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Clint always finds things out first.
People always assume it is Natasha and for the most part they would be right. She’s great at working things out in the field. And while he knows that trust in others was something she never thought she’d have, the team has changed that for her. A paradigm shift. They’d been a team for years and for the first time there was something that felt like home.
Tumultuous, sometimes, sure. Home it was, nevertheless.
Point is, Clint knows everything first. He has eyes on everyone and a penchant for casual eavesdropping. Being deaf makes it a bit difficult and reading lips isn’t an exact science but body language and facial tics can make up for a lot.
Even superheroes have their problems. It’s the fault of media, mostly, that they’re idolized or villainized. With that comes the pretense that they’re Untouchable. They become fixtures and cease to be people. Names on the news, faces on the front page, voices that are only heard when it’s convenient or in character.
It’s the reality of power to be corrupted. Not always in a way that means they’re no longer morally good. Strength is only what it is because weaknesses are perceived. Being a hero has less to do with a constant job and more to do with moments. Being a hero, fighting for what is largely considered good, is a small selection of choices.
In between the blinks are snapshots of their lives and as much as other’s would like it to be different, they’re all just regular people most of the time.
They’re just people and people are inherently weak.
Not in any sort of demeaning way. This isn’t something Clint finds is bad. Just a fact. People are broken. Or, rather, become broken. Whether or not we are born this way is a whole other can of worms. Doomed from birth. Clint supposes that makes sense for things like depression, anxiety, and other mental illness.
He’s not sure he has ever met a single person devoid of some sort of fragmented self. Everyone has their own pieces to pick up. Sometimes you do the best with what you have.
He knows people find him to be a little too lackadaisical. That maybe he isn’t as serious as he should be. Maybe he isn’t. But he’s not sure he minds either way.
It didn’t escape his notice that various team members had issues. You would have to be willfully ignorant to think otherwise. Since he got Lucky, formally known as The Dog, he had found whatever excuse he could come up with to bring him during times of need.
His team was his family and there was a lot of trust that came with that. But for some reason having a dog there to hold, to pet, focused people. Or at least it did for Clint. It helped him bring everything down to each moment as it happened. He’d look into Lucky’s eyes, tongue lolling to the side and tail thumping, and suddenly things would start to decompress.
So when Clint first saw the telltale signs of Tony’s distress from an air vent in the corner of his workshop, he had immediately back-tracked to his room to take Lucky down.
As far as anyone knew, Clint was just making his way around the tower with a dog in tow. Bringing attention to a problem didn’t always bode well. Lucky was here to help heal, not to draw attention to the need.
Dogs were great.
“Hey, Tin Man.” Clint greeted, waving as he entered. “Got a second?”
Clint subtly motioned for Lucky to move towards Tony and the dog followed soundlessly. His tail wagging slightly as he rested his head lightly on Tony’s thigh.
“Sure.” He said, a little distractedly as he absently pet Lucky’s head. Signing just enough for Clint to fill in the blanks that his hearing aids didn’t quite cover. “What’s on your mind?”
Clint jumped up onto a countertop, avoiding messing with anything important. “I was thinking about making some late-night chow.”
Tony sighed and put down his tools before turning his full attention to Lucky. He scratched the dog behind the ears, burying his fingers deep into his golden fur.
“What were you thinking?”
Clint smiled, “Maybe some peanut curry?”
Clint knew that was one of Tony’s favorites. He had everyone pegged. Natasha liked Vietnamese, Steve liked hearty soups, Sam was a sucker for southern comfort food, and the Maximoff twins loved Marikli bread with a sweet filling.
“Really?” Tony perked up for a moment and then looked vaguely suspicious. “Why?”
Clint shrugged, “Bored.”
“Really, Barton, it’s a surprise that it took you this long to come to me.” Tony started rubbing Lucky’s ears, earning a contented sigh from the dog. “You caught me at good stopping point.”
“That’s good. I figured with how hard you’ve been working lately you could use a break.” He tried to sound as flippant as possible while still getting his meaning across. “I really appreciate all the upgrades, by the by. I know you’re busy so it means a lot.”
Tony seems thrown for a moment, clearly surprised, before he schools his expression into a smirk.
“No problem, Birdbrain. Someone’s got to do it.”
Clint shrugs again, “Yeah, but you do. So thanks.”
He knows that when it comes to stuff like this – whether it be stress, manic or depressive episodes, anxiety, pick your poison – it’s best to come at it from any angle not head-on. Especially with Tony. The man has a complex about emotion and weakness that stems directly from his father. And as much as it pisses Clint off that Howard couldn’t be bothered to be a decent dad, it is what it is.
Tony looks suspicious for half a second before he shakes his head and gives a soft pat to Lucky’s side. He gets up, knees creaking, with a stretch and a barely stifled yawn. He scratches at his beard and runs a hand through his hair.
“Why are you being so nice?”
“Do I need a reason to be nice to a friend?”
“No.” Tony says slowly. “This is weird.”
Clint nods, “Life’s weird.”
“Sure.”
“Well, come on.” Clint hops off the counter and heads out the door, Lucky hot on his heels. “I’m starting the curry with or without you.”
He doesn’t have to look at Tony to know he’s smiling.