A/N: HERE WE GO, AT LAST! (BEAMS) Starting this took a bit longer than I expected. BUT, here we are!

SO, THIS IS A 'MISSING SCENES' TYPE OF A TALE BASED ON THE 'The Value of a Hawk' from my 'SOS Hawkeye' collections. BUT, I HOPE THAT THIS ALSO STANDS ALONE. LOTS AND LOTS of hurt and comfort ahead!

DISCLAIMER: MUAH-HAH HAA! Seriously?! Nope, I own absolutely NOTHING. If I did own ANYTHING that had ANYTHING to do with Jeremy Renner (aside a pile of DVDs) you'd hear me squealing from joy all the way across the world.

WARNINGS: Violence, VERY adult themes, lots of hurting, language (sorry Steve…!), Claura… Anyone out there…?

Awkay, before I change my mind… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

The Five Stages of Fixing Broken Wings

Denial

/ Clint was on his way to the Farm to surprise Laura and the kids by coming back home early for once. The second he realized that a car was following him he knew that trouble was ahead. After fifteen minutes of intense chase the other vehicle forced him off the road. In the few minutes between the collision and darkness Clint had the time to realize that he wasn't going to make it home this time.

He woke up to face a scar-faced woman with long, dark hair and hazel eyes he'd later know as Emilia Snow. There was a smile on her lips but her eyes spoke the truth. "Morning, agent Barton", she greeted him with fake pleasantness. "Soon you're going to help me teach someone a valuable lesson. But first… Tell me everything you know about Project Eve."

Clint had hard time disguising his surprise. It was the first project he worked on as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. The mission was to stage the deaths of a little girl and her parents, then help them start a safe new life in Paris. Why would this woman be interested in such an operation? Whatever her reasons were, Clint decided quickly that he wasn't about to compromise the now adult girl's safety. "Nothing", he announced as firmly as anyone with a concussion could and shrugged, the metal trapping his wrists rattling. He smiled sweetly. "Sorry. You got the wrong guy."

Emilia shook her head, her smile becoming something truly sinister. "No, Little Bird. I don't think I did."

That was where the beatings began. First Emilia, then her men. Until Clint was pretty sure that there wasn't a single unbruised spot on him. He had a feeling that as much as they clearly enjoyed tormenting him, they were also preparing his face for a show.

Hours later Emilia contacted Fury for the first time, allowed the director to see him via computer. As of that moment Clint knew that his time was running out, because there was no way she'd get what she demanded in exchange for his life. A few days later Emilia injected poison into his veins with Fury watching it all from a computer screen and Clint was forced to experience what dying felt like. Only, it wasn't the end. Because a few hours later his eyes flew open with a loud, desperate gasp. He became one of those unlucky people who got dragged to hell while they were still alive. /

Six months. That was how long Clint Barton was imagined to be dead. Until he broke free from his very own hell, only to almost die for real when Emilia shot several bullets at him. It took about six more weeks until he was once more in New York. Another few days, and Clint ignored the strict orders of his friends and Tony's medical team to take his first solo walk.

It was the second independent decision he made since Emilia's men took him. The first one ended up getting him shot several times over. With this one he nearly collapsed five times before he finally reached his destination, panting painfully and his feet barely supporting his weigh. Once there he froze and swallowed thickly, his head spinning from more than physical pain and exhaustion.

It was a room at the Tower that'd been given to his use. His clothes, his very few items… Yet he stared at them like he was seeing them for the very first time.

It was stupid, he knew. And he couldn't really understand his own reactions. But after spending such a long time adjusting to the knowledge that he'd never see any of this again…

"I should've known that it was a bad idea to leave you unsupervised." Tony's words startled him to a point where he shuddered violently, then groaned at the agony radiating from his still healing injuries. "Shit, sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

Clint shook his head, trying to breathe through the pain. "Nah, my bad", he managed at last. "Deep in thought." He continued to gulp until he no longer felt like passing out or throwing up.

With the kind of courtesy many people wouldn't have known to expect of Tony the billionaire gave him some time. Didn't tease or pester, didn't even try to touch or comfort him. "Are you okay?" the man finally asked, once noticing that his breathing was evening out. "Because… No offense, Feathers, but you don't look okay."

Clint's jaw tightened while he continued to half-glare, half-stare at the room in front of him. Of course he was alright! Why wouldn't he be alright? He was back home, back where he belonged, with people he could trust. And he was alive. Wasn't he supposed to feel grateful for that? That he made it through… all that alive? So why…?

Clint cut that thought sharply. "I'm fine", he announced. And managed to trick even himself into believing it. "Just… Need a breather."

Tony rolled his eyes. "There's a difference between needing a breather and being unable to make it back to the medical wing alone." The billionaire stepped closer slowly, obviously somehow sensing that he needed time to get used to the closeness. "C'mon, Pigeon. I know that you're a tough super-agent and all but let me help you, just this once. Humor me."

Clint didn't have a lot of options. He'd spent the following night uncomfortably right there on the floor, ask someone to fetch a wheelchair or accept Tony's offer. In the end he resulted to the least humiliating option and placed his arm behind the billionaire's shoulders. Mercifully not offering any witty remarks, Tony began to almost drag him along while Clint pretended that fatigue was what made him tremble and his eyes sting.

He was alive. He was just fine. All he needed was a little sleep. It was a mantra Clint repeated to himself until he collapsed halfway through the journey.

Clint woke up to the feel of someone's hands on him. In an instant he stiffened, a huge load of unpleasant memories flooding through him. Breathing became a nearly impossible challenge and if he'd been physically up to it he would've gotten up and ran. His eyes opened and darted around aimlessly for a while before discovering Natasha.

"Calm down, you idiot", she commanded, her gaze and hands on his… stomach area? What was she doing? "Congratulations, you succeeded in popping some stitches. I figured that you'd be more comfortable with me taking care of them."

Honestly, at the moment Clint didn't feel comfortable with the idea of anyone touching him. But Natasha was a lot more pleasant alternative than someone from Tony's medical team. So the archer nodded breathlessly, only just starting to register the pain.

Natasha continued to work a little longer. Although she clearly wasn't happy with him she was kind enough to be gentle. "You were trembling, even while unconscious", she announced. A statement and a question rolled into one. Her glare gave away her true emotions. "And you scared Tony."

Clint swallowed. There was a horrific taste in his mouth. "'m fine", he murmured. It was getting a little annoying how no one seemed to believe that he was okay. He was alive and recovering, wasn't he?

Natasha didn't seem impressed. "Yeah. I know all about how okay you are." She put away her equipment, then took a more comfortable position on her chair, clearly not having the slightest intention of leaving. Her hands weren't entirely steady while she began to work on a crossword puzzle. "Sleep." She looked like she could've used some rest, too. "I can't yell at you when you're looking like that. So sleep."

Clint's body seemed to be obeying. Even if Clint himself wasn't exactly ecstatic about the thought of falling asleep. He went under telling himself that he'd be just fine, that this time there'd be no nightmares haunting him.

The nightmares came, of course. Every single time, night after night, without a fail. Some of them more intense than others. And they didn't always stay a secret.

According to Lila's mommy her daddy wasn't well enough to travel all the way to the Farm yet so they'd have to stay at the Tower for a little while. She didn't mind, refused to protest anything that meant she got to keep the daddy she just got back. Of course she was homesick. Sometimes the big building scared her, and she was constantly worried that she'd get lost. But her daddy was there and soon they'd all go home. So it wasn't hard to keep smiling every day.

Children are good at looking past the bad, and even the worst.

In the middle of one night Lila was just getting herself a glass of water when she heard a scream. It was loud and wounded, reminded her far too much of the bad dreams she'd had since she thought her daddy died. Her eyes widened and the glass slipped from her fingers before she ran.

Her parents were wide awake when she barged in. Her daddy stood in the middle of the room, his face buried into his hands and breathing loudly. Her mommy sat on the edge of the bed with tears in her eyes, trembling. Lila couldn't understand any of it, which scared her even more. "Mommy? Daddy? What's wrong?"

Her mommy sighed. "It's okay, sweetie. Daddy just… He had a bad dream. But… It's over, now." She wiped her eyes so quickly that Lila almost missed it. "Let's get you back to bed, okay? I'll tuck you in."

Lila was tired. And now a little scared. But something about all this… She frowned, then made up her mind. She was too young to notice how both her parents tensed up when she rushed to her daddy and gave him a tight hug. She smiled when he eventually embraced her back, even if the hug didn't feel like those he gave her before. "Have better dreams, daddy", she whispered.

He kissed her hair lightly, almost cautiously. "I will after this. Now off to bed with you."

Lila believed him because she needed to. She held her mom's hand a little too tightly as she left the room and didn't glance back. If she had the look on her dad's face would've broken her heart.

When Fury came to Laura with the news that Clint had died… For a while she thought that the pain would kill her, too. Staying strong for the kids was the hardest thing she'd ever done. And when she learned that he was still alive, after all… The emotional turmoil was overwhelming. But she told herself that everything would be okay. How could everything not be alright when she'd gotten her husband back?

She was a nurse, once upon a time, and with that education she had no other choice but to notice just how much recovering Clint had to do. But she told herself that one day things would go back to how they were. And refused to see that a piece of the man she'd known never made it back home.

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Clint was preparing for his first proper trip to the outside world since his… return. Still trying to wake up, Laura yawned as she walked into a bathroom. And froze. Then chuckled, even if it was a little tensely. "Honey, what are you doing?"

Clint stood in front of a mirror, most of his face covered in shaving foam, staring at his reflection like he didn't quite recognize it. Some embarrassment could be seen in the reflection of his eyes when they met hers. "I, ah… My hands started acting up, a bit." He showed her the hand that was holding a razor. It was trembling badly.

When it came to certain things her husband was very, very old fashioned. Shaving was one of those things. Laura gave him a small smile although her heart ached from seeing him like this. "I bought you a perfectly good electronic device for that last Christmas, remember?" She walked closer and pried the sharp item gently from his unsteady fingers. "Let me help."

She shaved his stubble meticulously. During the process his trembling only intensified, and he didn't seem able to look away from the blade. By the time she reached the most delicate spots his breathing pattern began to change. Laura frowned at the pained and trapped, faraway look in his eyes. What was he seeing? Where was his mind? She didn't dare to ask. Wasn't sure she wanted to know. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." Tough words, coming from someone barely able to breathe. He seemed to notice as much. The playful grin that appeared didn't look entirely genuine. "You know… After this I'll need a shower. Wanna join me?"

It was their first intimate encounter since… Well. They were clumsy and greedy, like a pair of teenagers, and the shower water didn't make them any more graceful. Laura noticed none of that. Or how desperate Clint's lips and hands were while they explored her, as though fearing that she, or he, would disappear at any given second. And she closed her eyes from the new scars all over her husband's body, including those that'd been made by a razor blade. All she allowed her mind to wrap around was the feel of his heart beating under her hand. The water hid both their tears.

Clint didn't go outside that day.

Dr. Sarah Harris, who'd been the official psychiatrist of the Avengers for quite a while, entered her home after a very long day with a heavy sigh. Only to halt at the discovery that she wasn't alone. She knew only one person who wore the cologne she could easily smell. She turned her head and folded her arms upon seeing a shadowy figure in her living room. "Remember that good talk about personal boundaries we once had, Nicholas? It looks like we need to have it again."

"I fed your cat."

Apparently that was the only apology there'd be. Giving up a lost fight, Sarah sighed and headed towards the kitchen. "It's good to see you, though. After eight full months, and all." To be honest she'd been very worried about the director. Not that she would've admitted as much, especially after the man just broke into her apartment. "Tea?"

"No." 'Thank you', apparently, wasn't a part of her… unexpected visitor's vocabulary. Fury stepped closer, so that she could see his face. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look quite so exhausted. And… defeated. For some reason it looked like the director was still grieving. "I understood that Barton finally agreed to meet you today."

How, exactly, he knew that Sarah preferred not even guessing. She gave him a warning look. "You know perfectly well that those sessions are confidential, Nicholas. All I can tell you is that, as you already know, he's… struggling, and I'm doing everything under my power to help him. As are his friend." She tilted her head. "You'd find out far more of how he's doing if you actually went to see him."

Fury focused intently on staring out the window. His eyes were darker than usual. "It's been made perfectly clear that I'm not welcomed to the Tower."

Sarah rolled her eyes, even if she felt a massive pang of sympathy. "Such a thing as phones have been a thing for a while, now." The kettle boiled. In a few moments she took a sip of her own drink, then took a mug for his guest as well. She hummed with approval when he accepted it without complaint. "It's only human to be worried, Nicholas. Caring about someone isn't something to be ashamed of." She wasn't sure if she or anyone else would ever get Fury to believe that. But she'd try. She frowned, some sort of a sixth sense tingling. "But I have a feeling that you wouldn't break into my apartment just to ask how an Avenger's therapy session went. I think we should talk about you for a moment." The wall of borderline hostile silence slamming at her would've discouraged most people. She'd never feared challenge. She took a box of chocolates that'd been hidden to a nearby cabinet, safely out of her cat's reach. "Confetti?"

"Do you have any with raspberry filling?"

The frailty of illusions is that not even the best of them lasts forever.

It was a perfectly normal Friday evening. Cooper was doing schoolwork and Lila was drawing in their room. The adults were preparing dinner in the Tower's kitchen area. Everyone but Vision, who'd been banned permanently from all cooking items.

It looked like Steve might soon face the same faith.

The Captain frowned, watching with dismay how a yet another set of sauce became a charred mess. "I don't get what I'm doing wrong", the usually patient man grumbled with audible frustration. "I'm following every…"

Tony stepped forward and wrapped one arm around his friend's shoulders. "Steve, buddy… Preparing a milk based sauce is a work of art. Why don't you leave this to a professional and help Natasha with the salad?"

Natasha snorted and rolled her eyes, then exchanged amused looks with Laura. "Since when have you been any sort of a professional in kitchen, Stark? Pepper's told me that the last time she left you in charge of a dinner alone the fire department had to get involved."

"That traitor…", Tony muttered under his breath but didn't succeed in sounding very upset.

"Since I've been teaching him", Wanda revealed. Then winced upon looking at her student. "Tony, don't…!"

Something was definitely burning.

Everyone burst into a laughter, then resumed to normalcy. All but one, that is. Clint, who'd just put their dessert to the fridge, stared at the sight with dazed eyes, feeling dizzy.

It was so… normal, all of it. The banter. The genuine laughter. All those friends, almost like one big family, coming together. It was just like… A searing sensation took over his eyes while his chest tightened painfully.

It was so normal that he had no idea how to handle it, after having been disconnected from any sort of normal for over half a year.

Why couldn't he just…? Why wasn't he able to feel like he was supposed to? Why didn't any of this feel normal to him anymore? What was wrong with him?

"Clint?" Steve looked at him with a worried frown. "Are you okay?"

Clint's lips parted. And closed. Then opened again. "No", he managed with severe difficulty and blinked several times. Finally seeing. "I… I guess I'm not."

It was time to face the truth, to let go of the denial, so they'd be able to move forward.

TBC

A/N: And so we begin…! GOSH, poor Clint and EVERYONE. It's gonna be a tough few steps. But we all know that eventually there'll be a happy ending. (smiles)

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? Do you wanna read more? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you guys.

In any case, thank you SO MUCH for reading! And whoever knows. Maybe I'll be seeing you again.

Take care!