So here we are back to another new chapter and another pair of avengers, we already know one of those is Clint but the other one, I finally decided to give Natasha the chance to help her Hawk, so here you go and also have a little idea of what the next chapter will be, a lot of you might notice this small clues but I still held on the idea that they are well hidden.
Again thanks to all of those who review the last chapter: HeartsNaruto and Jane S. Winchester
Also thanks to the ones who fav or follow this story, it is my pleasure and honor to have you around here.
I gotta say it, my beta is just awesome, and it's the best: lunarweather
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers or his characters here mentioned, they belong to Marvel and Stan Lee.
Clint raced through the long dark hallway, dodging around objects and furniture. He'd been here, living the best way he could, for four years now. In that time, The Barton brothers had learned what kind of place Whitmore Home was, especially who Ben Whitmore, the fifteen year old son of the owner, was. Clint loved the place, it had plenty of space and they didn't have to share with other kids, the room was all for them, old Tyler Whitmore has made sure of that, but for some reason his son could not let the Barton's alone, it began with just a little bulling of the youngest ones and later on, taking advantage of Barney, though the older Barton denied such things.
Now, because of his intervention on the latest attack on Barney, they were running. Tears of shame and fear trailed down his cheeks as Barney keep pushing him to run, his breath came in spurts as he put every bit of strength he had into reaching the vent system that had become their sanctuary over the last two years of the abuse. He needed to hide, to breathe, to beg for Barney to take everything away and not feel anymore, to not remember what Ben had done to him. But he couldn't seem to put enough distance between himself and his infuriated bully.
His left foot got caught in a crack on the floor less than five meters short of the vent, he could see his brother staring back at him, Barney was yelling something but he could not hear what, Clint found himself face down in the ground unable to get back up.
He rolled to his side, watching a mob of shadows looming behind him almost over him, Clint knew what was going to happen, he had seen this before, but still couldn't face it, the mob parted to form various different faces, Ben was among them but his skin was paler and there was blood all over his face, Clint recognized the other people, the innocent lives he had taken during his time as hire assassin, the agents that perished during Loki's attack, the man that lost his eye because Clint needed it.
"Please!" The word came out in a gasped whisper. Clint tasted blood and bile. He tried to crawl away from them, his eyes pleading with his attackers as they reached to grab him, he felt the tug on his clothes, on the hem of his shirt, their hands pulling and digging in his skin and a low cry of desperation left his lips. "Please! Don't, I'm sorry!"
"Sorry? Sorry doesn't cover what you done Barton, you killed us, YOU'RE GONNA PAY!"
"KILLER, THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
"NOBODY WANTS YOU!"
"I didn't mean to, please, STOP!"
Right before Clint's eyes, one of the shadows morphed into a man wearing a golden helmet with two horns, holding a scepter with a glowing blue jewel.
"Please, what, Agent Barton? You're begging for forgiveness when you deserve none? There is no escaping your sins, not this time, you will do as I want and kill whoever I want you to kill, your precious little spider, your friend, the Avengers," Loki sneered, reaching down to grab the collar of the boy's shirt. "After all, that's all you will ever be Clinton, a pet for others, a slave to use, nobody wants a murderer."
The scepter touched his chest and Clint screamed in renewed pain.
Clint launched out of his bed screaming. His voice so loud it even frightened himself, his arms crossing his chest as if to hold together his shattered body. He felt like nothing, less than nothing, the guilt of everything was slowly falling down on him, Clint knew eventually its weight was going to drown him.
He wasn't sure how long he sat in his bed, sweating and gasping like a newborn. At some point he felt the weight in the bed shift ever so slightly and he jumped in surprise ready to stab whoever tried to get closer to him, but he stopped in time at the soft feeling of Natasha's arms snaking around him. She pulled his body close to hers until he was almost tucked against her, one hand fishing at her pajama top wanting the reassurance of her presence.
His body trembled violently, his mouth grew dry and his eyes feel misted. His chest heaved, trying to catch up on its lack of oxygen but having little success and the room was becoming so small. Still Natasha held him. His eyes found the strength to open and to look at her.
He didn't have the chance to feel foolish for letting a dream get the best of him. He had only the thought of holding onto Natasha for safety.
Natasha stayed with him, her hold never slackening as they waited for the pain to ebb away. All that she knew was Clint needed her here and now, and she was not going to disappoint him again.
Clint wasn't exactly sure when he had gotten himself to calm down again, the whimpers of fear and pain finally stopped and the room seemed to get bigger as his heart returned to its normal pace. Although the shivers and the feeling of being dropped in ice water remained, he felt recovered enough to separate himself from Natasha.
"Sorry for waking you Nat."
She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly at him. He felt clammy to her touch, and Natasha frowned slightly, she would have to check on Clint's health a little better after dealing with his nightmare.
"I just got here actually, the SHIELD staff in medical wasn't taking anymore of me and my complaints, but I think a week is enough to heal a bullet wound and a couple of broken ribs, at least for me," she replied. Her voice dropped an octave and she moved a little closer putting a hand on his chin to enforce eye contact.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He looked round the room as if trying to come up with a good reason to say no. It was something he had to deal alone, and besides, he didn't want to add another weight to Natasha's worry, he had done enough of that already...to all of the Avengers.
"No, actually, I just…I just want to get back to sleep," he whispered back, turning to look at her.
There was something in his eyes that she wished she understood, it was something Clint have never shown to her before and it scared the hell out of her.
Clint laid back down and she positioned herself alongside him, propped up on her elbow so she could see his face, her free hand resting on his stomach. As he finally unclasped his hand from her shirt, a smile reaching his lips, she didn't buy the fake reassurance, like he obviously hoped she would.
"What is bothering you so much? You haven't had nightmares like this in a long time," Natasha asked, quietly, but he only closed his eyes.
Hearing her sigh in disappointment at his lack of cooperation and her unsuccessful attempts to help, Clint was starting to feel worse than before.
"It's Loki, isn't it?"
He started, eyes wide and fearful, pulling away from her a fraction until she rubbed her hand in a circle over his stomach trying to calm him. He paused a moment before speaking.
"I'm ignoring him. I know he's not here anymore, that whatever my mind is playing is not real," he said, with false bravado. "I'm trying to make myself believe that I'm not going to do anything for him anymore . . . or… or hurt anyone like he… like he wants me to do, but it's just not working anymore, I feel like I'm drowning and there isn't anything around for me to hang on, I…."
It hurt.
It hurt to realize just how much pain he was in because of Loki, because of something he didn't have control over, so she cut him off, fingers gently over his lips to stop the words as she shifted closer.
"You're not turning into that anymore Clint. You're not going to be what he wants. Believe in yourself, your strength, your goodness, your heart," she whispered, wishing she could force that understanding into him, like Phil had forced so many other good things into him. Trying to make sure he was not going to go rogue like before, when he hadn't killed Fury. Loki had forced Clint to be terrified of his own potential, terrified of what he might do, what he was capable of doing
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I trust you," she answer honestly, again making eye contact with him, and Clint eyebrows jumped in surprise and confusion appeared in his face before he looked away. She continued, "I have trusted you since the day SHIELD pointed a gun at me and you stepped in between. Nothing you or anyone else will do or say is going to change that, ever, Clint."
She shifted closer, tucking herself inside the curve of his arm; resting her head on his chest and pushing her hand further over his stomach to hold him close.
His head snapped to look at her.
"Uhm…Tasha? What are you doing?" he asked, warily.
"Getting ready to sleep, isn't it obvious?" She answered simply, hiding a smile against his chest. "Relax; I'm not going to ravage you in your sleep, not without your permission at least."
He laughed; it was short and sharp but genuine and for that she was thankful. He relaxed a little and she trailed the hand that was draped over him, up and down his side, hoping to soothe him into rest quicker, but suddenly his hand clamped over hers.
"Stop it! You know it tickles!" He groused, smiling lightly at her.
"Sorry," she whispered and instead caught his hand in hers and entwined their fingers.
"It's okay," he replied getting himself comfortable with her, his muscles relaxing at the southing circles she began drawing on his chest.
"Hey Nat, thanks for being here."
A smile formed on her face as she felt the archer slump into a good healthy sleep. Natasha knew Clint still had a long way ahead of him, so many things to fight, but she was determined that he wasn't going to fight it out alone, because there was something Loki couldn't take from him: his ability to fight.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR…
