Author Notes: Continuation
The first couple of weeks are rough to say the least. For the first time since the serum, Steve finds himself free.
During the campaign, he'd travelled from state to state for brief stays with the USO gals in an attempt to rack up funds for the army. Someone had drawn up that schedule, cobbled together details on where they'd stay and what time they'd perform. There was a very set track he had to play to. And of course, all that careful planning had gone to the dogs when he'd rescued the hundred and seventh from Hydra's prison.
From there, he'd gone where he was needed, capturing bases and intel from Nazi stations and halting their progress on their men, destroying and delaying as best they could. The sense of purpose drove him to wake up, grit his teeth, and do what needed to be done even if it meant killing other men.
But now, he has all the choice in the world to go where he wants, do whatever he might like and maybe that scares him a little.
##########
Clint is a good enough travel buddy, seems to have a good sense of direction and a good eye for places to eat. Which is what mostly fills their itinerary. They eat burgers from roadside grills, hotdogs from corner stands, churros, fries, peanuts, shawarma, halal, ice cream basically anything off the streets that looks appetizing.
As they munch on food, they hit a few museums, sightsee for all it's worth, listen to sidewalk musicians and walk through parks.
"C'mon c'mon, I gotta pet half of them at least." Clint said excitedly on a particular occasion where there was a small event for a dog adoption campaign, almost like a kid as he bounced on the balls of his feet, impatiently waiting for Steve to grab some cash.
"Go on ahead, I'll catch up." Distracted, he counts out the rest of their money.
Clint taught him how to use the ATM machine (his pin had been one-two-three-four which Clint made fun of him about), and he'd been withdrawing money from the machine since. Food and lodgings were the prime expenses of their trip, but Clint had assured him that there was no way he'd use up all the money Tony had lent him even if they did eat at five-star restaurants (?) and stay at swanky hotels.
Still, he was careful not to take too much, the guilt was already eating him that he was spending the Alpha's money.
Steve catches Clint petting a very old looking Golden Retriever, making faces at the dog as he scratched him behind the ears, a young lady standing over him.
"He's very well-tempered, it comes with age, he'd make a very good companion for children and seniors." Steve overhears her as he walks closer.
"Making a friend?" He pipes up, raising a brow at Clint.
Steve's never been too fond of dogs, on the count of their fur irritating his nose and triggering a bout of asthma since he was a kid. With the serum, he'd just never bothered, there were more things to think about than owning a pet.
"His name is Lucius and he's very fluffy." Clint comments, rubbing Lucius under his chin.
"He'd also make a good companion for a new couple, someone to brighten the home." The lady chimes in, all smiles.
Steve blushes and shakes his head. "We're just friends." He decides to say, because that was a bit strange, if not forward. The openness of the question caught him off-guard.
The lady, at least, has the manners to realize her mistake. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed. We get a lot of couples who decide to adopt a pet together, it was totally my mistake."
"No, it's alright. No harm done, right?" Steve shakes it off. "We can't exactly adopt right now, but we'd like to make a donation to your cause instead. I understand your organization provides free vaccination and operation services too?"
From there Steve listens attentively to all the work they do for the dogs, making sure they're fit and healthy before they're even ever put up for adoption. He does end up making a donation, and spends the rest of the day in the companion of the strays, smiling in particular when a timid half-breed Labrador sniffs his hand and allows him to pet her.
At the end of the day, Steve's phone is filled with pictures of the different dogs, Clint posing with a few of them in wacky positions, and a few of himself with a couple of puppies too. They both smell like sweat, wet dog and drool.
##########
Sometimes he wakes up with Clint sitting up on his bed, his eyes dark and unseeing, then Steve knows it's going to be a quiet day from Clint.
Steve runs on his instincts, and bundles Clint up in his arms takes him to bed when he's like this. In hushed tones, he coaxes Clint to moving, murmurs encouragement as they slowly move to the bed where Steve can tuck them in and wait it out 'til morning.
It doesn't always work, Clint puts up a fight, kicks, punches, screams and scratches at Steve when he tries to touch him, too lost in his thoughts to comprehend what's happening.
He's always guilty right afterwards, even though Steve tells him that he doesn't mind it, that he's here to help him. Steve isn't even really sure if Clint believes him, but he'd stopped apologizing, and has instead developed a sad look that is no better.
"Sometimes, I don't know if I'm still me." Clint confesses on one quiet night. He'd allowed Steve to maneuver them on the bed and cover them in blankets. Steve positioned himself behind Clint, an arm on his chest to hold him close, protective.
Not for the first time, Steve wishes that he could punch Loki in the face one more time.
Instead, he takes a breath, let the anger and frustration die down before he opens his mouth.
"Of course you're still you. Never seen someone juggle seven hot dogs before. It sure was a feat."
"You are easily entertained. And I could have made it ten if you didn't worry so much." Clint chuckles, even though Steve can tell he's fighting shivers.
"Hate to see good food go to waste."
They fall silent again, the unasked question hanging in the air. He figured that if Clint didn't want to talk about it, then Steve wasn't going to push him.
"If you're going to ask, just get it over with." Clint grumps, wriggling in Steve's arms in some discomfort.
He waits until Clint settles down again, when his scent dampens down from the crackle of emotion he must be going through before he pops the question.
"Are you okay?"
It's innocuous enough. Because Steve could ask what had happened, or what Clint was going through, or even what Loki had done to him that shook him so much. He could ask a plethora of things, treat Clint like a soldier and bark at him to shake it off for one.
But sometimes he thinks that Tony is right. They aren't soldiers, not after what they'd gone through. This isn't a mission, this is a man's soul shaken to the core because an alien god had found it suitable to play with his mind.
Clint lets out a low laugh, which quickly turns into a scoff.
"Sure, I guess."
"Okay."
"That's it?" Clint protests, deflates in his arms.
"That's all I care about."
"Is that your best effort?"
"What would you want me to do?"
"You need to act all concerned, needle me into talking, until I break down and admit how shitty and broken I am, that I'm not fucking fine and I haven't been sleeping well, then we both burst into tears, do manly hugs, make vows of bestfriendship and then stuff our faces in the morning with pancakes! God, Rogers, get with the program."
"Uhm?" Because Clint is actually glaring at him and there are tears in his eyes.
"Okay, fuck, sorry. I got a little carried away there." Clint rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, very quickly turning away from Steve and falling back in bed.
And now, Steve's not even sure if he should be touching Clint at this point. Contact has always been an Omega's language, and the small space between them is Steve's way of saying that it would be left for Clint to decide.
"Would you like to do all those things?" He asks quietly.
Clint sighs, and shuffles back just enough so that his back is touching Steve's chest. Of course, Omegas seek contact whenever they're hurt, which Steve takes as a good sign and wraps his arm around Clint's body again.
"I really gotta talk about it, don't I?" Clint say, all glum.
"I've been told it's good to let things out."
Clint snorts. "Yeah, right. I heard about your little outburst, scared that Agent shitless. Proud of you, kid."
"Got to hand it to her though, didn't budge from her seat."
"Probably frozen scared."
"I should probably apologize when we get back." Steve sighs.
"Did you mean what you said back then?"
"Which part?" Because of course Clint would have the report to his screaming.
"That you think you don't belong here."
That hits a little harder in chest than he expects it to, Clint just summed up fifteen minutes of yelling into a very concise statement.
"Sometimes." He pauses, wonders if it's safe to say. He trusts Clint, and keeps going. "Sometimes, I dream about the past. Not nightmares, not really, just little things, about my neighbors when I was a kid, when I was taking classes in our local college, or when I went to the meat shop when we had enough money scraped together for some pork. Really mundane stuff that I took for granted. And then I wake up… wish I didn't."
Steve would wake up with that sense of dread, that that world was gone now, and all that was left were his memories of them.
"I dreamed about Peggy once. Peggy, she, uh, she was a good Alpha, real forward thinker, didn't beat around the bush if she could help it, I think the two of you woulda gotten along swell." He explains. When Clint doesn't make a sound he goes on. "We had a house in Brooklyn, dunno how we could have afforded it but we did. It was after the war, cos I had a medal of honor framed on the wall, and she had one too. We had two kids, a girl and a boy. Rachel and James." He stops before his voice cracks.
The vision had come so vividly to him, and it had hurt more than the water forcing itself in his lungs and freezing over, the dread in those nightmares was nothing compared to the realization that he was dreaming, and that he had to wake up soon.
"It was… More difficult to get out of bed that day." He'd never wanted to curl in bed and never leave than he did in that moment. Steve takes a shuddery breath to calm himself.
"Don't be so hard on yourself."
"I could say the same thing to you." Steve says sternly, making a point to squeeze Clint for a hug. He's done feeling sorry for himself, and he wants to help Clint.
"It's not… The same as that." Steve can smell his discomfort, sharp and acrid.
"You don't have to-"
"I probably do. And who better to confess my sins to than to Captain America." Clint turns around, but doesn't break their contact, stares at Steve with his fingers bunched around his shirt.
"A priest, for one thing." Steve offers dryly.
Clint stays quiet for a bit, curls into Steve's chest a little more, or as much as he can. Back in the day, a man like Clint could have easily passed as a Beta, or even an Alpha, there was a different standard of beauty, Omegas didn't build muscle, they were lean, almost fragile little creatures that Alphas could love and protect.
Obviously that's changed, which Steve is grateful for. He'd been called intimidating by an Alpha more than once after the serum, especially after heats. Which meant, in kinder and fewer words, that they weren't interested in him.
The realization stung him, that no matter what body he might possess, or how many changes he might go through, there would be people who simply couldn't accept him, no matter what he did.
And that was fine. He had Peggy after a while, which was worth it, to have someone who finally looked past his body and understand his soul. And she was good, and strong, and special. She was-
"You ever do something you really don't like, but you gotta cos you have to?" Clint asks, breaking the silence.
Steve thinks about it, remembers the unfortunate men on the other side and how every thought out in the field had been to stay alive, no matter what it took.
"Yes." Duty? Responsibility? Whatever flowery word it is that he has to tell himself.
"It was… Kind of like that. I had orders, except the orders were in my brain. Couldn't get em out, it was like watching everything through my own eyes, I couldn't stop myself, the thought didn't even come up." Clint worries the hem of his shirt.
"Every damn thought was how to carry out orders. I knew exactly how to do it too, because I wanted to do it myself. Grab some shit. Done. Get some info. Done. Disable the helicarrier. Knew exactly how to do it."
"It was all Loki-"
"It might have been Loki messing with my head, but those were my thoughts, my fucking plans. Loki's smart, but he isn't a genius about some other planet's technology." Clint snarls, angrier than Steve has ever seen him. "Twenty people died directly because of me, by my bow, by my hands. People can try to tell me it isn't my fault, like shit, Nat tried to tell me that. But I c-can't believe 'em." His voice breaks.
"If I believe them, how the fuck do I punish myself."
Clint hugs himself, forehead pressed to Steve's front, nails digging into his biceps until Steve can smell the first tang of blood.
Instinctively, he runs a hand over the man's hair, placating, comforting, the stink of Clint's distress like a haze over them. Clint doesn't utter another sound, but Steve can feel the wetness on his chest, where Clint hides, seeping onto his shirt.
"Maybe…" Steve ventures, curling his body protectively over Clint, a soothing hand over his to ease away his fingers from making him bleed any more than he has to. "Maybe living is our punishment. We know now to be better than we were, even if it means forcing ourselves to live with that guilt, we owe it to the world to be better."
He's thought about it, for a while, why it was he was still here (alive). Why did people insist on helping him.
New York was a wake up call.
Clint doesn't say anything after that, and they stay embraced until morning, neither getting any sleep, but somehow feeling better for it.
The tiredness feels deserved, like a worthy trade.
They leave only for pancakes, which Steve insists on if they were going to follow Clint's guidelines, stuff their faces with stacks and an alarming amount of syrup.
##########
Sometimes, they don't spend the day together, and Steve wanders on his own, while Clint does whatever it is Clint does by himself.
It's almost ironic that he enjoys getting lost in the street, going for whatever catches his eyes, picking through alleyways and sidestreets.
He imagines this is what a vacation feels like, the sense of adventure and intrigue, enjoying the local scene as much a tourist would.
Eventually, when the day has burned down, and the night has crept on him, he finds his way back to whichever motel they're staying at.
##########
Tonight, they're getting smashed in a bar, or rather, Clint's getting incredibly drunk while Steve feels like he's overheating.
But it's nice, he thinks, as he keeps an eye on Clint while he plays darts to impress people. It's nice to just hang around with others, make small conversations and get to know them.
Like Seth who did construction work, and went home to his gal right after, except it was bar night and he and his boys would get borderline drunk before they dragged their sorry asses back home. He had a kid who just started talking, and wouldn't stop saying 'baf!' when he was excited.
Or Michael, who bought him a drink and then started to try and flirt with him, only later he admitted that his friends had dared him because they thought that Steve wouldn't give him the time. Steve blushes at that, flattered that Michael, a tall dark-haired Alpha, even thought about him like that.
He might have flirted back a little, and genuinely found Michael fun to talk to. By the end of it, Michael asks for his number and he gives it, typing it out on the Alpha's phone before handing over his own.
Michael's eyes bulge.
"Wow! Is this the new Starkphone? This isn't even out in the market yet! Holy shit, it is!" Michael exclaims, turning the phone, the little STARK logo gleaming in the low light. "Oh my god, is it as good as the reviews say they are? It's like, the top of the line phone for devs and techs. They say Tony Stark personally oversaw all the parts and codes for the OS before it was approved, and! Oh god. I'm geeking out. Sorry. Tech is like, my passion." Michael turns an impressive shade of pink, returning the phone to Steve as he keeps his hands to himself.
"No. It's very okay to 'geek' out." Steve laughs, though the reminder of Tony brings about mixed emotions. "It's a fantastic phone."
"Err. If you don't mind me asking. How'd you even get one?"
"A friend gave it to me." Is all he answers. It's a sharp reminder of Tony, a man he's been trying to get out of his mind every since they'd parted ways a couple of months ago.
"Must be some friend. That thing costs as arm and a leg! Uhm. If you don't mind. Can I check it's production code? It should be on the back panel, just under the battery.
Steve doesn't really see the significance of it but he hands over the phone.
Michael pops open the back, exposing the battery and circuits, looking for that little-
"Wow." Michael moans, really just moans and melts in his seat. "Production no. 1. Literally the first phone off the line, or the prototype for every other Starkphone out there. This has got to be worth a hundred thousand, at least."
Steve might have spilled some hot chocolate on it just this morning, and he pales at that.
Michael returns the phone, almost sadly, to him after putting his number. Steve makes a note to take better care of it.
Clint flops onto the empty seat when Michael leaves, giggling madly and smelling like he'd bathed in beer, a full glass of something in his hand.
"They like you." He mumbles, leaning into Steve, pushing an accusing finger to his chest, emptying half of his drink on the counter.
"Who does?" Steve plays along, plucking the drink from Clint as he tries to get him to sit up straight.
"Everyone. Jesus, you are so hopeless." Clint slurs, making a grab for his drink and missing completely, instead utters a groan as he splays on the counter.
"Okay, I think it's time to go home now." Steve chuckles, placing some cash for the drinks and then bodily heaving Clint to stand up.
With some effort, he gets Clint to walk with him out of the bar, towards the sidewalk where his bike is parked. Course, Clint is muttering nonsense into his ear, to which he nods and entertains, keeps the conversation going so that Clint doesn't fall asleep on him. The ride back shouldn't take too long, they're only a few blocks away, and he should be able to get them back before Clint nods off.
Except. There are three men encircled around his bike, smoking cigarettes and muttering among themselves.
When they see him they stop, and sneer at him. When it's clear that he's heading for the bike, one of them speaks up.
"This yours?"
Steve's instincts scream that they're up to no good.
"Yes."
"She's a beaut, bet she runs great on open road."
"Haven't tried, but she's suppose to."
"Mind if we borrow it?" The two behind him chuckle.
Steve grits his teeth, hoists Clint up a little onto his shoulder.
"C'mon fellas, we don't want any trouble. I just need to get my friend home. He's had a too good of a night." Steve tries, but when one guffaws, he knows it's no use.
"Is that so? Me and my boys just want a good night ourselves, and I think this would do just the thing." He runs a hand over the bike's seat. "C'mon. Couple of faggots like you don't deserve something as nice as this." The man makes a point to say, a slimy smile on his face.
A hot spike of anger runs through Steve. It's easy to imagine punching the man, and then taking his time with his friends until they'd learnt their lesson, and had better manners. He wouldn't even need his shield for this. A good 'ol fist fight might just be enough to shake off the melachonly he's been feeling for the past week.
It's an excuse though, to abuse and hurt, and Steve knows it.
They move a little closer, some intimidation tactic no doubt, and Steve swears he hears the shuffle of cloth and metal.
With resignation, he fishes out his keys and tosses them over.
"Alright. Take good care of her." He sighs, ignoring the way they gleefully look at each other.
"Thanks a lot, faggot, glad you understand sense." They laugh and ride off with the bike, hooting and hollering.
Steve ends up giving Clint a piggyback halfway their journey back
##########
"Steve?" Clint murmurs sleepily, his arms draped loosely around Steve's neck.
"Hmm?"
"Did I lose us your motorcycle?" Clint yawns.
Steve has to take a deep breath before answering. "No, they're just jerk. They'll get what's coming to them."
"We coulda taken 'em."
"I know, but it wouldn't be the right thing to do."
Clint only pukes once that night, and then curls up in Steve's bed instead of his own when Steve had been busy cleaning up the mess in the toilet.
He considers taking Clint's bed instead, but then Clint whines and Steve finds himself with a very handsy Clint who's determined to pull him into bed.
Steve doesn't bother resisting, let's his Omega senses purr in delight that another Omega seeks him for comfort.