Hope is the Thing
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a copy of the movie.
Spoilers: All the spoilers! Well, as many as a sharp-eyed reader can point out. I've seen the movie and that's all I claim. Happy reading!
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The first time he has a nightmare, he's still in the hospital, still in the gown that won't close, wrapped in a thin blanket that offers no protection.
He sits up, heart racing, trying to catch his breath from the fingers he still feels choking him.
The bile burns his throat and he welcomes that pain because it distracts from the other pain.
Natasha, curled on the chair under the window, nearly bounds onto the bed, arms spread wide until, crying, he folds into her and sobs.
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The second time is only a few hours later.
This time, Natasha holds him while he tries to stop shaking. She says words like, "strong" and "brave" but all Clint hears is "this is your fault" and "you asked for this."
She doesn't speak again when he pushes her off the bed.
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The third time, he barely manages to wake up, asleep in her car as she drives him to her apartment—can't go to his, can't ever go back there. He lets her lead him up the stairs, pausing every couple of shuffling steps to keep the pain from overwhelming him.
She leaves him in the kitchen, all the doors open, the light switches outlined with glow-in-the-dark star stickers.
He hides behind the couch and pretends that he's okay.
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The fourth time, he doesn't remember the dream, just the way they smelled, the way the blood couldn't mask the stench of body spray and bad B.O.
Natasha doesn't make a sound while they scrub at the vomit, but she gives him a small bear from the hospital gift shop.
They ignore it when he won't stop carrying it everywhere.
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He loses track of the times he wakes up crying or already retching, but he notices that the time between is getting longer. He also doesn't need to leave a light on or hide completely under a heavy blanket anymore.
Natasha goes back to work, but she always calls him, asks about his day. She leaves notes everywhere, and Clint starts actually reading them.
He takes a notebook one day and draws. He draws the teddy so tiny it fits in his front left pocket. He draws Natasha when she's reading a book on the couch, both of them pretending that he's not still hiding behind it.
He draws the men, their faces blank, empty, scribbled out, scratched through.
He draws himself, small and folded. Tall and strong. He draws himself healed until he almost believes his own lie.
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The last time he remembers his nightmare, he sees them in their entirety, their cold faces with hollow eyes. He tastes them, hears them, smells them. Then, Natasha is there. No one survives. The blood finally, finally washes them away, and Clint wakes up panting through the iron smell.
And he knows, but he doesn't say; it's not really a dream. It's a memory.
He draws Natasha and himself, sitting on the couch, legs bumping awkwardly, smiles bright. He writes, all the words hidden in his pictures, and also, the word "thanks."
Natasha cries, and he cries too. But, it's real and it's right and it's home.
Clint moves on, but tiny teddy doesn't.
He's not that ready yet.
Maybe someday, maybe soon, but not yet.
And that's okay.
A/N:
Title is taken from this quote by Emily Dickinson: "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all."
I do not know where this came from. It was inspired by a picture of the secret scene at the end of the Avengers movie where Hawkeye had his foot on Black Widow's chair. This is just a short snippet of something that could have happened to make them as close of friends as they appeared to be.