Birds of a Feather

Sam finds Barton right where Steve said that he would be, sitting on the edge of the building, a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in one hand, his head tilted back into the light rain. He walks towards him carefully; Natasha warned him that he always carries a gun and, when he's like this, he tends to shoot first and ask questions second. Before he left, Stark told him that he had to be crazy to pull this stunt, but he knows that he might be able to help, and he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"He was just a kid."

Barton doesn't turn around to look at him. For all Sam knows, he's talking to himself. So he waits, and he watches as Barton slowly crushes the can and then tosses it over his shoulder. It hits the ground with a dull clank and rolls a few inches before coming to rest inches from Sam's feet.

"He was just a kid," Barton repeats, and Sam can hear the telltale quiver in his voice. Barton is crying. "A damn kid."

Sam hesitates, considering whether he should go get Natasha. But, when he turns to go do that, he accidentally kicks the can. With a sigh, he puts his hands right in the air.

Sam's not surprised by how quickly Barton leaps to his feet and trains a gun directly at his head, his red-rimmed eyes as piercing as ever. Seeing it's him, the corners of Barton's mouth quirk into a lopsided, sheepish smile. After he stuffs the gun back into the pocket of his leather jacket and rubs his eyes with his sleeve, he says, "Uh, sorry 'bout that. I guess I'm still a little…"

"Jumpy?" Sam supplies when Barton trails off, and Barton gives a slight nod to confirm that's what he was going to say. "No worries, man. It's not the first time I've had a gun pointed at me, and it probably won't be the last."

Barton forces a chuckle, and he turns his back to him, sitting down where he was before and dangling his legs over the edge. Just when Sam's about to clear his throat or something to remind him that he's still here, Barton says, "Look, I 'preciate you coming up here, but I'm really not in the mood for a pep talk or anything, a'ight?"

Sam takes the opening to sit down beside him, though he settles a little further back from the edge. "Who said I was going to give you a pep talk?"

"Isn't that what you did before? At the VA?" Barton eyes him suspiciously before adding, his voice more weary than anything else, "I, uh, I just don't want to talk 'bout it."

"Then we don't have to," Sam replies simply, and he sees the confusion written all over Barton's face. Before his alcohol-numbed brain has the chance to process what's happening, Sam changes the subject, "You know, I've always been curious. Where'd you learn how to shoot like you do? Steve mentioned you were in the military, but…"

"A bow and arrow aren't exactly standard issue?" Barton reaches over and grabs the last can of beer from the six-pack he brought out with him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told ya."

"Try me," Sam challenges, folding his arms over his chest to tell Barton that he's serious.

Barton starts, but then he snickers, his dark eyes lighting up a little. "A'ighty then, if you insist. I was the 'Amazing Hawkeye.' Had my own center-ring act at this famous circus. Toured all 'round the Midwest."

Sam shakes his head. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was training for the Olympics?" Clint grins cheekily. "Coulda won it all too, but Fury didn't want my face ending up Wheaties boxes all 'cross America. Said it would keep me from going on undercover ops."

"That I can see." Sam chuckles, and Barton laughs with him. "Especially the part about Fury."

Barton raises his beer can and says a toast to the rain, "To Fury, the sonuvabitch who kept me from winning a gold medal and…" Barton's eyes darken again, and he mutters something under his breath that Sam doesn't quite catch about being stupid before taking another swig of his beer.

"So, I hear you're retiring," Sam says carefully, taking the opportunity to change subjects. He's not sure Barton even told everyone; he only knows because Steve mentioned it when he asked him to be a part of the Avengers Initiative to take Barton's place as "their eyes in the sky." Even though he doesn't want to set Barton off by forcing him to talk about something that he doesn't want to, he's too curious not to ask; he doesn't understand why Barton chose now to walk way, and he hopes that it's not because of what happened on the flying city.

"Yeah, ya know…" Barton hiccups before continuing mischievously, "I'm gonna get a nice little spread, get some sheep and tend to them."

Sam raises an eyebrow incredulously. "You know, I can't really picture you on a farm."

"You'd be surprised," Barton says as a warm smile spreads across his face, and Sam catches the wistful note in his voice. But his smile quickly twists into his usual smirk and he adds, "But, seriously, man, please tell me you got that reference."

"Maybe you should go do that," Sam smugly supplies the follow-up line.

Barton tips his beer can to him. "Touché."

For a few minutes, they sit in amicable silence. Sam glances at his phone (he has a text message from Stark that reads don't tell me bird brain put a bullet in you and I have to call Cho that he doesn't grace with a reply) and Barton finishes the rest of his last beer.

Since Barton seems far less tense than he did earlier, Sam decides to take a chance. "You know we'll miss you, right?"

"I think you'll be just fine," Barton snorts and rolls his eyes. Right when Sam is about to reply that nobody can replace him, he continues bitterly, "I was always overmatched anyway. From day one. And then a kid gets killed because I wanted to play in the big leagues. Me playing hero got a real…"

"Stop it," Sam breaks in, his voice harsher than he intended. He hates to hear Barton beat himself up like this, even though he barely knows the guy. It hits a little too close to home. "Look, man, I don't know where this is coming from, but you and I both know it's not true."

Barton draws in a shuddering breath and then clenches his jaw. His stormy eyes remain fixed on the city lying out before them, blanketed in a soft white mist. "Yeah, that's what you think?"

"That's what I know."

For a fraction of a second, it looks like Barton's about to argue. But then he deflates, his head sagging against his chest. In a voice smaller than a whisper, he admits, "I-I thought I was gonna die. I accepted it. And, this kid, this damn kid, takes the bullets meant for me and…" He stops, and a few tears manage to trickle out of his eyes before he manages to squeeze them shut. After muttering a curse, he bites his lip and gruffly rubs the back of one hand across his face. "I-I'm sorry, I just…"

"Barton, you have nothing to be sorry for," Sam replies quietly. He resists the urge to launch into a motivational speech because he knows that's not what Barton wants. And that's when he has a better idea. So he asks, "Hey, man, is it just me or is the rain picking up?"

Barton blinks. Then, he smiles faintly, as if realizing what Sam's doing. "This is nothing. Try sitting on a rooftop in Taiwan during ty—" (he fumbles over the word; Sam laughs, and he shoots him a dangerous look in response) "—typhoon season. I got pne—" (he stumbles again and frowns at himself) "—monia and got stuck in the sick bay for, uh, two weeks or something."

"You know what? We should go. I think you could use a cup of coffee anyway," Sam chuckles as he gets up. When Barton shows no sign of moving, he adds, "Come on, bird brain. Let's go before you get pneumonia again."

"Who you calling bird brain?" Barton snaps. But, to Sam's surprise, he clambers to his feet and follows him. They don't end up getting coffee because Natasha intercepts them as soon as they reach the kitchen, and he can see the relief in her green eyes that he had managed to coax her partner off the roof for the first time since Pietro's funeral a day and a half ago. She mouths, "Thank you," and he nods. All he can do now is hope that Barton got the message.

The next morning, Sam is sitting alone in the kitchen, skimming through the sports section, when Barton stumbles into the room. After he pours himself a cup of coffee, he starts towards the door, but then he hesitates and joins Sam at the island instead, wordlessly grabbing the comics.

Sam can't help but laugh when he takes his first sip of coffee and immediately scowls. "How long's this been sitting out?"

"Almost an hour and a half," Sam supplies. "Oh, and you may or may not have missed a Panera breakfast. Stark had it delivered, and Steve tried to save some for you, but Thor was hungry."

"Welp, guess today isn't my day." Barton hauls himself back to his feet. Before long, he returns to the island, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand. He looks oddly nervous, and he takes a sip of his coffee before turning his attention to the comics.

A few minutes pass before Barton says, "Thank you." Glancing around the room as if wanting to be 100 percent sure that nobody's watching or listening, he continues, "For last night. I thought about what you said, and…well, you're right. And…I thought of a way to thank him for saving my life."

Sam's about to ask how but thinks better of it. Instead, he smiles and claps him on the shoulder. "Hey, man, what are friends for?"

Barton chuckles as an ear-to-ear grin spreads across his face. "What's the old saying? Birds of a feather…"

"Wow, bird brain, way to make it weird."

"Who you calling bird brain?"

Thanks for reading! I have to admit, after watching Winter Soldier, Sam became my second favorite Marvel Cinematic Universe character. I guess I like the heroes who are just people with very high, or specialized, skill sets haha. Anyway, I liked the idea that Sam was the one who helped Clint start to move past Pietro's death. I figured he would be uniquely qualified, and I love the idea of them being friends (birds all the way!). For the record, in case you missed the subtle references, Clint does have a family in this story. Also, the movie they were quoting was "Good Will Hunting" if you haven't seen it.

Let me know what you think! This piece is pretty different for me, and I'd love to get some reviews. Until next time. ~Moore12