Clint witnesses a nightmare...
The Arrangement
It was a nightmare that started the whole thing.
What they had believed was a simple theft and acquisition had turned into a twelve day pursuit with no rest and little food in the face of near constant movement. Natasha and Clint were used to hunts like that, doggedly chasing their prey like maddened rat terriers. So well trained and experienced that the idea of giving up the hunt did not even strike their minds as an option before the prey was caught and savaged if need be.
The rest of the team didn't fair so well. Tony began to have difficultly processing, Bruce's temper was fickle and quick to anger, even Thor's normally bright eyes had dulled with fatigue and Steve struggled on supported by force of will as his hyper charged metabolism proved to be his downfall.
Clint worried over him insistently, fasting to give his rations to the soldier, who staunchly refused until the archer badgered him into it and Steve's own hunger became to too much.
The strain of twelve days hard pursuit proved to be too much for the unconditioned Avengers and Clint and Natasha made a pact that should the situation ever occur again they would take up the hunt alone and save their friends from the experience a second time.
Steve had lost nearly fifteen pounds, weight the soldier could not afford to lose. He was sallow, shaky and completely exhausted. Clint would not leave his side while SHIELD medical fed two full IV bags into Steve's system and monitored him while he carefully ate three large bowls of thick soup, which Steve only consented to if Clint had at least one for himself as well.
When medical tried to insist keeping Steve over night Clint outright refused. The soldier was significantly re-hydrated, he'd eaten and kept his food down, he's been poked and prodded, scrubbed and sanitized. Clint would have none of it and he helped Steve into a tee shirt and sweats. He half dragged, half carried Steve out to his jeep and after the drive to their shared apartment in Brooklyn through to his bed.
Steve was quiet the whole way and was able to support much of his own weight though he used Clint to make sure he didn't topple to the floor, his steps weren't very steady. Clint spoke to him quietly, reassuring him and promising over and over it was only a few more steps and Steve could sleep and Clint would make sure they had plenty of coffee and buttermilk biscuits, steak and eggs in the morning.
He gave up promising food when Steve started to have a tinge of green in his pale color. Not wanting him to loose any of the hard earned soup or IV fluids Clint gently helped Steve down into his bed and draped a light sheet over him.
Clint smiled reassuringly and squeezed Steve's forearm as the soldier mumbled something that sounded like 'thank you'.
With the soldier taken care of Clint finally could turn his attention towards himself. He peeled out of his underarmor and combat clothes, scrubbed away the dirt, grime, grit and caked on dust. He felt a few pounds lighter when he stepped out of a shower, scrubbing his skin dry and slipping into a light pair of flannel pajama bottoms. He could feel the weight of his own exhaustion starting to creep up but he needed something to settle his stomach, the soup wasn't sitting very well and he had a kettle boiling with water and a cup already ready with a few mint leaves lined in the bottom and a plastic bear filled with golden honey on the stand by when he caught an odd sound.
The archer stilled and listened, turning the kettle off and setting it on a different burner to stop any excess sound and twisted to put his good ear out into the world and held his breath.
It came again. A soft moan or a whimper. A sound more animal than human. The archer was instantly alert and staying perfectly still, straining to pinpoint the noise he searched the dimly lit apartment for some sign of movement, anything that suggested intruder, either animal or man.
The whimper turned into a high whine and choked off with what Clint could vaguely figure out as words through his crippled hearing.
Fear suddenly struck him and the archer jogged from the kitchen to Steve's room. He put his good ear towards the gap between the door and the frame, held his breath again and listened. Another choked off sob of a sound and Clint was through the door, across the room and at Steve's side in a few seconds.
The soldier had thrashed, tossed and turned, sweating through his clothes and tangled in his sheets. Head thrown back, teeth grit, terrified sounds and bitten and broken names choked out between gasps and clenched jaw. Clint caught sight of a tear making its way down Steve's cheek. The archer couldn't imagine what the soldier had endured to cause a night terror like this; he would not allow it to go on.
It was probably a good way to get himself punched but Clint caught one of the flailing hands, lacing their fingers together. He winced as Steve's grip tightened and the soldier rolled, curling towards Clint instinctively, Clint would have let him but his breath was starting to come to fast to short. He was hyperventilating.
With a heave of effort Clint used his other hand to shove Steve back onto his back and pined him there and started calling his name, firmly and loudly, using the hand on his chest to give him a little shake and he squeezed back through their linked hands.
Steve seemed to jolt, glazed over and scared blue eyes flashed around wildly until Clint commanded their attention on him. Clint spoke quickly, calmly and reassuringly. Telling Steve he was safe, at home, in Brooklyn, everything was all alright, he was having a nightmare and a panic attack. The archer gently coached Steve into breathing regularly against, using his own inhales and exhales as an example to match.
Slowly Steve regained his breath with a few chokes and coughs, Clint felt the heart under his hand start to slow and calm and the erratic and jerky movements, Steve endured a few full bodied tremors but thankfully nothing more severe. Clint sank down to kneel at the side of the bed as Steve calmed the rest of the way down, their hands and linked fingers staying firmly braided together.
Clint watched as Steve's eyes drifted shut and his cheeks slowly flushed slightly in embarrassment as he croaked out an apology. Clint only nodded and gently got to his feet again. He gave Steve's hand a reassuring squeeze before breaking their grip on each other, he promised to return and quickly went to a narrow closet in the short hall and pulled down new sheets for Steve's bed to replace the sweat soaked ones.
Steve tried to stop him, claimed exhaustedly that he was not going to sleep again. Clint ignored him and between the two of them they had the new sheets fitted and Steve changed from the sweats and tee shirt to fresh boxers and a light, long sleeved tee.
Steve thanked him quietly and slumped into the center of the bed… until Clint gave him a nudge to budge over. The soldier flushed and stammered quiet protests until Clint told him to just pretend they were in a bunker and that was Steve's turn to sleep and his to keep watch. The archer ignored the way Steve stared as him while he used a pillow to comfortably prop himself up against the headboard and settled in.
Clint had to wait him out but eventually Steve's exhaustion won out and the soldier drifted into sleep. Clint stayed up at his side; any time the soldier made soft distressed sounds or started to fidget Clint would take his hand and lace their fingers and whispered soothingly to him. Before long Steve would calm again and when his hand and fingers relaxed Clint would settle back down again. The moments of impending nightmare grew less frequent and the archer started to drift, the strain finally catching up to him and slid lower and lower into the pillow and sheets and the waking world fell away.
Clint woke only once more that night, when some time very early in the morning Steve had rolled over, closing the gap between them and pressing his face against Clint's shoulder. Steve had let out a soft content sigh and drifted deeper into sleep. The archer followed his example and dozed off with his nose pressed into Steve's hair.
Come midmorning Steve would wake alone in his bed, but the space next to him was still warm and smelled faintly of honey and spice soap and shampoo that Clint used.
Like many things between the pair, once an action had been made between them it was accepted as something that would continue until one or the other put a stop to it. Steve always went to bed before him so the archer would stay up and listen intently; making sure everything around him was silent and would pause, hold his breath and listen when he thought he heard any small sound of distress. If he heard any he'd make his way to Steve's room, gently rouse him and reassure him and if the dream was particularly bad would settle down next to him. Clint would keep watch, reading and in time drifting off himself and slip away before Steve would rise in the morning.
Steve was silently grateful for the attention and company, he could actually tell he was having fewer nightmares and sleeping more, but he had no desire to let the deed go without some way for Steve to pay it back.
What Steve didn't realize was that Clint himself was taking great comfort in the company. The archer had his own terrors nightly but he'd learned to suffer in silence. Screams and chattered words, in the dark corners of foster homes, curled up in shared carnival trailers; in hot zones with enemies all around… it was a perfect way to bring them down on you. When the worst of them would hit Phil had always been the one to gently rouse him or sooth him through it.
Clint had been suffering alone for months but now, by putting Steve's comfort before his own Clint had found a new balm for himself.
It was only a temporary arrangement, it wouldn't solve their problems in the long run but it was a good start.
A/N: I figure that all of the Avengers have their own levels and ranges of PTSD and other stress and combat related anxieties and disorders. Out of all of them though I do believe that Steve would be the worse off of the group.