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Bruce wakes in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as he tries to slow his heart rate. He can feel the other guy stirring, ready to pounce, but there’s no danger here. The only danger is inside of Bruce’s mind, and when he realizes this, he rubs his face tiredly. He begins to reach for Lenny, only to find the rabbit is not under the sheets, but on the floor.
Bruce feels guilty and picks the stuffed animal up, squeezing it briefly before getting out of bed.
He makes his way to the kitchen, where he’s surprised to see Clint sitting at the table with his head in his hands. Bruce doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t need to because he understands. Instead, he searches the pantry for hot cocoa mix and pulls down two mugs from the cabinet. As he waits for the water to boil on the stove, he goes to the bar and pulls out a shot glass and whipped cream flavored vodka. He pours two shots into each of the mugs, then the cocoa mixes, and when the hot water is ready, he adds that and stirs.
Bruce has to force himself to think of these things step by step, because it grounds him. He learned that a way to ease anxiety is by naming the things in a room and focusing on your actions, so after bad dreams, he tries to do that.
“Where’s the quilt?” Bruce asks quietly as he sets Clint’s cup in front of him.
“Den,” Clint mumbles, raising his head at the smell of vodka and hot chocolate.
“Let’s go sit on the roof, okay?”
Clint nods and gets up to follow Bruce. Bruce grabs the quilt off the couch and they enter the elevator to the uppermost levels of the tower before climbing the stairs to the roof.
It’s a clear night, and the world below is so far away that everything is quiet. Bruce thanks whatever deity is listening for the small favors, and leads Clint to a small sofa near the front of the building.
“How did this get here?” Clint questions.
“Well, let’s just say I’m not the only who gets the idea to come up here,” Bruce answers. He sits and Clint does the same. They spread the quilt over themselves and sip their alcoholic hot chocolates quietly.
Finally, Clint says, “I had a dream that I killed Natasha. I was being controlled by Loki, and he made me gut her like a fish.” He closes his eyes and shivers as the image plays through his mind again. He opens his eyes when he feels Bruce’s arm wrap comfortable around his shoulders.
“Loki’s gone and you didn’t. Natasha would never let you get that close to hurting her. In fact, when you tried, she kind of kicked your ass, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Clint snorts. “Yeah, that’s an undeniable fact. She’s much better at fighting than me, but she has her reasons. I’m not at liberty to say.”
Bruce nods and sips his drink. “I understand. I’ve got some redacted lines on my file. There are actually a few pages completely blacked out. I did it myself.”
Clint stares at Bruce out the corner of his eye and wonders how Bruce can be so calm about things. “So what did you dream about?”
Bruce is silent for a few moments before rubbing his forehead. “I dreamt that I didn’t save you. I dreamt that I didn’t save Tony. I dreamt that I killed Natasha. I actually became the monster I worked so hard not to be.” He lowers his head and sighs tiredly.
Clint nudges Bruce’s side until Bruce looks up at him. “You saved us, and like you said, Natasha wouldn’t let anyone get close to hurting her. She can hold her own. Don’t let your years of guilt ruin the good things you’ve done lately. You’re a good poker player who’s been dealt a shitty hand, but you can make it work. I know you can.”
Bruce smiles meekly at the metaphor and leans back against the sofa. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear someone say that.”
They finish their drinks and fall asleep slumped against one another when the sun begins to rise. It’s the best sleep they’ve had for as long as they can remember.