AN: Summary: Clint doesn't drink. He flat out refuses to. The team works hard to figure out why, but soon learn that some things are better left alone. Clint!angst Clint!feels. Basically I'm torturing Clint.
Trigger Warning: Mentions of alcohol abuse and child abuse. If this means anything to you, please be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you.
SPOILER ALERT: This takes place before Age of Ultron, but some certain things that happen in AOU happen in this story. That will make a whole lot more sense once you read it.
Please note this subject means a lot to me personally, and I take this very seriously. Keep in mind others might as well, so please don't joke about this. I know I use humor in the story, but that's to keep those in the story in character, and to try and lighten the mood a bit. If anyone ever needs anything, please message me and I'll see what I can do. The song lyrics at the very beginning of this story are from a song called "Scars" which was very therapeutic to me and I highly recommend if you're struggling.
Also, the song "You're a Wolf" that shows up in the flashbacks did not exist when Clint was a kid, but I love the song and the effect of it. It left an impact on me the first time I heard it in "Being Human" when the three were sitting on the porch, so I hope it does something for you.
The song that is being played while Clint is an adult is called "O'Children" by Nick Cave. Perhaps you heard it in "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1" while Harry and Hermione were dancing. I like that song, too.
I'm drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
You shouldn't ever come around
Why don't you just go home?
Cause you're drowning in the water
And I tried to grab your hand
And I left my heart open
But you didn't understand
But you didn't understand
Go fix yourself
-Papa Roach
The light music in the background wasn't quite loud enough to hear over the sounds of laughter and glasses clinking. Clint only caught bits and pieces of it, but he still thought it was an odd song to be playing while getting drunk. Tony Stark seemed to be the type of guy to listen to 80s hits while drinking, not slow, eerie music that lacked tune.
Hey little train! We are all jumping on,
The train that goes to the Kingdom.
We're happy, Ma, we're having fun,
And the train ain't even left the station
The chorus was loud enough to catch most of the lyrics, but Clint still was puzzled at the song choice. He let it go finally, figuring Tony was already drunk as he put in the CD. Besides, he knew it was only bothering him because it was similar to what he heard everyday growing up. Eyes closed, Clint practically felt as though he was back outside the door to his father's office. His then young hand raised to the door, scared to knock, shaking slightly as he silently cursed his mother for forcing him to be the one to summon his father to dinner. Soft music playing an eerie tune from inside the office, making the entire situation only that much more intimidating.
Old gypsy woman spoke to me,
lips stained red from a bottle of wine.
Old gypsy woman spoke to me,
lips stained red from a bottle of wine.
Young Clint finally built enough courage to knock on the door. The reaction from his father was instant. The angry voice cursing at him, threatening-
"Clint."
Clint's eyes opened and he was back at Stark Tower, in the bar, listening to Tony's eerie music, not his father's. He turned his head and Steve was beside him, looking slightly concerned. Not surprisingly, the Captain was the most sober of them all - except for Clint of course - due to the serum. It was a shock to everyone that the Asgardian Ale did anything for him at all. The Captain sat down on the barstool next to him, offering him a glass of what appeared to be Stark's whiskey. Clint shook his head.
"Don't drink?" the Captain asked.
"Not really, no." Clint was irritated and wanted to be left alone, so he used short answers, hoping Steve would take a hint.
"Something bothering you?" Steve asked. He seemed to be getting more and more sober by the second which explained why previously he had been literally chugging the ale.
"Not at all," Clint lied, standing up from his stool. "I think I'll head off to bed. I'm tired."
"Oh don't be like that, feathers!" Tony slurred. "Why don't you loosen up a bit? If grandpa can kick back and have a drink or two. . . or thirty, than you can, too."
"I don't drink," Clint insisted irritably. "But thanks." He started to head toward the elevator, but five voices called out to him.
"Come on!"
"Don't be like that!"
"It's good to relax every now-and-then."
"Clint!"
"Fuck off," Clint hissed to them all, and the room fell silent. "I don't drink, all right?" With that, he left the room and headed for the elevator. It seemed to take hours for the doors to finally close, and for the elevator to begin to ascend, but once it did, he breathed a sigh of relief.
When he was inside of his room, he wanted nothing more than his soft bed. However, despite how tired he was, he body involuntarily picked up his bow off his desk. He lightly stroked it, taking in the comfort of having it in his hands. His bow was his defense, it protected him when he was in physical danger.
He just wished it could protect him emotionally, too.
He put the bow back down on the desk and headed over to the bed. He wanted to sleep, but he knew that after tonight he would only dream about his father, which was something he wanted to avoid. It was bad enough he was getting flashbacks while awake in front of his team.
Despite his persistence, he felt his eyes begin to close. It was inevitable, and he decided to allow himself to sleep. If he was lucky, the dream wouldn't be as graphic as they sometimes are. If he was really, really, lucky he wouldn't dream about his father at all. If that happened, he would also buy a lottery ticket while he was at it.
Old gypsy woman spoke to me
Young Clint's nose was oozing blood. His mother looked at him, swallowing thickly, not daring to move to help him.
Lips stained red from a bottle of wine
The two could hear Harold Barton going off on Barney. Barney was about to get it worse than Clint did. It was obvious due to the yelling and sounds of broken glass.
Old gypsy woman spoke to me
Lips stained red-
The music faded quickly and Clint opened his eyes. The dream wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it seemed so real. In fact, Clint found himself absent-mindedly wiping his nose, just to make sure his hand wouldn't be smeared with blood. It wasn't, of course.
"Hey, Barton!" Tony's voice came through the door. It didn't sound as lively as it usually did, almost hungover-
Clint sat up in bed quickly and looked at his digital clock. 10:11AM? It was already the next morning?
"Barton!" Tony yelled again. "Please don't make me yell again. My head is pounding."
And whose fault is that? Clint wanted to ask that, but decided against it. Instead, he got out of bed and opened the door. Tony looked pale, and disheveled, and just flat out, upset.
"What?" Clint demanded. "I was sleeping."
"Since when do you sleep in?" Tony asked. "We are all hungover - except for Steve and Thor, the bastards - and we've been up for two hours."
Clint shrugged. "I don't know. And I don't really care." He was about to shut his door, but Tony stopped it.
"Is this about yesterday?" Tony asked. "Because we would all like to talk to you about that."
Clint was confused until he remembered he had snapped at all of them. He had really hoped they would have all forgotten. He shrugged and said to Tony, "I was just upset. It's-"
"Clearly," Tony interrupted. "Which is why we wanted to talk to you. Look, last night is a little hazy for all of us, so please come down and refresh our memories. You owe us an explanation."
"I don't owe you anything," Clint said, but he knew Tony was right. With a sigh, he stepped out into the hallway with Tony. "Okay. Fine. I'll talk to them."
Tony lead him toward the elevator and the two descended down to the sixth floor which was sort of the gathering area for the team. He felt nervous, almost like he was about to get an intervention. It didn't help when the elevator doors opened revealing the entire team staring at him. Thor looked confused, Steve and Nat looked concerned, and Bruce looked intrigued. Tony moved from behind him and sat down next to the rest of the team, leaving Clint alone to face the Avengers.
"What the hell happened last night, Clint?" Natasha asked. He was glad she broke the silence as he was not wanting to start the conversation off.
"I flipped out," he answered simply. "I'm sorry about that."
"Why?" Steve asked. "What happened? If it's stress you need to tell us. This isn't easy work-"
"It's not that," Clint interrupted irritably. "I just have a bad past with alcohol."
The team all nodded as though they were finally beginning to understand. "Which is why you got so upset when we offered you a drink," Bruce concluded. "It makes sense now. Recovering from alcoholism is difficult enough without-"
"What?" Clint cut the doctor off. "I'm sorry, but you've got it wrong, doc."
"Somebody else then?" Tony asked.
"Uh. . . yeah," Clint answered, feeling immensely uncomfortable. "My father."
The room fell silent again, and Clint hated the fact that they all obviously felt sorry for him. It was worse than the time he confessed to having a hearing problem. With that, he could at least say it was something that he had under control, something that could be helped. It was a physical problem which tended to be a lot easier to heal than anything emotional.
"Your dad was an alcoholic?" Tony asked, breaking the silence.
"Yeah. A real bad one, too. My brother and I, we-" he stopped, not knowing how to word this without making it look like he was looking for sympathy or pity - two things he hated the most coming from people. "Barney and I would come home everyday from school and he would be drunk. He was. . . he was abusive, too. You guys asked me about the scar I had on my back, and asked what I had been doing in the mission that gave it to me. I told you guys I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that was a lie. It wasn't a mission that cut up my back, it was my father; he threw his hot coffee at me when I told him that coffee won't make him sober any faster." Clint was staring past all of the Avengers, making sure not to look them in the eyes. He didn't want to see their expressions.
"What about your mother?" Thor asked. It was a question Clint was dreading, yet he knew it was going to come up sooner or later.
"My mom," Clint sighed. "Did absolute shit."
"I do not understand-" Thor began.
"She stood by and did nothing," Clint explained. "I think it was because she was scared. She didn't want to leave him because she was scared what he would do. The few times she did try to stand up for Barney and I, he beat her harder than he had ever beaten either of us kids. As scared as I was, I was glad she stopped interfering. I was worried one day he would go too far and end up killing her." Clint stopped talking, not trusting his voice to continue to be steady. Other than therapists, this was the first time he had ever talked about his childhood. It was different with a therapist because it was their job to analyze you and listen to your problems, but the team were his friends. He wanted nothing more than for them to treat him like they always had. He knew, however, that after this conversation, everything would change.
"It didn't matter, as it turned out," Clint finally continued. "He ended up killing her anyway." Clint built the courage to look at his team, and their expressions were nothing but horror, confusion, and worst of all, pity and sympathy. Natasha looked shocked, and Clint knew why. The two always told each other everything. She was the only person to know he had a wife and kids, and he was still the only member of the team who knew her as a person. Steve looked disappointed, almost like he figured he should have known this already. Like he failed Clint for not knowing. Thor looked confused, almost as though he either couldn't fathom, or just couldn't understand what Clint was saying. Bruce was no therapist, but his expression reminded Clint of his old doctors. The look of trying to figure out what he can do to help him and what he could say. Tony on the other hand, his expression wasn't that of sympathy like the others, but it was sheer empathy. He also looked simply intrigued by Clint's story.
"It was a car accident," Clint answered the unasked question. He got wasted and told my mom that he wanted her to go on a ride with him. She refused of course, telling him he wasn't fit to drive, but when threatening her didn't work, he began to threaten Barney and I, so she went, and I never saw her again. We were shown pictures of the car later, and it's no wonder she died. The passenger side especially was totaled. They both died that night and Barney and I were put in an orphanage.
"It's why I don't drink," Clint continued. "I didn't mean to yell at you guys, it's just-"
"You don't have to explain yourself any farther," Natasha interrupted gently. "We shouldn't have pushed you over the edge. We are the ones to blame here, you have nothing to be sorry about, Clint. People don't drink for a reason, and we should have understood that. I should have understood that."
Clint wished she wouldn't beat herself up over this. He didn't want any of his team mates to feel bad. He didn't tell his story to guilt them, he told it so they would at least understand.
"I think I speak for everyone when I say we feel like absolute shit," Tony said. "And-"
"Well you shouldn't," Clint interrupted. "You guys had no way of knowing. It's not a big deal, it's over and done with. It's just. . . after coming home from school and seeing my old man drunk everyday, I guess alcohol has never been appealing to me." He made eye contact with Natasha, and there was understanding in her eyes that no one else would understand. At least not yet.
There was an intense silence that went on for longer than Clint wanted it to, before Bruce said, "I don't about everyone else, but I'm glad you found the courage to talk about it. I think as a team, it only makes us stronger when we share our fears, past, strengths, weaknesses. I also apologize if I behaved inappropriately last night."
"Nothing to be sorry for," Clint repeated. "Really, it's fine. You guys didn't know." With that, he dismissed himself politely, and headed back for his room.
Inside his room, he felt safe again. He was free from the sympathetic looks of his team. They all felt bad for him which made him feel like crap. He knew out of everyone on the team, he was the most expendable. Nobody said it, but they didn't have to. It only made things worse when he knew that they were more than likely looking at him as though he was even weaker than before. Now they probably think he's emotionally unstable or depressed.
"Hey, Clint," Natasha's voice came from outside his door. "Can I talk to you?"
Saw this one coming, he thought to himself. He figured Natasha was pissed for not sharing his secret with her when they had agreed to tell each other anything. He sighed and stood up from the bed and opened the door. "Natasha," he began. "I'm sorry for not-"
"I understand why you kept this from me," she said, her usual tone now soft. "This was personal and hard, but I am appreciative that you shared nonetheless. I just hope you can forgive me."
"Why does everyone think I hate them for this?" Clint asked, taking a step back into his room. He was irritated and frustrated that the entire team kept apologizing. "I didn't want everyone to feel guilty, I didn't even want everyone to feel sorry for me. I just wanted-"
"I know," she whispered, cutting him off. "And I also know the real reason why you refuse to drink."
"I know," he said softly. Of course he knew. It was all over her face when he was telling his story. The big thing she knew that no one else did. The thing that made him Clint Barton.
"You will never be like your father," she told him sternly. "Clint, I've seen you with your kids, and they adore you. Your wife adores you. You would never do anything to harm them."
"I know," he repeated. "It's just. . . I've done a lot of research lately. Alcoholism is hereditary. I can't risk it."
"And I get that." She smiled at him and he smiled back. "You are such a great dad. Now you want my advice?"
"Always."
"Forget about him." Natasha pulled him into a hug. "Don't even think about him ever again. I know it's hard, but it will only hurt. Just continue to be the amazing father you are, and don't let your past drag you down."
Clint pulled away from her. "You always know what to say."
"We're partners," she replied simply with a shrug. "Now come on down and train with me. You're going to have to face everyone again someday anyway."
He knew she was right, so without hesitation, he followed her out of his room and back down where the rest of the team was.
That night, he dreamt of his kids and his beautiful wife.
If you have any questions regarding the song choice, please see the AN at the beginning of the story. Again, I am well aware "You're a Wolf" didn't exist when Clint was a kid. I just like the song. Please review! I love to hear feedback. This was my first Avengers fic and I hope to do more in the future.