Bruce had a lot of bad days. Sometimes he had more bad days then he did good. Stark helped most days but sometimes he couldn't even bring the doctor out of his depression.
On days like that he would stare almost longingly at the guns Natasha was cleaning, or he would go to the roof and stand on the edge, staring down at the street below. Clint would catch him on the roof. Sometimes he would just quietly move to stand next to him, his presence seeming to do something to prevent him from going through with his fantasies. Other times he would sit close by and talk, telling him about recent missions or just his day, until Bruce would move away from the edge and join him.
This day however, neither of those seemed enough. There was an air around him, something akin to determination, and Clint's heart sunk. "Bruce…" He said gently, but the man didn't look up, or even acknowledge he heard him. "Don't do this." He spoke again.
"I'm a monster." Bruce whispered , barely audible over the wind and began to move.
Clint didn't try talking, just acting, stepping forward and putting an arm around Bruce and pulling him back. He held him close even as the doctor struggled weakly. "You go down and I'm going after you."