The long-awaited sequel to 'Cupid's Arrows aren't the Only Thing to Pierce a Heart'. And by long-awaited I'm referring to the ever lovely, ever patient Niom Lamboise who has waited literal months for me to get around to posting it. Updates should be about once a week.

Ignores the AOU!verse of Laura and the kids because I still don't know what to do with that

Disclaimer: Aw, Marvel, no


His breaths sounded too loud in the silence.

The noise was suffocating (and, no, the irony of the statement was not lost on him).

There was the occasional squawk from those goddamned fucking birds who decided to start singing around 4 in the morning, as well as the occasional screech of tires or pulse of a horn, muffled from the distance of the street to his room in the Tower.

Other than that, however, all he could hear was his own breathing. And it was too goddamned loud, but not loud enough to override the malicious whispers, nor even the gentle cooing, in his head.

The words murderer and traitor joined the litany of stupid and worthless he'd been hearing for the entirety of his pathetic life, and nothing seemed to make them shut up.

His eyes burned from being open for so long, making them water, and making him feel guilty because the only tears he had shed since this whole thing started were an involuntary bodily response.

It wasn't like he was about to sleep though. The first few nights had actually been overall better than he'd expected. Well, half-truth.

He had flipped the fuck out and woke up most of the Avengers to come hold his hand or whatever. (He still hated himself whenever he thought about that incident.)

But other than that one, the first few nights or so once he got to sleep (never mind how long it took him to get to sleep), he didn't really have any nightmares. That didn't last long, of course, but it was nice while it did.

It didn't take a week for them to come back with a vengeance, apparently determined to make up for the reprieve he'd been allowed. And now that he couldn't last more than forty-five minutes without whispers and blood and some macabre world that he had no fucking hope of escaping barring some type of his own death in the dream, he decided staying awake was for the best.

Not that he wasn't haunted in his waking hours, but he could at the very least make an attempt at focusing on something - anything - else.

Pizza Dog helped too.

The second day after the - the incident, Nat had forced him to come up to the communal floor to have a bonding breakfast.

He had taken two sips of his coffee before freezing up and begin yelling about how he'd forgotten about Pizza-Dog and how he was a horrible owner and oh god, he'd probably killed him and - !

Nat had cut him off, or tried to, but he wouldn't shut up and now was outright panicking because he couldn't even do one thing right like taking care of a pet and he'd killed his dog.

He wasn't actually sure how long he'd spazzed out on them, but Nat eventually finally got him to heave in some deep breaths enough so she could tell him that Simone and the kids had taken care of him.

She'd made him eat some breakfast then drove them both over to his apartment in Bed-Stuy to pick up Lucky and some of his things.

(She tried to get him to pack it all, but he reminded her he had no intention of staying for any length of time. He thought that he had won that argument, but when they got back he found out she had grabbed a helluva lot more than he had realized.)

"Lucky," he called out softly - hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse. He swallowed and tried again with, "Pizza Dog."

That dog had too many goddamn names.

"Arrow?"

Still nothing, and now he was staving off the irrational fear that something had happened to his dog and the breath that had just sounded too loud now wasn't coming at all.

He scrambled out of bed, sheets and pillows and clothes (better the bed than the floor) all tangled him up before he managed to untangle himself.

"Lucky!" He shouted, an edge of the terror he was feeling lacing his voice. "Luc - "

A dark shape hovered in the doorway, low to the ground and his addled brain thought it was someone (Loki) crouching down and returning to torment him some more. He stumbled backwards, catching his foot in one of the things he had just flung off and sliding forwards on it so he lost his balance and tumbled straight on his ass.

He tried not to cower - he really did - but he felt his muscles trembling and couldn't stop his hand from shielding his bowed head.

And then something slick and wet was on his hand and he let out something too close to a shriek. Hot breath bathed his forearm, glided over to his cheek and he had to bite back a whimper because he just wanted them all away. Something slimy and heated and soft flowed up his temple and smelly pants were huffing onto his face.

He knew he should get off his ass and take what was coming to him like a man, not a quivering mess on the floor (like his daddy used to say). Knew he should try to defend himself if anyone tried to hurt him (like Jacques told him, unless he was doing the hurting). Knew he should at the very least look at whoever the hell was there, but it was dark and he was still fucked up from everything and maybe, just maybe, if he couldn't see them then they couldn't see him.

He flinched when something cold, moist, and tiny brushed up against his neck; was shocked when he heard them whine quietly.

It was then he finally got the balls to lower his hand enough and raise his head enough to see the intruder.

And son of a bitch if he didn't feel stupid now.

"Lucky..." He sighed, able to see the outline of the dog's ears perk up and the swish of his tail wagging. "Sorry buddy," he murmured, hooking an arm around Lucky's neck and pulling him into a gentle hug.

Pizza Dog didn't seem to like it all that much - Clint could feel the tense muscles under the fur - but he was a loyal friend and took it, even shifted a little closer.

And Clint really just needed that right now, so started up a slow and gentle stroking so he would be giving as well as taking.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but by the time he actually pulled himself to his feet, he felt - well, not "good", but better at least. Rubbing his eyes and then his hair, he shuffled out to the kitchen, Lucky at his heels, and blindly began to make a pot of coffee.

It was a solid minute of mostly silence - at least Lucky's breathing was now louder than his own - before a crisp voice interjected with,

"Are you feeling better, Agent Barton?"

He jumped so hard he tumbled back into the counter and likely bruised his hip, his sudden movement startling Lucky and making him bark which only further freaked him out.

"I apologize, Agent Barton. I did not mean to startle you."

"No, no," he exhaled, gripping the marble edge. "You're fine. I'm just a little jumpy is all."

Understatement.

"Is there anything I can get for you? Or perhaps anyone?"

Real subtle there, Jarvis. The blasted AI was always trying to get him to socialize.

"I'm good."

"The others are awake, sir, although Master Stark and Master Banner are both in the science lab and very focused at the moment."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I get it, Jarvis. I'm fine here though."

"If I may, sir - "

"I'd rather you didn't," he grumbled, only to be promptly ignored.

"You agreed to stay here on a probationary basis and see how you would adjust to the team, yet you have been largely sequestered away on your own floor. How can you know if you can live with the others if you do not see the others?"

Jarvis was a smarmy bastard, which was no wonder considering Stark created him.

He didn't say anything, just once again resumed puttering around with the coffee maker, enjoying the gurgle it made a few seconds later.

"Agent Romanov was asking about you earl - "

"We're not agents anymore." He bit out sharply. "SHIELD's gone, remember?"

Jarvis actually paused, but he came back with. "I am aware of this. Would Master Barton and Miss Romanov work better for you?"

"Whatever."

Silence, except for the coffee pot and Lucky's soft pants beside him.

"As I was saying, Miss Romanov was inquiring as to where you were earlier."

If he was paranoid and full of self-loathing he would think they were talking about him.

Well he was paranoid and full of self-loathing and his mind chose that moment to remind him that he was a vulnerable human on a team of fucking superheroes who was too weak to prevent his mind from being controlled and it was no wonder they would chat about his weakness in their downtime.

"I believe they would all be relieved to see you up there."

Clint just grunted, hopping up onto the counter and letting the steady swinging of his legs distract his mind.

. . .

He didn't go up to them, but eventually they came down to him.

Well just Nat; she probably knew the whole team waltzing in would freak him out like it had the other night (was that barely over a week ago?). She didn't knock, which he appreciated because it meant she wasn't totally coddling him.

He just stumbled out of the shower, shrugged on some clothes, and made his way out to the kitchen to finish up the last dregs of coffee.

She was sprawled out on the couch, lounging like a goddamn cat and flipping through the channels.

"Oh. You are still alive." She commented dryly, barely flicking her eyes towards him though he knew she did more assessment in that split second than most could do in an hour.

"Bring me any presents?" He asked too cheerfully, trying to seem his usual chipper, annoying self. It fell flat but both had the grace not to acknowledge that.

"My charming personality?"She smirked back, elegantly rising and coming over to where he was hunched in the doorway. He straightened up as soon as that thought crossed his mind, but there was no way she hadn't noticed so it was for moot anyway.

"Over-caffeinated, I see."

"There's no such thing. Coffee is sent down from God above for our enjoyment."

She snorted. "Steve is enthralled with the Ramen noodles again and made about two gallons' worth. We need help eating it. You can bring the mutt with you."

"Hey! Lucky is not a mutt! Are you, boy?" The dog wagged his tail in agreement, and padded over to swipe his nose along Clint's hand.

"I defy you to find a better dog."

Nat didn't say anything for a long moment, looking at him with her "I-look-bored-but-I'm-actually-determining-every-one-of-your-secrets" face that she loved weaponizing against marks.

When the hell had he become a mark?

"If I don't see you in an hour, we're bringing it all down here," She informed him briskly after a beat, punching him lightly in the chest then flattening her palm against it.

Her touch was warm, familiar - so different from the cold weight that had settled into his heart he actually leaned into her.

The two stayed liked that, he allowing himself to relish in her comfort and she more than willing to provide it. Finally he inched back just enough to tell her it was okay to let go.

She did, but only after another few seconds.

Then she stood on her tip toes and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"One hour," she reminded, leaving and shutting the door with a gentle click.

He placed his own hand over his heart, but it couldn't chase away the chill that had enshrouded it once again.

. . .

Clint made it to the common floor with three minutes to spare, and the annoyed face Nat shot him informed him she wasn't impressed with his procrastination. He flashed a grin that felt too half-hearted to pass but she accepted (with a roll of her eyes) nonetheless.

"Friend Barton!" Thor boomed; well he didn't actually boom. He was actually pretty quiet, but Clint had him set at a default loud so interpreted it as such.

Clint just nodded back, fingers tickling the fraying edge of his jeans' pocket before wandering over to the coffee pot on the counter.

Phil used to wonder how Clint could drink him under the table even though the older guy could drink three pots without the slightest jitter.

He blinked away the thought, focused on the heat of the drink and muttered to himself that coffee makers had gotten soft and didn't make it as piping hot as they used to.

Rogers and Thor were looking at him; Thor with a pleased grin and Rogers with an expecting but hesitant half-smile. Like he really wanted to believe this meant Hawkeye would join them but was afraid to delude himself.

The fossil was smarter than some gave him credit.

Jarvis must have been gossiping, because no sooner had Clint gotten his coffee then Stark and Banner waltzed on in, arguing - or, according to the former, 'vehemently discussing some scientific difference of opinion'.

"So, Birdbrain, what do you think?" Stark asked abruptly once he noticed him standing there. "About the plan." He added, as if that could possibly clear things up.

Clint blinked blankly, as he felt was his right, then took a slow sip.

Stark must have taken the silence as a cue to continue. "The plan for group bonding and vacation!"

He flicked his eyes over to Nat, noting the lack of surprise but the general irritation that meant she was well aware of the plan but not happy with its delivery.

"...Vacation?" He echoed dubiously, thumb tracing the bottom of his mug absently. "Group vacation."

"Yeah, isn't it wonderful? You can pick if you want. Thor wanted to visit Norway and learn more about the origin of his mythology. I'm rooting for sunny beaches of Hawaii. I bet Natasha's thinking about somewhere cold, eh?" Stark grinned, which earned him a certain finger from his deadly redhead.

"How about you? I can see you wanting to see a farm or some shit like that."

Why the fuck would I want to visit a farm?

"My stay here was pretty provisional, much less a goddamn vacation."

"Well that's what makes it so grand! You'd still be stuck with us, but if you think about it, you get to see our better sides."

"Not that you haven't seen most of our worse sides," Banner chimed in with a tinge of red to his cheeks.

"He has a point, little brother," Nat told him softly in Russian, since she'd apparently sidled up beside him at some point - what the hell, how did he get so off his game.

"How many times do I have to remind you I'm older?" He snarked back, ignoring the key information as he was so talented at.

"Then act like it. Go on the vacation," she retorted. He was saved from replying by Stark's sigh of "Anyone else hate when they leave us out?" and Rogers' reply (when had he moved so much closer?) of "Let them have their chat, Tony."

"Since when have I been all for that team bonding bogus?"

"You survived movie night."

"That was one night. And that was like three years ago! Or two...Or one..." He trailed off, because now he honestly couldn't remember when they had all been coerced by Stark into watching motherfucking Napolean Dynamite together (stupid ass movie).

"You can stay in your room at the hotel."

"Yes, that sounds like a simply fantastic vacation," he huffed, waving his hands and jostling a little coffee onto the floor. Dammit.

Her stubborn expression softened and she came at him with, "I know you need your space. And I know you need to make your own choices, but this will be good for you. It only has to be for a few days, you can leave whenever you need to."

He just glared at her.

"Clint."

("Finally! A word I can understand!" Stark proclaimed gleefully.)

"I need to work my way up to a vacation, y'know?"

She sighed, trailing a light hand down his arm, but she nodded and, in English, announced, "We need to start smaller."

Ideas about trips to museums, parks, and goddamned mini-golf were tossed around and Clint just leaned into the counter, letting it absorb him as their words washed over him.

. . .

Things seemed to going better. Clint would allow himself to be dragged into the land of the living once a day for a meal.

He still felt weird and stupid and inadequate around the rest of them; still wished they didn't have to see him when he was at his lowest even though he tried to act chipper; still wished the previous week (it'd actually been three now) hadn't happened; still wished Loki was gone and SHIELD wasn't.

Still wished he could one goddamn wink of sleep without nightmares dragging him to the surface.

Nat certainly noticed, had gone from giving him his space to being up his ass constantly, had crawled into bed beside him two nights in a row and soothed him until he went back to sleep only to be violently awoken again.

It really fucking sucked.

But the ideas of team bonding had died down. Stark had locked himself in the lab over some new invention and none of them had seen him for the passed four days. Jane and Darcy were in town, so Thor was spending as much time with them as he could, and Rogers made a new bestie in that kid Sam. Clint wasn't actually sure where the hell Banner was. Probably doing something science-y.

But Nat was there and honestly she was the one thing grounding him and letting him function, letting him shove away the negative shit and focus on the here and now (and if there was one thing he'd become proficient at, it was burying his shit.)

She had given some sob speech about how poor Lucky wasn't getting the exercise that he needed so the two of them had taken the 'poor little puppy' to roam the streets, and if Clint felt overwhelmed and had to stop in some side alley to heave in calming breaths and ignore the fact that New York and Toronto looked a helluva lot alike then neither commented on it.

This was kinda his routine now.

There weren't any SHIELD missions and the need for Avenging was surprisingly small compared to the desperation that had been sold to him. And by 'surprisingly small' he really meant they hadn't been called out once since Loki and it had been close to three weeks (maybe four? When there's nothing to do it's hard to keep track.)

He ate (kinda), slept (not so much), and survived socialization (barely), and walked his goddamn dog.

It was a pathetic existence, but it was better than it could have been.

Until, of course, Rogers came bursting into the common room where he and Nat were having an actually pleasant conversation with Banner and Cap announced that he had won a trip for four to Vegas!

"Looks like we're getting that vacation after all, little brother," Nat murmured softly to him, because Stark would definitely pay for all of them.

He didn't know whether the smugness in her voice eased or worsened the gaping pit in his stomach.