Barton And Banner Walk Into A Bar
Clint was not dealing with the aftermath of Loki. At least not well. He knew it and worse yet, Natasha knew it. When it came to Clint's mental or physical state, Natasha was like a dog with bone – she wouldn't let it go.
"At least try to get to know the others." The redhead growled at Clint as he came out of the shower. They had sparred most of the afternoon in silence, how Clint missed it. While they trained all the archer could think about was the next move, the next block and the next attack – there was little room for anything else.
Things like being mind-raped by a disgruntled God and forced to turn against SHIELD, his country – hell, his whole freaking planet. It was all still too much to process, so Clint avoided it. He also avoided people.
Shortly after the Loki disaster, Fury moved his two best agents into the newly named Avengers Tower. Mostly because they were part of the shiny new team of superheroes but also because SHIELD was in a state of chaos. The Council still wasn't sure exactly what to do with Clint. His mind had been breached by the enemy, all of his secrets given up with the simple touch of a staff – Barton had been compromised.
The Director assured Clint that he wouldn't be punished or taken into custody for his actions under the alien's influence – this didn't really make Clint feel better.
Clint was safer away from people.
"You need to get to know your team." Natasha repeated as Clint silently pulled on a clean black shirt. "Just start by talking to them. They aren't all annoying like Stark."
With a shake of his head the archer sighed. "Tasha – "
"No." The Russian interrupted harshly. "Go. Take one of them out for a drink. You probably could use a good buzz anyway."
With a second long-suffering sigh Clint gave up. There was no use arguing with Natasha, the woman was almost as stubborn as he was. "Fine." He agreed unhappily as he grabbed his black leather jacket. "But for the record, you're mean." Clint grumbled and headed out the door.
"You wouldn't have me any other way!" Natasha chimed happily after her partner.
As Clint walked down the hall he thought about his choices. Yes, he could simply go out alone, but off course he'd have to face the Widow's wrath later.
Steve seemed like an okay guy, but the solider was almost as elusive as Clint around the tower. The Captain was busy though as he tried to catch up on the time he lost.
Tony was less desirable. The man was loud mouthed, pushy, and drew way to much attention to himself. At the moment Clint had no desire to interact with someone like that. He wanted a quiet drink.
Thor was the last person Clint wanted to be around. He was the brother of the man who had controlled Clint's mind. It wasn't fair to judge Thor by his brother's actions, but Thor was a painful reminder of everything that had happened. Everything Clint tried so hard to forget.
That left the wild card – Bruce Banner.
Bruce was quiet, timid even. Honestly Clint only knew a hand full of things about the man. He was a scientist turned experiment with extremely deadly rage issues. After the 'accident' that created the Hulk, Banner was basically hunted down. When SHIELD had learned about Bruce they had offered to step in.
The Hulk was dangerous, yes, but he had potential. The Hulk had shown that potential in the battle when the green beast saved Tony Stark from his swan dive back towards Earth.
Clint could relate to the guy. Better now than he would have before. Clint knew what it was like to lose control and hurt people.
Okay, so Banner probably could use a drink as well.
With a grunt Clint headed towards the labs only to find them empty. "If I were a mad scientist, where would I go to unwind?" With sharp turn Barton started to walk. "The library, of course."
As he approached Clint's stomach tightened a bit. He wanted to return to the safety of his roof, up high where he could watch over the city. Prepare for the next attack. Protect the world – protect himself.
"Suck it up." Clint growled and pushed open the library door, maybe he'd be wrong and – nope. There was Bruce, nose in a book, just like the archer had thought. "Uh." Clint tried to capture the doctor's attention. "Look, I was going out for a drink. Do you want to come?" Like ripping off a Band-Aid, Clint thought to himself once the hard part was over. Maybe Bruce would refuse – that way Clint could at least say he tried when Natasha interrogated him later.
It wasn't even that he didn't want to hang out with the doctor – Clint just didn't want to do anything. He'd rather go hide in the vents or focus on a target. Sit in the dark, alone, and suffer for what he had done. Blame himself for everything he couldn't stop. Dwell.
Yeah, that wasn't healthy.
Silently he waited for the doctor's response.
Bruce had expected an overexcited Tony to appear web the door opened quietly; maybe the man was trying to sneak up on him, do he didn't bother looking up. When Clint's voice came instead he lifted his eyes slightly. The archer stood as awkwardly as if he had just caught him with his clothes off or something instead of reading. Bruce tilted his head to one side, trying to work out why Clint would ask him to go and have a drink. He seemed more like the kind of person who would go alone and anyway, he had Natasha. Unless, thought Bruce, it had been Natasha's suggestion that he socialise with people other than her. It didn't take the doctor long to figure out why he had been chosen over Tony or Thor. What puzzled him was why Clint hadn't gone for Steve, a fellow soldier and more in with SHIELD.
"Sure, thanks." It wasn't often people asked him to spend time with them, even rarer did they offer to put him in the same place as alcohol. Somehow the fashion for drinking with the Hulk had never quite caught on. Clint didn't seem scared of him, which was more than most of the SHIELD agents he had met were. No, he just seemed awkward.
Bruce did a quick scramble for the elusive book mark, found the old train ticket from the days he could actually go on the subway and closed the book. He hardly knew his way around New York so he wasn't going to suggest a bar and had a feeling that Clint didn't mean just finding some alcohol in Tony's kitchen.
"We're relying on you to know somewhere good by the way," he told the archer.
Clint's eyes widened a bit with surprise, but nodded. "I know a place."
With a wave Barton led the way out of the library and towards the elevator. They entered the small elevator car and Clint gave a sideway glance to the doctor. He wondered slightly how Bruce could handle small spaces – or rather how the 'other guy' could handle small spaces.
Clint also puzzled over why Bruce had agreed to go out. It felt too easy. There had been no real hesitation – just a small pause for consideration. The archer wondered vaguely if it was Bruce who avoided people, or people who avoided Bruce. Either way Clint was glad he'd approached Bruce over the others.
The archer himself wasn't overly worried about being in such a small space with the Hulk – Banner could contain himself. Not to mention as a trained SHIELD agent Clint always had an escape plan – even when he didn't directly think about it.
"So," Clint spoke when the elevator doors opened for them. The archer thought for a moment, unsure how to start a conversation with the scientist. The hell with it, Clint glared to himself. "Natasha told me to socialize." He announced - it was always safe to start with the truth. "So this is me socializing."
They approached the bar Clint had chosen, located a good block away from the tower. Politely Barton held the door for the doctor. The place was called Amnesia, a quaint bar that was typically a quiet hang out. Phil had introduced Clint to the place; the memory hurt the archer's heart. Immediately Barton ordered a glass of whiskey.
"Booth or would you rather sit at the bar?" Clint asked his companion.
It was still relatively early in the night. The place buzzed with a limited amount of customers. It would probably get busier as the night progressed.
After the Loki disaster SHIELD had done a media sweep, destroying any imagery of Barton and Natasha being involved in the battle. Their identities were sacred, if tainted their usefulness as SHIELD assassins would vanish – and Clint didn't want to lose anything else to Loki. The archer's mind, his self-control, and his handler were enough collateral damage.
Bruce didn't need to worry about being recognized either, noone would recognize his human self. If by off chance the 'other guy' did make an appearance at the bar – and Clint really doubted the green giant would – no one would remember Bruce's face in the aftermath.
"We may as well stay at the bar, unless this is one of the few places where the booths don't smell permanently of smoke and sick," Bruce answered, shrugging as he slipped into a tall chair and ordering a scotch. He looked around, taking in the slightly faded walls that looked too cheerful for a bar and the bored waitress cleaning glasses. He wasn't really sure why Clint had chosen the place, it would probably get too crowded later on and wasn't the sort of dark and dingy place he had envisioned the Hawk hanging out in. Then again, he hadn't really put Clint down as a person who frequented bars, more as a stay at home with a can of beer type.
They sat in silence for a bit, not an awkward one but simply neither of them felt the need to say anything like Tony always did. The scotch was alright, he thought as he sipped it, not mind blowing but he didn't want to pour it down the drain.
The bar wasn't even half-full, mostly the first few after work drinkers coming in as they got out early. He didn't even know if there was some game on that would mean the place, along with every other bar in the city, would soon be flooded. The name above the door was Amnesia, forgetting. That struck him as slightly comical considering the effects alcohol usually had on people.
"You're doing a great job of socializing," he told Clint eventually. "Natasha will be very proud of you." He mock toasted the archer with a slight grin.
Clint nodded his agreement mutely and slipped onto the stool next to the doctor. They fell into a compatible silence as Clint took a sip of the drink the bartender had placed in front of him. The drink slipped down his throat and the burn cures nice and slow.
In all honesty Clint wasn't much of a drinker. Not only had his father been a drunk through most of Barton's childhood but it had been a drunk driver that had ended up killing his parents. Some nights Clint dreamed about the police officer telling him the 'bad' news.
That dream didn't haunt Clint as much anymore. There were so many new nightmares the archer's mind couldn't replay old classics.
Barton nursed the glass between his hands as Bruce broke the quiet. Clink chuckled lightly before he responded. "Well, I don't have much to say these days." Barton admitted lightly giving Bruce a sideways glance. "Unless you want to compare sob stories."
Bruce let out a hollow chuckle.
"Sob stories? I guess the other guy's my trump card but somehow no one ever cries over him, they're more likely to just back away." He wasn't sure that he could even tell Clint about himself, he usually just talked about his life after the accident. His life before had become nothing more than a collection of memories, separated in the same way his present ones were: good and bad. Although the bad ones weren't tinged with green. He had never spoken about his childhood before.
"I, uh, I was close to my Mom. I wasn't so close to my Father." He very nearly choked on his own understatement. He couldn't find the words to tell Clint that his father used to beat him; he even remembered being knocked out once or twice. Bruce stared down at his glass, thinking. "He used to get jealous when Mom paid me attention so he uh, yeah, took it out on me. Mom used to try and stop him but that just made things worse." He stopped; worried that Clint wouldn't want to know. Now that he had started, the story just seemed to want to come, dragging up memories he would rather have left buried deep.
"He managed to knock me out when I was about five, told the hospital I fell down the stairs. Mom was so distraught she didn't tell them the truth. The worst part was that he wasn't drunk when he came for me, just angry. That makes the other guy harder to deal with, it's like I've inherited his anger." Bruce stopped before he broke down completely. He didn't think he could tell Clint about his mother's death. A pause followed as he waited, hoping that his fellow Avenger might just possibly understand.
"Daddy issues must be a requirement for super heroes." Clint muttered when Bruce's story came to a pause. When SHIELD read Barton into the Avengers project he had learned about Bruce's tragic accident that turned him into a rage monster. Though anything before the 'incident' hadn't been included in the file. The revelation of his abusive father was new.
It was sad, heart-breaking actually. Not only did Bruce have the 'other guy' hanging over his shoulder, but he had a crappy childhood as well. Poor guy couldn't catch a break.
Clint looked at Bruce. "I can't imagine how it'd feel if my dad smacked us around without a bottle in his hand."
With one last gulp Clint finished off his whiskey and asked the bartender for a glass of water. "My father is the reason I avoid getting drunk. Seeing him get wasted like that almost every night – how he'd just lose it on my brother, my mom and on me – it was an eye opening experience. Showed me exactly how I didn't want to end up. When he died and I stared at his body in the casket, I promised myself I'd never end up that way."
The archer glanced at the doctor again. "You are not your father. You didn't choose to be angry – you're the mildest tempered man I know. Well, most of the time. Besides, the 'other guy' did just save the world. I don't see a jerk like your father pulling something like that off." avenger might just, possibly understand.
Bruce stared at him for a moment before smiling. It wasn't often he was called mild-tempered. It was nice, being told that you weren't to blame when you spent every waking moment blaming yourself.
"Thanks. I appreciate that although the whole mild temper act isn't the easiest thing to keep up. Having to watch a sibling go through it must be even worse. I guess I'm glad Mom never had more kids or else it would have been harder. She miscarried when I was eleven because Dad beat her." Again he had to stop himself from completely losing his grip on everything. Bruce started to regret telling Clint, all the hurt and anger came boiling up inside him and he was struggling to keep it controlled. The image of his Dad standing over his Mom, her face bloodied and wet. Sometimes he still heard her screams, her pleas for him to stop.
"It was after that when she tried to take me away with her, to get away from him. We didn't even make it out of the house before he came after us. It only took one punch. She, she fell against the table and broke her neck." Bruce's voice seemed to disappear in a choked sob. He was trying desperately not to let Clint see what the assassin might think of as a pitiful weakness. In an effort to clear the lump in his throat he took a swig of the scotch but it just burned its route straight through his chest and past his heart.
"Put me in hospital for about a month but somehow there were no questions asked. I always thought he may have framed Mom, said she did it in a depressed craze." He glanced over at Clint to see him staring at his water.
"I'm sorry, we can lighten the subject. I uh, don't talk about this to people so it all sort of came flooding out. I apologize."
Clint's eyes dropped back down to the glass of water clutched firmly between his hands. It was a wonder how any of the Avengers made it alive this far. It also was a mystery how they hadn't turned out as bad guys themselves or clinically insane.
"Maybe it's a good thing to let it out." Clint offered lightly. "Finally let some of that weight off your chest – angst does follow you around like a cloud, Bruce. Coulson always told me I should open up more." He shrugged. The memory of Clint's late friend and handler was a bittersweet thing.
Coulson had been the one who convinced Clint to trust again. Now Phil was gone forever and even though Loki had delivered the killing blow Barton blamed himself. If Clint had fought harder, been smarter maybe he could have prevented the whole catastrophe from happening in the first place.
"Can't say it really makes the memories better though. It never helped me, anyway. Still, sometimes it's nice to know that someone else knows how screwed up life is. Takes some of the burden away."
The archer shrugged a shoulder. "If you want to lighten the mood I can tell you something about my past that might cheer you up."
Barton smirked and gave the doctor a sideways glance to watch his reaction. "Every kid looks for a way to escape childhood and live a life filled with adventure. Some even get these wild dreams of running away with the circus. Well, my brother and I actually did it. We had spent a few unpleasant years in the system after our parents died. Barney, my older brother got sick of waiting. He told me one day that we were broken toys that no one else wanted. So, rather than waiting around for the 'perfect family' to take us home – which we knew would never happened from the few places we had temporarily lived – we took our fate into our own hands and ran away."
Of course Clint's experience at the circus had started good, but ended in tragedy. In order to cheer up Bruce, Barton decided to stick with reminiscing over the happier memories. "I met a lot of good people there. Traveled all around the states and performed in a silly costume in front of crowds of people, shooting arrows at impossibly hard targets."
"I remember this one time, during the first month at the circus, one of the elephants made a break for it. Barney and I were sent to track down old Mabel and bring her back." Clint chuckled as he stared down his glass of water.
"It wasn't a hard trail to follow – Mabel destroyed everything and anything in her way. We found her rolling around in a man's cornfield, destroyed the whole crop. Suzie, one of the dancers saved our asses, rode Mabel out of there while Barney and I drew the crazy farmer's gunfire."
Clint chuckled as he remembered the events in clarity. It was one of the happier ones – before Barney started to turn on him. Before the Swordsmen began his twisted version of training. Before Suzie died.
Bruce couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Clint in a costume similar to the one Steve wore, trying to entertain people. Of course the whole elephant story was a lighter version of what happened every time the other guy showed up but with less damage and a better ending. He tried to imagine Clint reasoning with the elephant, a peanut in his hand to tempt it back.
"Only seems fair I now tell you one," he said to Clint, racking his brains for something that would make the archer laugh. "When I was in India, I met this little girl; she must have been about six. She'd never seen a mobile before. I still had mine you see, not that I could use it but I turned the signal off and made it ring. She leaped a good three feet when it went off. I gave it to her; it wasn't as if I would need it. She spent hours just pressing the buttons until the battery died. Then she came to me asking if I could make her friend better since I was a doctor. It took forever to explain to her that her friend was just an inanimate object like a ball or something." It wasn't a very funny story but the memory was sweet and made him smile. Good encounters from his life in hiding weren't all that common.
Clint was pleased with himself when Bruce laughed at his story. It felt good to achieve something positive.
Quietly he listened to Bruce's story of the little girl. Clint smiled a bit at the end, but couldn't help but wonder if that was really Bruce's fondest story. If so, the archer knew he'd need to change that. The guy could use a little 'fun' in his life.
Besides, it would be an excellent means of distraction.
"That little girl sounds like a young Tony Stark in the making. He thinks his inanimate objects are his friends too." Clint laughed lightly.
Bruce joined in his companion's laughter.
"Only because inanimate objects put up with him for longer. I can't see Tony getting freaked out by a phone ringing, though." Their conversation once more fell into silence as they simply enjoyed the company.
The bar was filling up now, the city's workmen had come in and a few were already a little bit more than tipsy. One group, all in overalls and stained vests were particularly loud. Bruce shot Clint a slightly worried look, unsure if being surrounded by drunks would trigger something. He had studied psychology for a bit and knew that emotions could break out by being reminded of things in roundabout ways. Finishing the last of his scotch he turned to the archer. He was about to say that they should go and find somewhere quieter when someone barged into his chair, nearly knocking him off the bar-stool.
"Move you bastard!" the six foot slab of fleshy tattoos yelled, sending a cloud of alcohol scented spit over the doctor. Bruce fought the urge to turn around and answer, massaging his arm as he tried to be inconspicuous.
"I said move! Are you deaf or something? Get out of my fucking way!" Once more Bruce found himself being slammed against Clint's chair. The floor rose up to hit him squarely on the cheek as he toppled from the stool.
Clint looked up and over when Bruce's stool shifted, just in time to see the doctor get shoved a second time and gracelessly fall to the floor. Immediately Clint put himself between Bruce and the source of danger.
In the back of his mind Clint knew he should be worried about Bruce hulking out. The memories of his brother being hit by his father sent Clint into his defender mode.
"Hey!" Barton growled and blocked a fist to the face with his arm with mastered skill. With a hard glare directed at the tattooed monster Clint threw his own punch. The drunk man was too slow to block and Barton grinned when he felt the drunk assholes nose shatter under the force of the hit.
The man stumbled back and gave a very hulk-like roar. Six other tattooed men stood from various places around the bar.
"I see I struck a nerve." Clint grinned and readied himself for an all our brawl.
Bruce picked himself up off the floor, keeping out of the way of a rather angry Clint. He watched as the archer punched the drunkard in the nose, shattering the bone and couldn't help but wince. He tasted blood in his mouth and soon found that his lip was cut but a quick feel of his mouth revealed no loose teeth. The edges of his vision threatened to go green as he felt anger boil up inside him.
"Calm down, Banner," he muttered to himself, counting under his breath in an effort to keep the other guy under control. Shaking, he stood up, sending Clint a pained glance.
"I think we'd better go," he said quietly. Already his hands were shaking and his breathing ragged.
"What's the matter? Can't stand up for yourself? Got to have your boyfriend looking out for you?" one of the now broken nosed man's cronies jeered. The rest of the now alarmingly large group joined in their laughter. Bruce felt Clint look him over for injuries and signs of the other guy.
"We really need me to leave," he repeated. A heavy hand came into contact with the back of his head, knocking him straight into Clint's chest. That only increased the level of jeering around them. Bruce really needed to get out of there before he smashed the whole building up. What he had to do was get away from Clint, Hulking out whilst practically on top of him would not be healthy for the archer. He hoped that SHIELD had trained their agents to extract green anger monsters from bar brawls. Somehow he didn't think it was one of their practiced scenarios.
Clint caught hold of Bruce's shoulders in an attempt to steady the rather unsteady doctor. Even without hearing Bruce's words the agent was very aware that Banner needed to get out of the newly developed high stress situation. Luckily for them both, Clint excelled at two things: winning impossible fights and protecting assistants in dangerous situations.
The problem was Clint tended to forget to protect himself while he protected people he considered more important than himself. Plus he had unintentionally placed Bruce in this situation, he'd be damned if he let anything happen to the doctor.
Quickly Barton took in his options. The six tattooed thugs had formed a tight circle around the two Avengers. The other patrons of the bar had backed off or left, not wanting to get involved in the fight. The closeness would seem like a bad thing to most people, but Clint smirked. It would be easy to get Bruce an opening to get to the door.
Calmly Clint gave a gentle squeeze to Banner's shoulder to grab his attention. "When you see an opening, make a run for the door. Do not slow down, do not look back – focus on getting away from here and calming down. I'll find you once I've finished teaching these guys some manners." The directions were given in a low voice, for Bruce's ears only. Clint was rushed: the tattooed guys weren't exactly thrilled to be ignored.
"Whispering sweet nothings in your lover's ear? How romantic, you make me sick." One of them asked, pushing Clint from the side – his first mistake. Barton let go of Bruce's shoulders to block an attack on the doctor. In a swift movement Clint twisted the arm around the guys back, swiftly dislocated the limb and pushed the screaming man away.
In a flash a second man was down on the ground, struggling to breathe after Clint slammed his fist into his exposed throat – Barton ignored the fact that the same guy had landed a solid punch in his side.
Two men rushed Bruce from behind while Barton was dealing with the first two.
Someone broke a bottle against Clint's back as he turned to shield Banner and engage the two in the back. Blocking a punch Clint shoved a flat palm against one man's chest and kicked the other in the side, sending him across the bar. Spinning Clint stopped a man's fist mid-air and glanced back at Banner. "Go."
The man still holding the broken bottle rushed Banner as Clint nudged the doctor in the direction of the door. The broken bottle cut into the archer's bicep before it shattered completely against Clint's head.
Barton grunted and grabbed the culprit's head with his now bloody arm and slammed it into the counter of the bar.
From the corner of his eyes Clint watched the doctor, making sure he made it out the door safely before turning back to make sure none of the tattooed idiots bolted after the doctor.
Three were down for the count – that left three still red faced and pissed off. Clint's vision swam for a moment, but the adrenaline pushed the weakness away.
Barton looked directly at the man with the broken nose. "You know what? I think it looks better that way." Clint chuckled.
Bruce pushed open the door into the cool air outside, his head swimming as he tried to get his breathing under control. Some part of him felt guilty about leaving Clint alone in there but realistically he had had no choice. The SHIELD agent could more than look after himself, even if he had seemed to be taking a few too many direct hits to his body. The sounds of the fight still reached him through the open windows. Bruce sank to the pavement, cradling his head in his hands to block everything out and fight the other guy for control. The opening of the bar door interrupted. He glanced up, expecting to see a slightly battered Clint. Clint was not that tall and did not have a tattoo running up his arm.
"Think you could hide like a coward? Your boyfriend's in there getting beaten up and you're out here like a sissy." Bruce scrambled to his feet and tried to back away down the sidewalk.
"If I were you I'd leave. You really don't want to make me angry," he told the man. It sounded pathetic and fake as his voice was strangled with fear. Not for himself, but a fear that the other guy would break through.
The man laughed at him, taking one large step to block Bruce's way. He was now backed up against the wall with nowhere to go. He should have gotten further away when Clint gave him the chance but he had assumed that the archer could deal with the thugs inside the bar. It had never occurred to him that one might have stayed back and follow him out.
"Not got your boyfriend here to save your skin now, do you?" Bruce didn't think it would be an appropriate time to point out that he and Clint weren't a thing. Clint and Natasha, maybe. Thinking of Natasha he wondered if the Black Widow had followed or even watched her partner's attempt at socialization Probably not seeing as she had failed to step in.
Bruce had never tried to fight back before; he had just gotten out of the way. Raising a hand like Clint did he was shocked when a blow that would have smashed into his face fell harmlessly away. His arm hurt slightly but not as much as his face would of. He didn't exactly fight back; more defend himself against the blows. As his attacker raised his arm for another punch he saw an opening. A fist caught him on the back of his head, sending his vision spinning. Nevertheless he ran to his right, tripping down then up the curb, nearly getting run over in the process. An empty alleyway presented itself and he collapsed in the shadows.
It didn't take long for Clint to dispose of the three remaining men once Bruce was out of foreseeable danger. After all they were drunk and he was a trained assassin. The only reason the group had managed to get a few hits in on Clint was because he had been focused on protecting Banner by any means necessary. It had been the archer's fault Bruce had been put in this unfortunate situation – the hits were deserved.
Once the three men were either unconscious or crying on the floor, Clint smirked a bit and took a moment to glance down at his arm. The scratches were shallow, nothing worth a second glance. The hit to his head hadn't been hard enough to worry about, though his hair was littered with shards of glass. Shaking his head the archer dislodged a few of the bigger pieces from his hair as he headed for the door. Apart from a few unimpressive bruises the assassin was fine. (would be)
Outside Clint glanced around for any sign of Bruce and noticed some commotion in the middle of the street. A bunch of cars were stopped and a body was sprawled out on the ground. Immediately Barton knew that it wasn't Bruce – the Hulk would have made a show of destroying the car that dared hit him.
Joining the slowly growing crowd Clint saw that it was another tattooed man – Bruce had been chased. "Damn it." The archer cursed and moved across the street. Apparently Banner had run across the street, the tattooed guy chased behind him. Banner hadn't stopped for oncoming traffic, neither had tattoo face, who had been struck. Bruce must have kept going. Going where? Probably the first dark deserted place he saw that he could hide in.
There, Clint spotted a nearby alleyway. (then)
Carefully Clint approached, hands out in front of him as his eyes searched the darkness for his teammate. "Bruce?" He called, hoping he'd find the doctor and not his green counterpart.
Bruce was curled up, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. His head snapped up when he heard Clint call his name.
"Go," he managed to mumble through clenched teeth, determined not to let the other guy beat him again. He just wanted Clint to get out of there in case he lost the battle raging inside him. Turning into the other guy was painful, even if Hulk didn't really feel pain, it always came back to bite Bruce when he woke up. Fighting was just as bad, like trying to rip your own head apart. He sensed that Clint was still there, hovering uncertainly at the alley's mouth.
"Go, or else you'll get hurt," he repeated. After everything Clint had done that evening he couldn't let the other guy hurt him. "Please, Clint, go before I hurt you."
Bruce tried to focus on something, anything. His earlier mental picture of Clint dressed as Captain America came back and he fought the other guy's rage with humor It wasn't the calm, soothing thoughts he had tried before but images of birds and beaches never seemed to work.
He felt a slight pressure on his shoulder as Clint placed his hand there to steady the jerks that had been tearing through his body. The archer didn't say anything as Bruce gradually got his breathing under control and finally managed to wrestle the other guy into the tight mental cage he had erected.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" he said shakily. "Any sane person would have been halfway across the city by now." He was glad that Clint had somehow managed to convey a trust in his self-control he didn't even have himself. Carefully he relaxed, leaning against the brick wall beside him.
"So, is this what Natasha had in mind when she told you to socialize?"
Clint grinned back at Bruce when he realized the Hulk was no longer trying to make an appearance.
"Well, nobody ever accused me of being smart or sane." Barton winked with a smirk and sat back on his heels in front of Banner, close enough to protect the doctor if needed and far enough to give the man space to recover.
"And I don't think Natasha could ever have envisioned tonight ending this badly." His smile faded. It had started well, but ended in disaster. Maybe now Natasha would realize he shouldn't be allowed to leave the tower. Clint silently hoped so – only an idiot would put Bruce in such a situation.
"But I'm sure she knew I'd crash and burn in some way or another. It's the principle. She's worried you guys are having trouble trusting me after the whole Loki fiasco. I haven't exactly gone out of my way to get to know any of you." With a sigh Clint checked Bruce over for any notable injuries. For the most part the doctor seemed to be unscathed – one positive in a world that seemed to be purely negative.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – I should have realized." Barton struggled, running a hand through his hair, dislodging some more glass in the process. "I shouldn't have put you in this situation. As I said, no one's ever accused me of being smart." The archer smiled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "We should probably get back to the tower."
Bruce frowned at Clint's continuous apologies. They sounded a bit too much like the ones he usually made.
"It's not as if you could have known that those jerks would be there, Clint. It's a good thing that you were here, or else the other guy would be tearing up the city by now." He smiled weakly as he continued. "None of us blame you for what happened with Loki. Sure at the time we were a bit touchy because we didn't understand what happened to you. I know this is a bit hypocritical coming from me but you mustn't blame you yourself. Believe me, it sucks." He let out a long sigh and tried to pull himself to his feet. His legs were less than cooperative and he ended up sagging against the wall.
"You can go ahead of you like; I think I'll just stay here. Stark putting a pointy object in my ribs isn't the best idea right now," Bruce said with weak humor.
"I took you to a bar. Bars are typically full of drunken jerks." Clint shrugged. Although he had to admit that Amnesia hadn't always been this busy. Some nights it had only been Clint and Phil, but those days were gone.
Barton nodded in acknowledgment when Bruce told him he wasn't to blame for Loki. In some ways he knew that himself. It was just hard to not second guess or berate himself for being so weak.
"How about we make a couple deals." Clint offered once Bruce finished. "I'll try to stop blaming myself for Loki if you'll stop blaming yourself for the Hulk. And, we both go back to the tower and I will personally see to it that Tony keeps his sharp objects to himself."