy and talking to themselves.
“Ok so where’s your horn,” he asks Bruce looking around for the phone.
"M-my what?" Bruce asks, confused as he looks at the stranger, closing the door and nervously heading once more into his apartment, looking around for his phone. He probably left it in his room, he thinks, or maybe in the kitchen. He shouldn't just leave his guest to wonder, though. "Uh, follow me; I'll go get my phone."
“Your horn, a phone,” he says looking at him, “don’t you know any slang at all man,” he asks as he follows him through the house. It seems cozy but bare, “so uh what’s your name?”
Bruce furrowed his brow. He may not have been out much, but he'd never heard someone say that before. Maybe it was a new thing he'd missed? He almost missed Clint's question in his musing. "Oh, um, I'm Bruce," he says, stumbling on a chair in his kitchen and clearing his throat with a blush. He was such a dunce. He found his phone, though, over on the counter, and went to grab it and tap it awake.
Clint watches him stumble and smiles, “ok there cool cat,” he grins before his face falls. “What’s that in your hands,” he says backing up. What if this was like that alien movie he watched at the drive thru a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to become a mindless zombie.
Bruce looks up in surprise, holding his phone in one hand and cocking his head to the side. "What?" He asks, confused. "This is my phone. I mean, yeah, it's not the newest one but it's not /that/ old," he says, frowning. Maybe this guy /was/ a prank, someone sending Bruce's fantasy dream guy only to have him turn out to be a nutter.
“That’s not a phone it doesn’t have a cord to it. Are you an alien,” he asks moving away from Bruce, “just stay back alley cat. Or I’ll open up a can of whoop ass.”
Bruce sets the phone down, before he crosses his arms over his chest, scowling. "Why are you messing with me?" He asks, feeling angry. "Did someone send you?" Oh god he was /right/, someone really /was/ just trying to fuck with him. Who could it be? "Was it Stryker? I bet it was."
“What? Cool it man I don’t want no alien probing my behind,” he says covering his ass with his hands. “Everyone has one of those things and talks into them like it’s some sort of mind control,” he says scared, “it’s not natural. It’s wrong,” he says seriously.
“Look you can probe another cat once I’m gone daddy-o…”
Bruce steps forward, his frustration rising. "I'm not an alien!" He shouts, trembling ever so slightly. This wasn't funny. This was hurtful. He was different, not an alien. And it was even worse coming from someone as handsome as this, someone he had been /sure/ was a walking dream. "I'm not an alien, I'm not your cat or your daddy-o, and if you don't stop acting weird I'm gonna get /mad/."
Clint looks at him getting angry, “I’m not weird. I’m not a freak. You act like talking on that plastic rectangle is a phone. That’s weird. This isn’t the school ground and what the hell is that,” he says pointing at the TV. “Is that a laser X-ray? Hey meat can I at least know what that thing is before you probe and kill me?”
"It's a /TV/!" Bruce shouts, hands curling into fists. "What's wrong with you? I'm /not an alien/!" He grabs the remote, turning it on; the news is on, something about the war in Afghanistan on the TV, though Bruce doesn't pay it any mind. "It's a TV, /this/," he says, grabbing his phone up once more. "Is a cell phone!" And then he turns around, stomping away. "And this is me leaving, you ass!"
Clint’s mouth drops as he watches the TV come on. He goes closer to it scare of it as he watches the news. He looks at the images of the war and sees the clock and date they put on the news. He slumps in Bruce’s chair scared, “Bruce,” he calls but gets no answer.
He gets up and goes to where Bruce had stomped away to, “Bruce why is it 2015?”
Bruce is leaning on his counter, feeling angry and teary-eyed, and when he hears Clint approach he almost turns to punch him. But then he pauses, glancing up and rubbing at his eyes. "What do you mean, 'why'?" He asked, furrowing his brow. Clint looked genuinely frightened. "It's 2015 because that's the year?"
“No the year is 1964. We’re in the Vietnam not Afghanistan, and Kennedy just got shot and there no way in hell that there is a black president he would have been hung for even thinking about it…” he says panicked as he lists off other facts scared.
Bruce's anger fades into nothing as confusion takes its place. "Are you okay?" He asks, stepping towards the man, actually worried. "You must have hit your head or something; we've had civil rights for years? Afghanistan has been going on for years now. Kennedy's been dead for /forever/."
“Civil rights? You can’t…we don’t have them yet at all. People can still take a black man and hang him if they want no questions asked. They can even hang others, women, gay people, minorities everyone that isn’t white and heterosexual…you’re lying trying to get me to talk aren’t you?”
Bruce steps even closer, reaching up to grab the man's arm. "I'm not lying. I'm telling you the truth, I promise. But...you are either an amazing liar or a man with a really bad brain injury." He frowns, looking him in the eye. "You can't be from the sixties. You're too young."
Clint gasps at him and steps back, “you’re hand just went through my arm…is that some freaky future shit,” he says panicked.
Bruce pulls his hand back, gaping at it like it had personally betrayed him, before he looks at Clint and goes so wide-eyed he might really have been an owl. "Wh-what /are/ you?" He asks, stepping back in fear himself now, hand trembling.
“How the hell should I know? You just told me I’m in the future and I don’t even know how I got here except…aliens. Yep some aliens beamed me up and spat me back on earth years in the future,” he says calming down before frowning.
“That doesn’t explain why your hand went through me…Bruce am I dead?”
Bruce's panic sky-rockets; if Clint was meant to be a dream, Bruce somehow turned him into a nightmare. He holds his hand up, and slaps himself across the face, but when his vision clears the blond is still there, looking at him. "Oh my god I've lost it. I've finally snapped. I thought /Hulk/ was bad, I can't deal with /another/ one!"
“What are you wack? Why did you slap yourself,” he pauses when he mentions Hulk. “Hulk whose the Hulk? Are you and him tight? Buddies? You know shit like that,” he asks.
He pauses as an idea forms, “I get it now…you’re a psychic person who sees dead people right? How many other people have you seen you just said you got another one.”
Bruce shakes his head, frantically, and closes his eyes. "No, no, he's not--Hulks' not out, he's /in my head/!" He says, anxiously trying not to look at Clint. "Just like you. In my head. /Not. Real./" Like the Doctor said Bruce; take a deep breath, let yourself calm down, make the hallucination dissipate. He nearly punches something when he opens his eyes and still sees Clint there.
Clint backs away from him, “whoa stop wiggin out man,” he says putting his hands up. He waits for Bruce to do his little breathing routine and sits on the chair arms crossed, “guess I’m not in your head. Why would you even get an idea like that? Are you a nutcase who broke out the asylum or something? You hear people talk in your head?”
Bruce begins to pace, not looking at Clint. "I'm /not/ a nutcase," he snaps, nearly a snarl, before he covers his mouth with his hand. "No one talks in my head, excluding yourself; I'm /perfectly. Sane./" He turns a glare on Clint, stepping towards him. "Until you showed up. How could you be a ghost? Why are you /here/?"
Clint watches Bruce freak out and snarl at him and tries to calm him down, “dude take a chill pill,” he says still sitting on the chair. He can’t help that it slips, “not sane right now,” he mumbles before shutting his mouth as Bruce starts to question him.
“Hey back off look I don’t know why I’m a ghost or whatever I am. I have no clue how I got here where I am and the last thing I remember…last thing I remember,” he says struggling to remember what happened to him. “I don’t know but it must have been something bad because my neck is raw and was hurting when I woke up tonight.”
He sighs exhausted, “why would you even imagine me in your head in the first place? Pretty sure you’ve hated me since I got here. So what you made up an imaginary friend again,” he asks slumping in the chair before he springs up. “I got it you ask me where I was born and I’ll say if it true or not if it’s true I’m in your head if not I’m a ghost that should work daddy-o.”
Bruce thought about it, stepping back to grab a chair and sit down heavily in it, rubbing his face anxiously. "I don't know; you talk weird. You're from the sixties. You're /dead/. New York? I dunno, it doesn't really make any sense for me to dream /that/ stuff up; you were some stupid wish that wasn't supposed to turn /out/ like this. You weren't supposed to--" He cut himself off, frustrated. "I should never wish for anything. It's never what I ask for."
“Nope I’m from Waverly, Iowa so you didn’t make me up in your head,” he woots excited before he catches what Bruce said.
“Wait a second you made a wish for me to appear right here? Why did you wish for me? Encase you haven’t noticed we haven’t gotten on the right foot since we meet.”
Bruce hung his head, hiding behind his curls and rubbing his hands together with embarrassment. "I...I made a wish in a fountain!" He said, feeling slightly desperate. "I-I was alone, and sad, and I just wanted someone to /like/ me, so I made some stupid wish about the guy of my /dreams/, wished that someone would come and /love/ me. A-and I--" He shook his head, looking up at Clint for only a moment, before turning his head away. "You're.../him/, you're /perfect/, of /course/ you can't be real. It's not possible."
Clint watches as Bruce hangs his head hiding behind his hair before he begins to speak about wishing in a fountain. When have fountain wishes come true? Never. He listens to him rant and explain what he wished for and blushes.
“Whoa slow down Bruce. I am not perfect at all. Look people,” he looks down worried, “I’m not normal. I’m unnatural. I’m a fairy ok,” he huffs waiting for Bruce to laugh at him or move away from him, “I tried getting cured but it didn’t work out so well once I saw the choir boy changing clothes…we were both twelve at the time and shared a kiss. It got heated and out of control so then we were sent to the correction facility to be normal. I faked being normal so I wouldn’t be killed. The guy I kissed wasn’t so lucky he hung himself.”
He sighs and rubs his head, “all I’m saying is I’m not perfect and you don’t need to be associated with me or you might get killed too.”
Bruce's head snaps up, and for a moment he stares at Clint, mouth hanging open with surprise. A fairy? A cure? The idea makes his chest clench with anxiety, and he feels a shiver run down his spine. Those were things his dad had believed in, had said. Those weren't things that Bruce had ever thought he'd hear spoken so plainly again.
"Oh my god," he murmurs, standing from his chair with a clatter of the legs, before he turns anxiously towards the counter, resting his hands there. "They tried to /cure/ you?"
His voice is strangled, and he glances back at Clint, eyes wide. "I'm not--" Bruce turned around, leaning his hip against the counter so he can watch Clint closely. "I'm not going to get killed. Clint, I'm gay; that's something allowed now. Y-you--It's not dangerous." He looks down, huffing. "I'm so sorry that happened to you." He doesn't know how to deal with all this.
Clint look at Bruce’s mouth hanging open and takes it the wrong way, “I’ll leave and…” he pauses as he listens to Bruce speak. He nods his head when he asks him about the cure again.
Clint listens to him surprised, “so if you were to hold another guys hands you wouldn’t get killed,” he asks shocked. “Wow sure has changed a lot. My dad whipped me for holding this boy’s hand in class one day. Tried to beat the gay out of me,” he grins, “didn’t work.”
He looks at Bruce and sees distress and goes over to him and pats Bruce’s hand on the table before pulling back quickly, “I forgot about the ghost thing uh anyway I’m fine, except for being a ghost but I think I’m doing ok for myself. I’m fifty years in the future, I’m not going to get probed by an alien, the TV is huge and I’m standing next to a righteous groovy freckled guy so I think my life…dead life is going good.”
Bruce looks at Clint curiously, squinting slightly when he comes closer. He can't imagine the persecution he went through, the pain he'd experienced because of who he was. The idea of it was bad enough; what Bruce had gone through had nearly destroyed him. And yet there was this handsome dead man trying to reassure him, even if he couldn't touch him.
"I--I'm glad your dead life is going well," he said, blushing softly and looking down. 'Groovy freckled guy'? Yeah, sure. "Th-though I don't know how you got here. I mean...you're dead, right? How did you...?" He pauses, frowning. "Die? How did you come /here/?"
“Hey don’t sell yourself short man. You would have been a popular guy to go after in my town trust me on that. There weren’t enough cool cats in the area,” he grins.
Clint shrugs his shoulder at the next question, “I don’t know how I came to be here? Maybe it was just your wish? I don’t know I just woke up in the park a few blocks from here with a sore and blistered neck…huh must have done something really stupid if I died with a bad neck.”
Bruce's brow furrowed slightly, and he reached out, knowing he couldn't touch Clint, hand hovering just beside his neck. "Sore neck?" That...there weren't a lot of ways to die when it comes to the neck. And blistered? The vision of a rope came to Bruce's mind and he flinched away from the thought. Clint seemed too happy; he couldn't have killed himself, could he have?
He avoided the thought. "You, um, just woke up in the park?" He frowned. "That's where the fountain is..."
“Yeah a sore neck,” he blushes as Bruce almost touches him before clearing his throat, “yeah I just woke up in the park. Hey maybe we can go to the fountain and figure this whole wish thing out cause maybe I’m supposed to do something for you? I don’t know did you really just wish for a perfect man,” he asks bluntly.
Bruce pulls his hand away, looking down once more and sighing. "I, um...I wished for someone to who could..." He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wished for you, you're like a walking dream, but I also wished for...someone to, um..." He doesn't want to admit it. It sounds pathetic. "A...friend," he lies.
Clint watches Bruce as he struggles to answer, “so you wished for a smoking cool cat to be your friend and got me…huh ok I guess I’m going to be your friend then.” He pauses and looks at Bruce, “what do friends do now a days? I don’t think you’re the type of guy who would steal car parts for fun,” he grins.
Bruce shrugs, looking up at Clint with wide eyes. "I don't...really know. Why do you think I wished for a friend?" He smiles bitterly, before he moves away from the counter, pursing his lips. He couldn't think of anything a dead guy from the /sixties/ would want to do. "What did you do back in your day that was...legal?"
Clint answers the rhetorical question, “cause you had no one else to call up,” he cringes, “sorry.” He shrugs, “legal things? Uh I’ve gone to dancing parties the one’s outside not the ball gown and shit ones, went to malt shops, the beach, movies, explored the woods, hunted…and a lot of stuff.”
Bruce paused at the doorway, leaning against the frame and looking into his cluttered living room, the books and papers scattered around, the TV still on in the background, the notebook and pen still opened on the table, a note half-written. He swallows.
"Well, since you're the dead one here, what would you want to do first? I can take us anywhere."
“How about we just stay in. I wanna watch something on the big TV,” he smiles as he walks to the living room and whistles, “you sure have a lot of papers and books. What are you a doctor or something,” he asks looking down at the papers.
"A scientist, actually," Bruce says, walking over and absently kicking one of the papers on the floor, covered completely in lines of numbers, equations, and formula's. "Well...partly. Not, um, certified yet." He reaches down to grab his open notebook, pale. "Almost have a doctorate, though."
“Ah huh almost have a doctorate and you’re trying to kill yourself,” he says looking up at Bruce, “Man why would you want to do that? I’m actually dead…don’t know how but it sucks. I can’t touch or eat anything. I feel cold all the time except when talking with you so why do you want to be dead so bad man?”
Bruce looks down at his notebook, wincing. He'd hoped Clint wouldn't see. "I had to wish for a friend, Clint," he mutters, bitterly. "I haven't had a friend in...too long. I may be smart but what's a doctorate compared to having someone...someone care? Someone love you?" He rubs anxiously at his wrists, notebook tucked under his arm. "I'm crazy and alone and I don't eat enough, and I don't think I've touched another person in months." He clenches his jaw. "I'm...I'm sorry you're dead. If I could switch places with you, I would."
“Jesus man I wish I could touch you so you wouldn’t do this,” he says worried about Bruce’s break down. He looks at Bruce rubbing his wrists and frowns, “you’ve already tried once haven’t you,” he asks. “Look don’t ever ask to switch places with me. Yeah it stinks that I’m dead but no one is going to care about a dumb faggot. You’re at least going to be a doctor and go somewhere with it so you deserve to live Bruce.”
Bruce flinches, looking up at Clint with wide eyes. "N-no, don't say that. You're not--" He wants to reach out and touch, but knows he can't. "Don't say that about yourself. Don't--" He takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling tears in his eyes. "God, no, you're not what those people called you, you're /not/. I'm--I can't be a real doctor because I-I have /fits/, I'm unstable and I've tried too many times to count. The world needs less people like me. You're...you're /perfect/."
Clint gets frustrated and shouts at him, “I’m not perfect alright. I’m not you need to stop telling me that I am because I’ve done some bad shit alright. I’ve stolen parts from cars, people in general, drove drunk. I’m not a perfect person Bruce,” he lets out a sigh, “Oh yeah and the fact I want to do the hanky panky with some cats instead of chasing the skirts is not good either. So you have a fit big deal people get used to it. Like Jimmy at the auto shop he had this weird looking thumb and everyone thought it was gross but they got used to it once he was there awhile.”
Clint tries to reach out for him forgetting he’s a ghost, “all I’m saying is don’t give up because you have a weird twitch.”
"It's not a weird twitch!" Bruce shouts back, rubbing furiously at his eyes as he takes off his glasses. "I--You asked if I was crazy, you /asked/, and you know what?" He throws them to the floor, notebook falling and pages skattering. "I /am/, I'm a fuckin' nut with someone else living in my head and a track record a mile long for all the bad shit I've done, and trust me, being gay sure as hell isn't a bad thing you have on your list. Hell, if you weren't dead that'd be a fuckin' /plus/."
He closes his eyes shut, covering his face. "You care, dammit; you don't want me /dead/, and that means you're either perfect or just my subconscious trying to keep me from using my gun. It's one or the other, and I don't trust my own head so I'm betting on the /second/."
Clint lets Bruce rant and gets confused, “of course I care why wouldn’t I? I mean sure we got off on the wrong foot but you’re not that bad freckles.”
Bruce uncovered his face, looking at Clint with an equal amount of confusion. "Because no one cares?" He asks, face a mess of doubt and grief. "No one cares. Everyone...ignores it, or, or they.../tell/ me to do it, to get it /over with/," he says, looking slightly sick. "I...no one's ever told me not to do it."
“Wow people are just as nasty as they were back then,” he says shaking his head, “Sad that hasn’t changed yet. Look I don’t want you to kill yourself cause being dead isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’ll just be dead,” he says shrugging. “And you want to be a doctor right? So think of all the people you’ll be letting down if you kill yourself. Maybe you save a kids life one day but if you’re dead he might die too you know.”
Bruce moves to sit heavily on his couch, papers crumpling around him. He stares down at his hands on his knees. "I...I could save someone," he murmurs, furrowing his brow. "I...I could? Yes, I could. I could save people." He looks up at Clint, looking sad. "Wish I could'a saved you. Wish you weren't dead. You're so...kind." And he'd /wished/ for kindness, hadn't he? Clint fit that bill to a ‘T’.
Clint grimaces a smile, “you probably weren’t even born when I was killed,” he said sitting beside him, “Besides I would look like a wrinkled old man if I met you now,” he smiles.
"Wish I could bring you back, then," Bruce says, shrugging as he leans slightly towards Clint, knowing they can't touch but wishing, wishing badly that they could. He closes his eyes, sighing. "But, hell, even if you're dead...I'm still glad you're here."
“You are,” he asked surprised, “huh that’s new. I’m glad you’re not dead too,” he said leaning by Bruce. “You know if I was still alive after I found out you were gay I’d take you on a date. The works you know, not like a cheap date either and then you’d be my steady one day,” he grins.
Bruce's face goes a bit red, and he looks down, smiling softly. "I'd have liked that, if you were alive," he replies, softly, feeling sad. "I...I lied, before," he murmurs, biting his lip as he looks up at Clint. "I didn't wish for a friend. I wished for..." He pauses, face a bright red now. "Love."
Clint doesn’t know what to say to that and just leans down trying to kiss Bruce on the lips.
Though he can't feel Clint, he knows the kiss he's missing and wishes desperately for it, reaching out to a shoulder he can't grasp, sighing in frustration.
Clint sighs when he realizes he can’t feel Bruce at all, “sorry I forgot Bruce…hey you know that fountain brought me here cause of a wish don’t see why you can’t wish me alive.”
Bruce blinks in surprise, leaning back to look at Clint. "Make...another wish?" He asks aloud, biting his lip with worry. "But...what if it sends you back? It sent me a ghost, I don't think I trust that fountain very much." He pauses, glancing off to the side. But if it brought Clint to life... "But...but I could try."
“Well I could make the wish if you’re worried and if I do disappear at least I got to meet you and that is righteous enough for me,” he smiles before wagging his finger at him, “you gotta promise me that if something bad happens you will not kill yourself.”
Bruce is quiet for a moment, before he nods. "Okay," he says, furrowing his brow in determination. "I promise. If...If something bad happens I'll...I'll stay alive." He shifts to stand, looking to Clint with a soft smile. "Come on. Let's go make a wish, yeah?"
Clint nods his head and stands up reaching for Bruce’s hand before frowning and dropping it. “Yeah let’s get it over with.” He begins to walk with Bruce outside the door.
Bruce grabs his coat before he heads out the door, hearing the change in his pocket jingle, and he closes the door behind Clint, pulling on his jacket in the cold October air. "Come on," he murmurs, smiling softly at Clint. "To the park," he says, beginning the walk.
Clint smiles and walks with Bruce to the park smiling. “So is it just a regular wishing fountain? How should I word my wish?”
Bruce shrugs, looking up at Clint with a small smile. "I...I'm not sure. It looked like a regular fountain to me. So I guess you could just...ask to be alive. Ask to be alive in /this/ time period, too, cause it's a stupid wishing well that likes to trick people, apparently."
He nods his head, “ok I’ll ask very detailed then,” he smiles as they finally reach the wishing fountain ten minutes later. “Can you throw a coin in for me?”
Bruce nods, pulling a quarter from his pocket and taking a deep breath. He pauses just before he tosses it. "Clint...thank you. Don't ask what for; just thank you." And then he tosses the coin, watching it hit the water with a splash, and closes his eyes, hands in his pockets.
Clint smiles and begins to speak to the wishing well, “hey wishing well long time no see. Anyway my wish is to be alive and be human, and be the age I am now not an old wrinkled guy. I want to have fun with Bruce ya know. I want to stay with Bruce in this time period. I like him very much and would like to get to know him better maybe go out on a few dates and be life buddies if he wants that. I really just want to stay with Bruce and be with him and look after him so please?”
Clint turns and looks at Bruce shrugging his shoulders.
Bruce keeps his eyes shut for a moment, before peaking one eye open, looking over to Clint with a sigh of relief. Well, he hadn't disappeared. "Still here, at least," he murmured, glancing nervously at the well before looking back to Clint. "Should we...wait? So it can...do its thing, I guess?"
“I guess so,” he says before suddenly without warning he begins to fade before blowing into the wind.
Bruce sucks in a breath of surprise, before his eyes go wide and his lips trembling. "Oh, Clint," he murmurs, before he covers his eyes and shakes his head, trembling with tears now. "Oh god." He sits down heavily at the edge of the fountain, a sob stuck in his throat.
He stays there until it's freezing and long past midnight, before heading home and sleeping on the couch, tears still burning his eyes.
The next morning there’s a knock on his door as a familiar voice calls for Bruce. “Hey is there a Bruce Banner in there?”
Bruce lifts himself from the couch, eyes red-rimmed as he sniffles, and for a moment his brain is too slow to catch up with what's going on. And then he's leaping from the couch and tearing for the door, pulling it open and sucking in a deep breath, half a sob.
"Cl-Clint?" He asks, feeling faint.
The guy looks at him and nods, “yeah man how’d you know my name?” He pauses and sees Bruce’s red rimmed eyes, “shit is this a bad time to be visiting? I got your mail in my mailbox so I wanted to give it to you,” he smiles. “Hey dude are you ok?”
Bruce's brow furrows in confusion, and he scrubs at his eyes, sniffing and trying to right himself. "M-my mail?" He asks, confused as he opens the door further, looking the man over. It's Clint. It's /Clint/. But there's no recognition in his eyes. "It's...I'm fine," he murmurs, anxiously.
“Oh ah ok,” he says handing Bruce his mail and rubbing the back of his head. “Uh hey I know this is going to sound weird. I just met ya and all but do you wanna go on a date freckles?”
Bruce's cheek lit up red, and he blinked in surprise, before the sadness on his face went away completely and he took his mail, smiling a bit. "A-a date?" He murmurs, biting his lip. "Um, sure; I'd love that."
“Groovy uh yeah that was weird,” he flushes rubbing the back of his neck, “see you around seven tonight then?”
Bruce nods, breath hitching in his throat. "Y-yeah, um...that sounds good," he murmurs, smiling faintly. "Pick, um, pick me up here?"
Clint grins and nods his head, “yeah sure thing man. I’ll pick you up here so I guess see ya later tonight,” he smiles and waves as he leaves Bruce’s door.
Bruce watches him go, eyes wide, before he slips back into his apartment, wondering if yesterday had been a dream. But, no; that was Clint. He'd known his name. That was /his/ Clint, and he wasn't dead? He'd never even learned how he'd died, and now he was alive...
Seven o’clock rolls around quickly and soon there is a knock on Bruce’s door with Clint fidgeting outside with his outfit.
Bruce is dressed as nicely as he could manage, purple button-up a bit wrinkled but still good, hair combed back and glasses in place. When he opens the door, his heart is going wild in his chest, and he manages a small, breathless smile. "Hi," he murmurs.
“Hey,” Clint grins, “so I was thinking we get some junk food from some fast food joints and pig out in the park and stuff unless you want the whole wine and dine thing at a fancy restaurant,” he flushes, “we could do that too.”
Bruce shakes his head, stepping out as he pulls on his jacket and closes his door. "No, um, junk in the park sounds good to me," he murmurs, biting his lip and smiling down at his shoes. "I-I'm not a very fancy date, so you don't have to worry."
“Hey that’s a good thing now I won’t have to worry about eating snails or you lifting your nose at me cause of my bad manners,” he smiles as he grabs Bruce’s hand and leads him to his car, “I know it doesn’t look like it works but I’m fixing her up real good. My ma got it from her uncle when he died. They were close…well close enough she named me after him,” he smiles as he gets in the car.
Named after him... Bruce follows Clint to the car, smiling feebly at it. It was a nice car, if a bit older and more banged up. He liked it. "Named after him, hm?" He murmured, thinking about what that might mean. He gets into the car as well, rubbing his hands on his knees. "Must've been a good uncle."
“Yeah he was a good uncle. Ma was sad when he died,” he says pausing, “he wasn’t a normal uncle if you know what I mean. He didn’t have a wife or a girl he was seeing ya know. Plus he use to get in trouble by stealing car parts and little stuff like that but he always took care of my ma so that’s what mattered the most to her.”
He starts the car up and begins to drive to the first fast food restaurant, “he died such a shitty way too and Ma knew what had happened but she had to keep quiet about it otherwise she would have got hurt too. She left the town as soon as she was legal found a guy had me you know typical get together story.”
"How did he..." Bruce swallows, nervously, and tries to keep himself from sounding too emotional; this Clint wasn't the same and yet he /was/, and the knowledge left an ache in Bruce's chest. Clint was still dead, but he was also here with Bruce. "How did he die?"
Clint frowns as he parks the car at the fast food place, “the town hung him. They didn’t like gay people living in the town so they made up some bullshit excuse and got him arrested and hung him in front of the town. Ma says he was stuck in jail for a few weeks and they left him rope to kill himself but when he didn’t they did it for him publicly,” he says angry, “whole town were a bunch of bastards.”
Bruce's eyes stung, and he stared out the window for a long moment. His face felt too hot, and he didn't want to seem weird, crying over someone who'd been dead for so long. He rubbed at his eyes, trying not to let the other man notice, and cleared his throat. "That's...terrible," he murmured, trying not to sound too upset.
Clint frowns and rubs the back of his head, “sorry…it’s not date worthy material to hear. Sorry I made you upset…um what do you want from this place? I’ll order it so you can stay in the car and relax and calm down.”
"It's okay, really," Bruce replied, giving a small smile over at the man. "I'm just...sensitive I guess." He shook his head, absently plucking at his shirt. "I'm not picky, I'll have whatever you're having."
“Double cheese burgers, chicken nuggets and fries with cheesy hot sauce,” he asks him to be sure. He doesn’t know if Bruce likes spicy food or not.
Bruce's smile is a bit wider after that. "That...that works for me," he said, chuckling as he looked over to Clint, feeling a little better, for what it was worth. He may have been sad, but he didn't want to upset.../this/ Clint
“Cool I’ll see you in about ten minutes,” he says closing the door and walking into the fast food place and ordering their food. Once the food is order he comes back out with two bags of food and two drinks. He opens the car door and puts the food in the back, “I got you a chocolate shake I know having one makes me feels a little better so yeah,” he says blushing.
Bruce sat in the car and thought, mostly, while Clint was gone. He wasn't sure what he should do. This wasn't /Clint/, the sixties car-parts thief who said groovy too much. But this was...someone like him. Someone who wanted to take him on a date. He couldn't just feel sorry for himself and ignore that. When Clint came back he gave the man a smile. "Thank you. I love chocolate shakes," he murmured.
Clint smiles at Bruce and begins to drive to the park, “no problem freckles. So can you tell me a little bit about yourself? It will make the ride nicer,” he smiles at him as he drives.
Bruce chews on his lip for a moment, wondering what he should tell. He'd called him /freckles/, is all he can think, before he shakes the thought away. "I, um, I'm getting my doctorate?" He shrugs, hands fidgeting in his lap.
“A doctorate? You must be smart then,” he grins, “so Dr. Bruce what are you getting it in and why?”
"Well, I..." Bruce begins softly, shifting in the seat. "I'm going into medical sciences. I'm getting it because..." He pauses, thinking back on Clint's words the day before. "I'm getting it to save people."
Clint nods his head, “nice man. Hey are you gonna be a kid doctor? That one would have to be the best free lollipops all the time when you go into work. Oh or you could be a regular adult doctor but those guys are never fun,” he parks the car, “you’re going to be a fun doctor right Bruce?”
Bruce looks at Clint, cheeks faintly red, and chuckles, looking down. "I'll try and be a fun doctor. But I'm mostly hoping to work on cures for things, not really hands-on with people too much." He looks thoughtful. "But I'd give everyone lollipops, /even/ the adults."
“Hands on stuff like what,” he asks grabbing the bags of food and his shake, “pick where you want to sit.”
Bruce looks around, before he starts towards the fountain, knowing it was a bit ironic, but it was also a nice seat. "Like...um, like surgery and such. I would want to make the medicine, instead of being around so much...violence and death."
Clint follows him to the fountain and sits by him as he hands Bruce his food and begins to chow down on his, “so you’d be an undercover doctor. Like a spy doctor,” he teases, “but that sounds cool behind the scenes of medicine and stuff.”
Bruce takes his food and carefully eats it, crossing his legs as he smiles. "A spy doctor?" He asks, chuckling. "That'd be cool. Secretly save people without having to deal with the people themselves."
“Well that is going to be your occupation one day,” Clint says eating his cheese burger, “oh cheese…hey do you mind being in a three-way relationship with cheese sorry Bruce but she’s my first love,” he laughs.
Bruce laughs, shaking his head as he takes a drink from his milk shake and smiles. "So long as you don't mind sharing me with chocolate, I don't mind you and cheese having a bit of an affair." He snickers, softly.
Clint laughs before cringing, “ugh cheese and chocolate would not go well together,” he finishes off his burger and opens the nugget box, “do you like honey mustard?”
Bruce shrugs, plucking out one of the nuggets and smiling. "I'm not picky," he says. "I'll eat basically anything." He looks at Clint with a small chuckle, patting his own stomach. "Though you wouldn't be able to tell."
“Yeah don’t brag about it Bruce,” he says covering the nuggets in honey mustard before sharing them with Bruce, “I gotta run everyday for practice and to make sure this junk food doesn’t mess me up.”
Bruce looks him over as he pops one into his mouth, licking the sauce off his fingers before he shakes his head. "I doubt a hamburger or two could get rid of /those/," he says, poking Clint lightly in the arm. "You're...built very strong, as far as I can tell."
“Archery lots and lots of archery,” he smiles flexing for Bruce to tease him as he eats one of the nuggets. “So I look good to you too huh Bruce,” he flirts.
Bruce goes a bit red and looks down, peeking up at Clint bashfully. "You're very handsome," he says, smiling. "Pretty eyes, a strong jaw line..." He pops another nugget into his mouth to shut himself up.
“Aw don’t stop Bruce I can say the same stuff about you Bruce,” he grins, “let’s see you have curly hair that fits your face just right. You’re eyes are very wide and open even with the glasses they shine,” he says leaning closer to him, “and you have a lot of freckles splatter all over not to mention your lips look very kissable,” he grins as he pulls away teasing him.
Bruce watches with wide eyes as he leans closer, and wonders if he can kiss this Clint. Well, of course he can, he thinks, but Clint pulls away and his face goes a bright red as he looks down with a small smile. "W-well thank you," he murmurs, biting his lip. "But you're the one with the Greek sculpture going for you."
“And you’re the one with the kicked puppy dog look,” he says sarcastic, “what’s your point? I think you look hot and am taking you on a date that should be enough right,” he asks looking at him.
Bruce looks up, nodding. "W-well, yeah, of course that's enough," he says, face red. "S-sorry, it's, um...It's a bad habit," he mumbles, covering his mouth with one hand as he sits forward, looking down.
Clint puts his arm on his back worried, “hey are you ok? You’re not sick or anything are you?”
Bruce startles nearly out of his skin at the touch; he'd almost forgotten they /could/ touch. He shakes his head, sitting back up and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, sorry, I'm okay. You just..." He pauses, swallowing. "You remind me of someone is all."
Clint frowns as he looks at Bruce, “someone close to you, was lost,” he asks.
Bruce nods, a few tears trying to form in his eyes. "Yeah, someone...someone close to me." He glances over at Clint, biting his lip. "It's very...strange."
“Would talking about it help? I’ve heard some strange tales it can’t be that bad.”
Bruce shook his head, letting out a weak laugh. "I...doubt you've heard anything this strange, trust me," he replied, sighing.
“Come on try me,” he says giving him puppy eyes.
Bruce opens his mouth, about to say something, before the phone in his pocket buzzes, and he pauses, reaching down to grab it, chuckling softly as he taps it to shut it off. "Ah, no alien probes today, I'm busy."
Clint laughs at the joke before grabbing his head in pain and falling onto the ground convulsing. His limbs twitch and won’t stop moving as his eyes roll to the back of his head. It lasts for a few minutes before his body stops moving and his breathing returns to normal. He reopens his eyes and blinks. He looks around moving his head confused, “Bruce?”
Bruce was frantic, phone falling as he drops down beside Clint, terrified he was about to lose Clint all over again. He doesn't touch him, just makes a terrified noise as he tries to figure out what to do. When Clint opens his eyes he nearly faints, reaching out to touch Clint's face, eyes wide. "Cl-Clint? Are you okay?" He asks, leaning over him.
Clint smiles up at Bruce and caresses his face, “yeah I’m feel groovy Bruce.”
Bruce's eyes go even wider, and he lets out a gasp of surprise. "Cl-Clint...? Clint, is it really you?" He grasps at Clint's shirt, leaning down to hide his face, tears in his eyes.
“Yeah daddy-o who else would it be,” he says wincing, “man those memories sure are tough especially the whole being my niece’s son…very weird,” he said trying to sit up and holding his head. He looks over at Bruce wincing at the pain, “I know how I died…not a good way to go let me tell you…”
Bruce shook his head, sitting up and pulling him to his chest, holding him tight. "No, definitely not. T-terrible way to go," he murmured, tears running down his cheeks, before he smiles. "B-but you're okay, right? Y-you're not gonna go away?" He asks, sniffling.
Clint smiles and hugs him back smiling, “No I’m not going anywhere…so I can hug and kiss you wherever I want and not get hung?”
Bruce pulled back, tears still flowing, before he rushes forward and kisses Clint, hard. "No one's going to hurt you, not a damn one," he murmurs, gripping him tight and kissing him all over his face. "You can kiss me or hug me wherever you want, I swear to you no one'll hurt you."
Clint is surprised by the kiss and is inexperienced at kissing Bruce plus it has been over fifty years. He pulls back smiling, “um wow,” he laughs. “Well I think I’m going to kiss and hug you everyday.”
Bruce's smile is wide and happy, and he pulls the man back into another kiss, this time longer and slower, running his hand into his hair with a soft sigh of relief when they pulled apart. "I'd love to kiss you everyday," he murmured, softly.
Clint smiles and leans into the kiss, “with kisses like that how can I say no,” he smiles and looks at Bruce, “Bruce you wanna be my steady?”
Bruce leans his forehead against Clint's, smiling soft and sweet. "I thought you'd never ask," he replied, before he kissed Clint's lips once more.