Clint woke up in a panic, a gun already in his hand, because it was so much easier to sleep with a pistol under his pillow than a bow and arrow, even if it wasn't his preferred weapon. At short range, it would get the job done.
But though the assassin was on high alert, as if he had not been asleep just seconds before, there was no one there for him to fight. No criminals who had snuck in, no assassins who wanted to take him out. Nobody was in the apartment except for Clint Barton.
Still, the remains of the dream clung to Clint, and he couldn't quite shake them off. He got up out of bed, and only dropped his gun when he switched it out for the bow that he kept in the room. He spent the next half hour or so, heartbeat pounding in his ears, making sure that his nightmares were not a reality, and that, for now, he was not in any immediate danger. By the time he had finished his investigation, the archer was far too keyed up to try and go back to sleep. Besides, it wasn't like he was all that excited about returning to his nightmares any time soon.
So, he made himself a pot of coffee, and rubbing the remains of sleep out of his eyes settled down in front of the TV to wait out the remaining hours of night that were left before it was time for a new day. Barton finally settled on watching a late night rerun of Power Puff girls that happened to be on, and refilled his already half empty cup of coffee. He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair and muttered to himself, "Damn it I hate nightmares…"
Technically, she should have been back in Russia right now, reporting on her latest mission. Maybe this was karma for bending the rules a bit, and trying to enjoy a night in a place nicer than the dank room that The Room still assigned her, even after all she had done for them.
When Natasha woke up, she was drenched in sweat, and incapable of doing anything more than clutching at the sheets on the bed at first, trying to get a grip back on reality. The nightmare had stormed through her, ripped through the assassin like lightning breaking across the sky. Not much could render the Black Widow helpless, but nightmares had a special way of tearing her apart, leaving her alone to try and pick up the pieces.
Natasha had to blink the sweat out of her eyes, as she fumbled under the pillow for the knife she knew was under there, if only she could find the damn thing. There, ow, yeah, there it was, blade nipping into the palm of her hand. She pulled out the weapon, gleaming blade splattered with droplets of her own blood.
When there was an actual emergency, she could be awake in an instant. Ready to destroy whoever, whatever, was intruding. It had been part of her training, to have to learn how to go from sound asleep, be ready to fight for your life with little to no warning. But this was different, not something she was supposed to be trained for. Natasha had never been taught how to deal with bad dreams taking over, because she was a Black Widow. Black Widow's were supposed to be nightmares, not suffer from them.
At least not as long as The Room still had a use for them they weren't.
So, Natasha was alone in the hotel room, cold sweat clinging to her skin, heart exploding like it was trying to escape from her body. The knife was in her bleeding hand, blood was dripping on the sheets. She didn't notice or care, she was still trying to set things right in her shaken brain, convince herself she wasn't about to be hurt, punished, abused, killed.
It was hard to keep track of time, so she didn't know how long she sat there, perched on the edge of the bed, bleeding knife in hand. Thinking of things she tried never to think about.
When the sun finally rose, Natasha stood and let the knife fall to the ground. As she moved to gather her sparse belongings from the room, she muttered under her breath, "I hate nightmares."
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They hadn't been partners for a horribly long time, when a situation came up where the two of them had to share a room. Not a bed, that would come later, when Fury decided to send them on a mission where they posed as a couple. This time, they were pretending to be friends going on vacation together.
Natasha woke up and was instantly ready to fight, and held a knife confidently in her hand as she surveyed the room, evaluating where the noise was coming from. She was more than a bit surprised when she realized that the (admittedly not very loud) sounds that had woken her up, were coming from her partner.
He was sleeping, but barely. His eyes were twitching beneath his shut lids, fingers twitching as if reaching for weapons just out of his reach. It was hard to explain the sounds that he was making- Let's just say they weren't the kind of noises anyone having a good nights sleep would make. They sounded pained, scared. They made Natasha wonder what kind of wounded animal sounds she made in her sleep when the nightmares hit her.
She pushed that thought out of her head, because the next thing she wondered was if she should wake her partner up or not. They had been working together for a few months now, and Natasha wasn't about to go admitting this to people, but she liked Barton. If she was the kind of person to have friendships, she would probably call him a friend. Ok, at the very least she would consider calling him someone that was probably not her enemy. Still, where they at the point where she should wake him up if she knew he was having a bad dream?
Her question was answered when a particularly scared sound came out of his mouth, and Natasha just couldn't take it anymore, she had to help him get out of whatever his brain was going through right now. If for no other reason than just because too many times, she had been trapped in her nightmares wishing she had someone to pull her out of them and back to reality.
So she nudged Clint's shoulder, quickly backed away because she didn't know how he was going to react. The archers eyes flew open almost instantly, and he reached by instinct towards something, let's be honest it was probably a weapon that was under his pillow.
Then his eyes locked on hers, and at first there was confusion there and then something that was there softened as he realized it was his partner that had woken him up, and not someone that was about to murder him or torture him in some horrible way.
Then he shook the sleep, the confusion out of his eyes, and closed them for a half second gathering his wits back together, from the nightmare darkness that had taken over his brain.
Natasha stood there awkwardly, for a split second, not sure what to say, if she should even say anything or just go back to her own side of the room and go back to sleeping, trying to sleep, pretending to sleep.
Barton took a deep breathe, crumpled the sheets in his fists. His eyes darted around the room, and then landed on the face of his partner. The lines that had crinkled up around his eyes smoothed out, he looked more like himself.
Natasha smiled a half smile at him, wondering if she had done the right thing or not by waking him up, because even if she had saved him from a nightmare, this was awkward enough to be like her own personal nightmare.
So, she decided to just open and close the subject as quickly as possible. She just moved back to her side of the room, and sat down on the bed. The Black Widow made eye contact with her partner, prepared herself to settle down and look for the sleep that she was sure was going to evade her once again.
She found the right words to say, muttered before turning off the light, half an explanation, half she didn't even know what. "I hate nightmares…" He almost smiled at her, they had an understanding, the two of them, of the things they had seen, of the things that they saw every night when they closed their eyes. Clint saw why she had woken him up, and in that moment decided to return the favor next time that he realized his partner was having a bad dream.
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It was a scene that he was all too familiar with by now. Being woken up by the silent, subtle movements in the bed next to him, reaching by instinct for a weapon before realizing that it was just his partner, next to him, trapped in one of the nightmares that turned one of the greatest assassins in the world to nothing more than a small terrified person that Clint hardly recognized.
In the past, in the early days when he had tried to free Natasha from her nightmares, Barton had made the mistake of nudging his partner, trying to quickly wake her with the touch of a hand. He still had a few nasty scars from before he learned the lesson that that was NOT a good idea. Even if she was half asleep Natasha was still wickedly quick with a knife. Or her fists. Or, one memorable time, her teeth.
Now, Clint slowly sat up in bed, and edged near the edge of the bed, wanting nothing more than to hold his partner close to him, knowing that would do nothing to help right now. He spoke softly at first, said her name. "Natasha…." No reaction, a sound came out of her that was like a stab in the archers heart. He spoke louder, she still didn't wake up. Screw it, if she stabbed him for waking her up it would be worth it if it meant helping her escape this nightmare.
Clint reached out, the instant his fingertips brushed against her arm, the assassins eyes flew open and she grabbed for the knife Clint knew was never far out of her reach. The look in her eyes was dazed, disoriented, confused, scared. Mostly she looked scared. Clint wanted to do nothing more than touch her, hug her, comfort her, make things better. But right now, he just wanted to make sure she wasn't about to stab him, thinking she was part of one of the nightmare that had just overtaken her mind.
"Natasha…. Nat, it was a dream. It's a dream. You're ok, it's ok, it's fine….." At the last word, the hunted dog look in Natasha's eyes flickered, faded away. Not completely, but enough to make the ache in Clint's heart ease up just a bit.
Her face crumpled, fear was overtaken by something else, and then the Widow was in the Archers arms. And in that moment, everything was ok. Because for now, the nightmares were over. They had survived them, overcome unspeakable things, but they were still here. In spite of everything stacked against them, they'd made it, and they'd found one another. And now they had each other, they were never letting go.
Eventually Natasha's breath leveled out, her heart rate returned to something resembling normalcy. Clint was running his fingers through her hair, she took her breathes in time to the raising and lowering of his chest.
The nightmare had shattered her, for the countless time Natasha had to gather back together the pieces of herself, put herself together again. Clint sighed, a deep shuddering sigh, held her tighter against him.
He spoke lower than a whisper, with her head on his chest Natasha felt his words rumble beneath her. "I hate nightmares…" She would have turned to look up at him, but she felt safe here, didn't want to move. Instead she closed her eyes, and savored the feel of his arms around her, the archers fingers running through her hair.
"… I know, they kind of suck."Clint snorted at this, "That's an understatement." She almost laughed. "I know. It could be worse though-" She turned now, so that she was looking at him, reached out to pull his face down towards her. "I could be waking up from them alone…"
The kiss was simple, short, powerful enough to ban all thoughts of nightmares from their minds, anchor them back, reassure Strike Team Delta that they weren't stuck in a dream but that this was real life.
The nightmares were a terrible price to pay, for the terrible things they had done, an unnecessary punishment for the horrible things that had been done to them. They would always be a part of the two assassins, there was no changing that. They had formed them into the people they were today, would always be a part of them.
And every night, at least one of them would become trapped in a dream, that was going to destroy them. Tear them down, make them feel powerless.
But they would fight back. Wake up the next morning stronger and more powerful than when they had gone to bed the night before.
And if they just so happened to wake up and find the other next to them, ready to help fight the nightmares off, well then so be it. It was better than fighting alone.
They still hated nightmares. But the moments after one, when they would wake each other up, spend hours holding each other, reassuring each other that they were safe? That almost made up for everything else.
Or at the very least, made falling asleep easier, with the knowledge that when they woke up their partner, the person they loved, would be there ready to bring them back from the dark land of their dreams.