Author's Note:
This is...well, nothing but fluff, really. And very short. Set quite a ways after the movie, and - as all my Avengers stories will - contains headcanon. This one stemmed from a random dialogue Samicausti and I had going (she's my fellow Clintasha fangirl) and kinda just took off.
I think that's all I need to say here.
I don't own the Avengers. If I did, the sequel would be coming out far sooner than 2015!
Nightmares were common. Too damn common for his liking. They had been for as long as he could remember clearly. It had started with his father – if the man could be called that – and then the crash, imagined in impressively vivid detail for a boy no older than seven. When he and Barney were in the orphanage, there were a few dreams about that place and the caretakers there – though come to think of it, much of that was probably imagined as well, as the staff did seem to be trying their best. The years in the circus were the hardest times to have such nightmares, as he often shared sleeping quarters with one or more of the troop and they weren't fond of being woken by a young kid's whimpering. After his 'falling out' with Swordsman, the older man gained a place in the dreams, often shifting into his father halfway through.
SHIELD was a whole new story. Coulson had spotted the weary look in his charge's eyes very quickly and, in a surprisingly sympathetic moment, assured the archer that it was almost impossible to find an agent whose nights were completely peaceful. Though they didn't exactly get more frequent, the nightmares did succeed in getting worse. SHIELD, while it did include some of the best in the world, also showed the absolute worst in the world. Men being blown apart, children screaming, a pool of blood seeping under a closet door…and that was before the Avengers. That was before Loki. That was before he had, for a day or two, ceased to be Clint Barton and was simply an excellent pawn for the Norse god.
They had yet to see anything worse than the Chitauri attack so far and, for the most part, it had nearly faded from most of their minds. The Avengers had been called out multiple times, the team had actually become a team, and Clint couldn't clearly remember the last time he had slept without Natasha while they were both off the job. It was hard to say what their actual relationship would be called. All he really knew was that she flinched a little less when he kissed her without warning, he was allowed to hold her even when she insisted nothing was wrong, and the entire team knew. They were discreet, but it was hard to keep something like that from a group of people that they saw on a daily basis.
Still, despite the situation being the most stable his life had yet seen, the nightmares persisted. They had never been a shock – more of an annoyance. The man had been told he was an extremely heavy sleeper once he actually did sleep; Tony had gone so far as to perform an 'experiment', trying various methods to wake the archer up and recording any responses while Steve stood by on what Clint assumed was damage control duty. He almost never woke during the night unless there was a legitimate emergency, something he was definitely grateful for considering how often he actually got the chance to sleep. There were very rare occasions, though, when the nightmares woke him. Those were the few that he never remembered. He didn't wake like most people, either; rather than some dramatic gasp and sudden jerk, he found himself exactly as he had been asleep – tense, breathing heavily, and occasionally shaking. It usually took some effort to get back to sleep after that since he knew the dreams would just return, but recently, when his conscious mind realized Natasha was still beside him, he didn't even bother moving. She was the lightest sleeper he had ever met and Clint had no doubt in his mind that it was sometimes him that woke her. He knew she was awake every time he pulled out of those dreams, but it was simpler just to feign sleep until he actually managed it again.
Before, he could feel the woman watching him. Once he could remember her lying close, one hand on his as she murmured something in Russian repeatedly. That had been a while ago. It had been at least a few months since he had woken up in the middle of the night and, typically, it was Loki that managed it. Clint had the god's face etched in his mind's eye for a second or two when his actual eyes came to the realization that they didn't really see anything at the moment. Instinctively he lay still, trying to get his breathing under control again, trying to ignore the chill that seemed to be radiating from his chest.
The memories of the dream faded quickly, as they always did. It took a moment for him to get his bearings and once he did, he had to resist the automatic urge to open his eyes once the rest of his senses kicked back into gear. He was tense, curled up tightly as usual. What was unusual was the fact that he was curled up against Natasha's chest, his forehead resting just above her collarbone. Clint vaguely noted the feeling of her hand running rhythmically through his hair and his first thought was how odd it was that he never woke up to something like that – if it was a regular thing, of course. It took another moment or two for him to realize there was a sound that wasn't usually there. It was quiet – very quiet – and very strangely familiar.
She was singing. It didn't register immediately simply because it wasn't something he'd ever expected. Natasha didn't sing. They had joked about it a few times and she always insisted that he did enough singing for the both of them. He didn't recognize the song. It was a little haunting, almost sorrowful…and Russian. No wonder he didn't know it. The woman didn't seem to have any intention of stopping and after a few seconds he realized he was still breathing rather heavily and his arms were shaking. Clint let out a steadying breath, attempting to keep it from seeming intentional as he convinced his muscles to relax. Something told him she wasn't about to sing if she knew he was listening, and the archer certainly didn't want to be the reason she stopped.
The fact he had only gotten about ten hours of sleep in the past week caught up to him again quickly and Clint let himself relax, shifting just enough to get his arm better situated under his head – he rarely slept with a pillow, since it just ended up on the floor anyway – and assuring himself that his breathing was slow enough again. Natasha couldn't see his tired smile and her song continued – or had it repeated already? – accompanied by her heart's steady beat near his ear. By the time the man was drifting off again, he couldn't really recall what had woken him in the first place. It was insignificant next to the sound of the other agent's voice and the soft feeling of her hand in his hair.
Clint was asleep again in a few minutes – far faster than he usually managed. The nightmares didn't return that night.