Things get better with Clint, because Dean decides he needs him too much to push him away, and because he wants to spend as much time as possible with him before he finds out the truth of who Dean is and leaves.

Clint, though, is pretty much the only person Dean isn't avoiding. Dean goes to mandatory training with his team, but now that he's gotten a knife for Tori, he's working on molding her into team leader so he sends the four of them on little team building activities that always seem to end up being at the same time as a meeting with Coulson or a previous engagement Dean has scheduled.

Sam is too busy trying to figure out his weird not-relationship with Natasha to pay too much attention to Dean, which Dean is grateful for, even if he thinks there's nothing good in store for Sam and Natasha. Of course, Dean's not exactly a stellar example of how to make relationships work so maybe they're going to end up married with Sasquatch sized spy babies.

Cas is also absent, choosing to spend his time either with Steve and their also weird not-relationship or in heaven with his brothers trying to determine their next move in the never ending war against hell. Dean tells himself that he's glad Cas isn't around, because Cas has an uncanny ability to see straight into Dean's head, and Dean wants to keep his secrets and his self-hate all to himself, except he doesn't.

He doesn't want to talk about it, he's not sure he could admit anything, and that's why he wants Cas. He wants Cas to look at him, to understand, but then what? Tell him it's going to be okay? Tell Dean he did the right thing? Forgive him? That's the problem. Dean has no idea what he wants. Part of him wants to cling to Cas and beg to be forgiven and part of him wants Cas to smite the hell out of him. It's easier just to stay away from Cas, because then Dean doesn't have to think. It still hurts that Cas doesn't come looking for him.

Dean doesn't realize how much he's been isolating himself until Clint leaves on a mission. He and Coulson have a two week intel gathering somewhere, Dean guesses somewhere in the Middle East because Clint packed all of his desert gear, and Clint leaves early in the morning, and he wakes Dean up to kiss him goodbye and then Dean falls back asleep, and when he wakes up for real, his suite is empty.

There's lingering condensation in the bathroom from Clint's shower, but his towel is in the laundry basket instead of hanging on the hook next to Dean's, and his toothbrush is missing, and little things like that shouldn't be painful, but Dean feels each of them as a sharp jab in his chest.

He showers and dresses for training, and when he heads into the kitchen, Bruce is already there with a cup of tea and Genetics Quarterly, but he puts the journal down and smiles when Dean comes in.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Dean mumbles. He refuses to label any morning good, but Bruce has an obnoxiously cheerful smile on his face. "What's got you like this?"

Bruce holds up the journal. "Oscorp published another article on their progress with cross-species genetics. It sounds like they finally have a clue as to what they're doing. In ten or fifteen years they might actually accomplish it. Of course, if they let me look at their work, I could probably speed it up another five, but they're very secretive. Guess I can't blame them."

"Cross-species genetics?" Dean sticks a bagel in the toaster. "Sounds complicated. And probably dangerous."

"Definitely complicated. Only dangerous in the wrong hands. In the right ones, it could lead to the reversal of degenerative diseases and even assist amputees in regrowing their limbs. It could completely change the medical landscape."

It's way too early for science and way too early for Bruce's level of enthusiasm, but Dean manages to muster up a weak smile. "Sounds cool."

"Could you imagine if we found a way to splice starfish DNA into people? You could lose a finger and then it would regrow all on its own."

Dean really doesn't want to imagine himself with starfish DNA. Or any animal really. He's happy being human. His bagel pops and he slathers on some peanut butter before heading back towards his room.

"You eat better when Clint's here," Bruce comments.

Dean pauses and ignores the fact that he's already missing Clint, because it's only been a few hours and he can't start getting all mopey preteen girl now when there's still two weeks left to go. "Easier to cook for two." And by that, Dean means that it's worth making eggs and bacon or sausage for Clint, and it just seems like a waste to do it for himself.

Bruce smiles like Dean's just walked into some sort of trap. "Does that mean you'll make breakfast if I eat with you?"

Dean opens to his mouth to protest and then realizes it's not worth it. He lives in a tower with two geniuses, and he definitely just walked into a trap. "For a superhero, you're pretty lazy."

Bruce's smile dims slightly. "Not a hero. Definitely lazy though."

"Definitely both," Dean counters. He takes a bite out of his bagel and goes to grab some eggs and sausage from the fridge.

"Heroes risk their lives to protect people. Not only do I cause a large amount of damage, but I'm also invincible so I'm never in mortal danger."

"You life isn't just your physical life." Dean cracks the eggs into a bowl and whips them up, adding some milk and pepper. "You risked your career as a geneticist, you risked your reputation when you revealed you were the Hulk. You help people, and they shit all over you. That's what makes you a hero in my book. Not that you do things and get worshiped for it, but because they hate you and you still do it."

Dean's glad that his back is to Bruce, because that was a sappy speech, and Dean's pretty sure he's blushing. But he does believe in what he said. It's easy for the people who are loved for what they do to keep doing it. It's hard to protect people when they don't want it but they need it. Dean's had enough experience in that to know how not fun it is.

"So by your definition, Captain America isn't a hero?"

Dean turns to give Bruce a 'stop it' look. "I gave you a compliment. Don't ruin it by twisting my words so I get beat up by soldier boy."

"He hates that nickname," Bruce says and Dean goes back to making eggs. He also drops the sausages into a frying pan.

"Only because Tony played Soulja Boy every time he walked into a room for a week straight and now Steve can't hear someone say Superman without blushing."

"That was a bit cruel," Bruce says but he's grinning as he remembers Steve's introduction to Urban Dictionary and what exactly superman that ho meant. "Of course, he then made Tony sit in on a SHIELD professionalism class, because he doesn't think that ho is an appropriate way to refer to women, and he thinks Tony is setting a bad example by listening to songs with that word in it."

They fall into comfortable silence as they reflect on Tony's reaction to the class. He'd gone to the first one to humor Steve and then tried to skip the second, only to find that Steve was Very Serious about Tony learning the proper way to interact with women ("you may not call them ma'am and pull out their chairs, but you should still treat them with respect") and Tony had whined and protested and dragged his heels, but he'd ended up going to the entire week's worth of sessions. Pepper sent Steve an Edible Arrangement on behalf of Stark Industries, because she'd been trying to get him to a class like that for years.


The first week crawls by. Dean has breakfast in the morning, sometimes with Bruce, sometimes alone, training until mid-afternoon, and then he gets back to the tower, and he's alone. It's not that he and Clint are always doing things together, but they're usually together. They'll sit in the living room, Dean stretched out on the couch with a magazine and Clint curled up on the arm chair doing bow maintenance or Dean sending out emails to check in with hunters in the area while Clint sketches out a wish list of new arrows for Stark to build.

They rarely talk while they're unwinding like this, just occupy the same space, and Dean always forgets that silence can be so comforting until it's gone. Clint's presence fills a room and that's missing when he's gone. Dean can't look up from whatever he's doing and see the curve of Clint's smile or the furrow in his brow as he concentrates on getting a design just right.

Now, when Dean looks up from his magazine, there's just an empty room.


The second week is a little better, because Dean decides to deal with his boredom by annoying Sam as much as possible which is a lot, because annoying Sam is one of Dean's specialties.

Dean knows better than to mess with Natasha's room, because he doesn't have a death wish, but he fiddles with Sam's computer so that every time he presses enter it moans and every time he right clicks it says please in a breathy, pornographic whisper.

Dean changes Sam's voicemail so it's a personal ad and prompts callers to email a fake email account to arrange private meetings. Dean has the account forward the emails to Sam's actual email, and it only takes a day for Sam to storm into Dean's room and shove a couple printed emails in Dean's face and demand an explanation for why Mr. Davers wants to know if I prefer cherry or grape so he knows what flavor condoms to buy.

When Sam finds that Dean switch out his generic laundry detergent for something that is overpoweringly floral, he tells Dean to find some other way to express his boredom and his worry for Clint. He then threatens to set Natasha on Dean, so Dean spends the next two days mind numbingly bored again.

And then Clint comes home.


Dean has no warning that Clint's on his way back. He hasn't gotten a phone call or even a quick text in a day and a half which isn't unusual, but Dean still spends the whole time worrying incessantly.

He ends up going to the shooting range Saturday afternoon, because it seems to calm Clint down, and Dean figures he could use some calm right about now. It's not calming at all. The only time Dean fires a gun is under stressful circumstances, and it's almost like a Pavlonian response. Dean picks up a gun and his sense go on high alert, his heart starts stammering away, and in a moment he is anything but calm.

Dean spends about fifteen minutes shooting at stationary targets before admitting that he isn't doing himself any favors. He paces around in his room for twenty, throws a ball against the wall for five then wanders out to the common room to watch TV. Or play a video game. Or something.

He's started and stopped five different video games, and he's now flipping through channels, trying to find something that will catch and hold his interest or at least drown out the constant refrain of is he okay? I hope he's okay. Haven't heard from him in a while. Is he okay?

"Okay," Tony says, snatching the remote out of Dean's hand. "That's enough. You're making Bruce agitated, and if he Hulks out over you channel surfing then Fury will probably implode with rage and then Doom will take over the world and—"

"Shut up, Stark," Natasha says slipping into the room. Sam clomps in behind her, and he flicks an assessing look over at Dean, as if he can figure out where Dean's head is at with just a look. Dean flips him off, because he doesn't need to be taken care of, especially not by his little brother.

Sam holds his arms up in surrender. Dean settles back into the couch and makes a face at the coupon show Tony has somehow managed to land on. Dean doesn't understand how watching people shop with coupons is entertainment, and he's planning strategies for getting the remote back—Tony's already forgotten that he's holding it and is supposed to be finding a good show—when Natasha speaks again.

"I haven't heard from Clint."

Dean watches a woman yammer on about savings and pretends like he's not panicking. Natasha hasn't heard from Clint either? That's definitely not a good sign. Sometimes Clint doesn't let Dean know when he's been hurt, because he doesn't want Dean getting worked up about it, but he always tells Natasha. The fact that neither of them have heard anything isn't good.

"Have you heard from Coulson?" Dean asks, still carefully not looking at her.

"No."

"I could hack SHIELD and see if there's any chatter," Tony volunteers, and Dean is actually considering taking him up on it when they hear muffled yelling coming from the elevator.

"I don't need to go to fucking medical!" Clint shouts, and Dean's on his feet in an instant, ready to sprint out and grab Clint by the shoulders and demand to know what the hell is wrong with him and why didn't he let Dean know everything's okay.

"You're being unreasonable," Coulson says, his voice actually raised in return though he isn't doing anything as undignified as shouting.

"I'm being unreasonable?" Clint repeats, slowly, drawing out each word. "I'll show you fucking unreasonable."

Clint storms into the living room, and Coulson comes in after him, a pinched expression on his face like he's overtired and worried and not in the mood for Clint's shit. "You need to go to medical."

"I'm fine!" Clint twists to he can turn back and sneer at Coulson, and then his face goes white with pain and shock, and Dean is reaching out and catching him as he stumbles.

"You just pulled your stitches yelling at me," Coulson says and he sounds amused, pissed, and concerned all at once.

"Stitches?" Dean asks, careful of where he puts his hands. He lifts Clint's shirt up and sure enough, there's white gauze covering what's probably a nasty gash on his stomach. A gash that is beginning to bleed, staining the gauze. "You're going to medical."

Clint tries to twist out of Dean's hold. "You don't tell me what to do."

Dean grabs the sides of Clint's face and holds him, forcing Clint to meet his eyes. "When you're being a dumbass, I do. You're going to medical before you bleed out and die."

"I'm not going to die," Clint snaps and when he pulls away, Dean lets him. "You're all so fucking melodramatic."

"Says the one who can't form a sentence without dropping an f-bomb," Dean says.

Clint's eyes narrow into tiny slits, but the look is ruined when he sways, unsteady on his feet. "Cause you're a real picture of class."

Dean grins, letting the insult wash over him. "It's off to medical with you. If you're a good boy, I'll bring you a book to read while you recover."

"Fuck you," Clint says, but there's no real vitriol in the words, just a weary resignation.

Dean lifts up Clint's shirt to peek at the wound again. "Probably not until this has more time to heal."

He considers it a win when Clint groans and gives Dean's shoulder a small shove before they head down to the SHIELD medical facilities.


Clint has to get restitched which he doesn't want to sit still for, and Dean reminds him that if he hadn't pulled them in the first place then they wouldn't have to get restitched and then he threatens the smirking nurse which sets him right in Clint's book and Clint settles down long enough for the stitching to happen.

Dean sits in Clint's line of vision so Clint knows he's not alone but far enough way that Dean isn't in the way of anyone, and he tries not to flinch or frown at the bruises and scrapes and sand burn that Clint is sporting. Dean knows he doesn't come back from hunts in one piece, but it's different seeing Clint beat up like this and experiencing it himself.

"You're going to have to stay here for a few days," Dr. Gould says as he tosses his gloves into the trash. "You're dehydrated, you need to heal, and I'm sure you'll push yourself too hard if I release you. Can I trust you to cooperate and stay put?"

Dean can see Clint struggling to come up with a smart ass comment, and it's a sign of how exhausted he is that he doesn't have one ready. Before Clint can find out, Dean smiles up at the doctor. "He'll stay put." Dean can feel Clint glaring at his back so he brightens his smile. "Anything else?"

The doctor hesitates, like he doesn't want to push his luck. "Pain medication?"

"No," Clint says, immediate and sharp.

Dean looks back at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the tight line of his mouth that tells Dean that Clint's in pain and enough that it's going to interfere with his sleeping. He goes up to the edge of Clint's bed and lowers his voice so the doctor can't hear them.

"I won't leave your side," Dean promises. "You can say no, and I won't push you, but if you say yes then I'll be here until the meds have worn off. I won't leave you unless you're 100%."

Clint's eyes are bleary with the need to sleep and dulled with pain, but they still catch and hold Dean's gaze, scan his face searching for confirmation that Dean is telling the truth. After a moment Clint nods, and Dean turns to the doctor.

"We'll take it."

Dr. Gould seems shocked, but he chooses not to say anything, instead motioning for a nurse to take care of it.

Dean settles into the uncomfortable chair next to Clint's bed. Clint turns his head so he's looking at Dean and a small, vulnerable smile crosses his features, and Dean reaches out a hand to hold Clint's, and they sit there like that, holding hands and looking at each other until Clint's eyes get heavy and he drifts off into sleep.


Around 10pm, Dean realizes the flaw in his plan to not leave Clint's room. He's hungry and cold, and watching Clint sleep, now that the initial relief that he's okay is over, is both boring and kind of creepy. So Dean does what anyone would do.

He texts Sam.

Dean: Can you bring a blanket, some food, and something to do down to medical?
Sam: Get it yourself, I'm not your errand boy.
Dean: I promised Clint I wouldn't leave
Sam: Doesn't medical have that stuff?
Dean: Scratchy blankets, shitty food, and crosswords? Not when you can get me better stuff

After ten minutes have passed with no sign of Sam, Dean figures that Sam's ignoring him, and because he's cold and hungry, and he feels no guilt for what he does next.

He texts Natasha.

Dean: Sam's being stupid. I promised Clint I wouldn't leave medical, but I'm hungry.

There's no response, but five minutes later, Sam shows up, looking pissed and laden down with a fleece blanket, a backpack full of snacks ranging from an orange to miniature Keebler fudge cookies, and a Stark tablet.

"I hate you," Sam says throwing it all at Dean. "Natasha's making me sleep on the couch."

"I was hungry," Dean says. "And I can't leave."

Sam looks over at Clint and at Clint and Dean's joined hands. "He's sleeping."

Dean raises his eyebrows which is silent communication for that's rich coming from you, brother, who doesn't like to wake up alone after a hunt. Sam seems to get the message, and his shoulders roll forward, guilty.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Sam gives Dean's shoulder a brief squeeze. "Want me to stay and keep you company for a bit?"

Dean holds up the tablet. "Listening to you talk or playing Zombie Plants. It's a tough call, but I think I'm going to go with zombies." He smiles to let Sam know that he's been forgiven, and Sam smiles back before heading out of the room.

Dean sends a text Natasha as the game is loading.
Dean: He's not a bad kid. Go easy on him.
Dean's in the middle of a level when his phone buzzes.
Sam: Thanks
Dean: You interrupted my game. Zombies just took over the world.

Dean's smiling as he puts his phone on the little bedside table, and he gives Clint's hand a squeeze.


Clint on pain meds is actually a pretty good patient. He has a dopey smile on his face when he's awake, and he slurs his words when he talks (and he talks a lot), and he doesn't complain when the nurses fuss over him, and he doesn't twitch whenever his bandages get checked or changed.

Clint off the meds is a terrible patient. After two days he decides he's done with medically induced fuzziness and apparently done with any medical assistance at all. Dean, not wanting to push his luck, doesn't try to stop Clint this time when he decides he's done being cooped up in a small white room.

Dean talks to the doctor to find out what to avoid, how to handle Clint's stitches, and then he heads upstairs to find Clint and figure out how to compromise, because the doctor wants Clint on bed rest, and Dean knows that there's no way that's happening.


"I feel like shit," Clint says when Dean reaches their room. He's sitting on their bed, apparently tired from the trip upstairs even though he took the elevator.

"Understandable." Dean kicks off his shoes and joins Clint on the bed.

"You don't even know what the mission was," Clint says.

Dean knows that it was supposed to be intel gathering and then somehow turned into something where Clint almost died, but he doesn't say that. Instead, he lies back on the bed and says, "You spent the last two days hopped up on drugs and being hydrated via tube. You have every right to feel like shit."

Gratitude flashes through Clint's eyes, and Dean knows he's thankful that Dean didn't bring up the mission. Dean wants to. He wants to find out what the hell happened, and he wants to storm Coulson's office and demand to know why Clint wasn't protected better, but Dean isn't going to do either of those things. Clint's a good agent, and Dean's not going to interfere with his job, the same way that Clint trusts that Dean knows what he's doing and isn't going to interfere with Dean's hunting.

"I hate medical," Clint says and he slowly eases himself down so he's lying down as well. "It makes me feel helpless. And useless. And like I'm a burden. Plus, they restrained me my first trip there."

Dean can feel his eyes narrowing. "What?"

Clint sighs as he looks up at the ceiling. "My first major injury on an op, and they knew that I could be difficult about treatment so they thought the solution was tying me down." Clint laughs and reaches over to smooth out Dean's features. "Coulson was as pissed as you are right now. Threatened all of their jobs. You probably would've punched them."

"Still do," Dean says. "You happen to remember their names?"

"It's not important anymore," Clint says. "They haven't done anything stupid since, and I still hate them. It works out well."

"Uh huh." Dean isn't so easily pacified, but then Clint scooches closer so his head is tucked under Dean's chin and his arm is draped across Dean's chest.

"Thanks for staying with me," he says. "I have a hard time sleeping in medical, and I needed it."

Dean reads between the lines, and he hears thank you. I trust you. I needed you there. Dean smiles and holds Clint closer.