He turned abruptly, angry gaze on the first person after Coulson that he considered family after his real one had gone. She was the epitome of calm.

He spoke in a stone cold voice, "I will work this mission with you. Get in, recon, get out. After that Agent Romanoff, you and I are done. You wanna end our partnership? Consider it broken."


She gave him a sharp nod, after which he deflated and let his hurt flash across his entire spirit.

"And then after that, Natasha-" His voice was soft, gentle even but so immensely exhausted, "-after all that, you and I are through."

Natasha merely blinked in response, the only sign of emotion was the silent hitch in her breathing. Nope, this was so much harder than she thought. And he just stared at her without making a sound. It was times like this where his silence shook the very foundation of her consciousness. Confused by his actions and disgusted at her own, she was completely desperate for clarity.

He cleared his throat, "You know everyone deserves to have someone who makes them look forward to tomorrow. For a long time, you were mine. Are mine. Phil too. I trusted nobody, but you two were different."

Natasha didn't want to listen anymore. He had a way of getting to her, she knew it. But she stayed, she owed him at least that.

Clint sighed as he rested his forehead on his forearm which was against the wall adjacent to where she was, "I know I sound like such a pussy right now but what happened to being best friends huh? People like you and I, we don't exactly have anybody, do we. But now Phil's gone and you're leaving me, so I think I have the right to feel completely like shit."

She was compelled to apologise. Sure she thought it was best to break up their partnership but she acknowledged that her vicious comments were unwarranted.

"Clint, I'm sorr-"

"No you're not." He responded quickly with barely a swift glance.

"It isn't th-"

"But what do I know? In fact, I don't know anything anymore. I think it's pretty clear I'm halfway to losing my mind!"

"Listen Cli-"

"No you listen. You avoid me? Fine. You don't wanna be around me? Okay. You barely wanna look at me? That's alright. But this...I can't even-" His throat tightened as his voice went hoarse with thick emotion he rarely showed.

"I really didn't mean it that way, I was way out of line. I just needed you to understand this is exactly why we can't work. We're too...attached to each other. I don't want to get you killed."

"Doesn't really matter now, does it? And honestly, I couldn't hate you even if I tried. Trust me, I've tried for a while." He chuckled so heart-wrenchingly, slowly trudging towards the stairs instead.

"But if I'm sure of at least one thing now, is that we're done." He stopped, head still facing forward as his vision was kept on the floor in front of his feet.

"And keep the knife, it was yours anyway."


Clint was racing down the stairs, a couple of steps at a time. He had so much pent-up anger and he wanted to get as far away as he could from the source of his anger, which was more of hurt and frustration at himself than anything else. That was truly it, he had sealed the deal on their partnership because he accepted it. He didn't want to fight it anymore, he made that clear just now. And he thought it was a huge mistake. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't stop the shaking as his feet practically flew down the steps, he couldn't...

Breathe. He couldn't breathe. Clint wasn't tired out, that wasn't it at all. He took in mouthfuls of air in large gulps, each intake feeling lesser than the previous. The harder he tried the less oxygen he got and it was like his windpipe was closing in on him. So was his vision, which was clouding up. The man was escalating into hyperventilation, palms slick with sweat as he missed his holding and his foot lost its stable landing, causing him to fall his last few steps on the current flight of stairs.

He was on all fours now, his palms and knees against the floor as he struggled to catch his breath. What did I do...god what did I do. I literally gave permission to the most important person in my life to leave. I'm alone now...without Coulson, without Natasha. Gonna be more nightmares, and I'm gonna kill someone in my sleep...I manage to kill everyone who cares, that's why they wanna leave me. Why?

Endless scenarios and possibilities ran like a bullet train through his overworked mind. He didn't notice his breathing getting worse, nor the darkness creeping into his vision. His hyperventilation just got louder and louder. Clint struggled to get into a sitting position on the last step of the stairs, elbows resting on his knees and his hands covering his ears for nothing. Shit. That was the only thing he thought of coherently before he was relentlessly thrown into a sea of past memories. Horrible memories.

Bruce was on the way out of his lab, tired from a whole day of experiments with a stiff back. A slight green tinge bubbled beneath his skin as he got a shock when he heard loud noises coming from the stairs beyond the connecting door. Quietly, he pushed it open to find the archer sitting on the stairs perspiring profusely. What he was doing wasn't considered breathing, more of choking and wheezing. His eyes were wide open, but unseeing. It didn't require a high IQ for the Doc to realise what was happening. He had to calm his friend down before he hurt himself or pass out.

But as Bruce got closer, the Big Guy yearned and desired to come out. Arrow Man hurting! The scientist could feel the rage the green monster felt. No matter how dangerous the Hulk could be, he was very fiercely protective of those whom he cared about. And Clint was one of the rare ones because sometimes, what Bruce felt spilled over to the big guy, and the big guy would only feel more strongly. Hulk smash tiny humans that hurt Arrow Man! And now it was Bruce's breathing that got heavy. The green pigment started to spread across his skin, but the rational mind of the meekly scientist knew that he couldn't allow the Big Guy to appear. Not here. Not when his friend needed actual help.

And so he used his willpower to retreat back to the other side of the door, calling out for The Captain who happened to stop by the Lab, thank god.

"Steve!" The Doctor raised his voice, jaw clenched to keep the inner monster in check.

"Banner, what's wrong?" Steve ran over worriedly, his eyes catching the sight of a little green.

"Clint, at the stairs. Flashback. Panic attack. I can't help him, I'll get agitated. The big guy really wants to squash the people who hurt Clint." Bruce's voice got more aggressive as the Other Guy was trying to force his way out.

One look at the Doctor and Steve knew what was going on, "Okay I got this, go lock yourself in the lab and calm down. You can do it. Lower your heart rate."

"Yeah I can handle the Big Guy. Go."

The Captain didn't need to be told twice, running towards the stairs while Banner took deep calming breaths as he punched the lock in for his lab.

Flashback

"Here you go, son." Clint flinched at the sudden voice and snapped his head up, gasping a breath he thought he'd already taken. The voice tucked a jacket over his shoulders and clapped him twice on the shoulder. He tensed. How did the voice catch him by surprise? He hadn't even heard the click of the door or the sound of footsteps. Clint didn't like the advantage that this voice had over him. However, a familiar smell caught his attention. The smell of blood mixed with dried perspiration and mechanical oil.

It was his jacket. His own jacket, and now it acted as his only sense of familiarity and security. The voice walked in front of him, and what greeted Clint was a warm face of an older man. Slightly balding at the forehead, but he was okay for a late twenties man. There was a somewhat fatherly and protective vibe radiating from this man, clad in a white coat. It was his first experience with a doctor in a hospital after he was last sent for a routine check-up for the crash that killed his parents. It had been two years.

Clint eyed him warily, but surely, a part of his glare spoke volumes and volumes of raw emotion. Where was Barney? He needed to get back to him. Those assholes were gonna get him. He had to get outta here, the doctors were sure to ask questions that he was afraid to answer. And he didn't have time to either. His brother needed him.

Prompted, his fists tightened, sending a drastic jolt from his left knuckle up to his shoulder. Clint recoiled from the pain in his one good hand, grinding his teeth and shutting his eyes the moment it happened. In his ears, he could hear the familiar crackle and crunch of the bones in his left hand under the pressure of a teenager's boot. He could remember having bit back a sharp cry, silenced by the cold rain pelting harshly against his cheek. The boot jammed itself against his stomach and his torso twice more, forcing any last gasp of air out of his lungs. He felt around the same area now with his right hand to find that it had been mended with a roll of bandage, the same one around his shattered hand.

He remembered. They left him there in the alleyway only a few streets down from the orphanage

"Clint." He heard someone call for him, but he couldn't see who.

"Clint!" The disembodied voice sounded so distant, but so familiar.


"Clint!" Steve called out in distress as he watched his friend struggling in his memories.

And he willed for his comrade to hear him.

TBC