Day 18

Panic! At The Disco

Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

His hands were shaking.

He flexed each of his fingers one at a time. Shook out his hands. Rolled his fingers into fists and squeezed as hard as he could before releasing. Then he held them out and stared down at them.

They were still shaking.

"Sonofabitch," Clint hissed to himself. Then he let out a cry of frustration as he threw his hands back down to his side as he anxiously paced up and down the range, as if he could walk off the impending panic attack.

It had been two months since Loki had taken over Clint's mind and had been forced to kill innocent people. The Avengers had moved into the newly renovated and converted Stark Tower and taken some well deserved downtime. But they were getting restless and Steve was now in talks with Nick Fury about how to build a working partnership with SHIELD. With any luck, within the next few weeks they could be deployed back in the field.

And Clint hadn't touched his bow since the Battle of New York.

Clint took in a deep breath as he determinedly marched back to the table where his bow case lay. He had managed to open the case before his hands had begun shaking and his heart had begun racing this time. But as he stared down at the bow it was suddenly like the air around him thinned and found himself gasping for breath.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Clint growled to himself as he spun away from the bow again.

He had first fired a bow and arrow when he was nine years old. It had never felt anything but natural in his hands. It had been the one constant in his life, the one thing that he could always rely on. He aimed an arrow at the target and it hit the damn target. Every single time. When life felt like it was spinning out of control around him, he could always pick up that bow and fire arrow after arrow into a target. And while he was firing that bow, it felt like the world was calm and quiet around him. For a short amount of time he felt in control.

And Loki had ripped that away from him.

"You don't have to rush it, you know."

Clint snorted derisively, not bothering to turn around at the sound of Natasha's voice. "It's been two months. I'd hardly say I'm trying to rush it."

"There's no timetable for how long it takes to heal from having an alien take over your brain," Natasha pointed out.

Clint shook his head. It shouldn't be this difficult to just pick up his bow. He sighed heavily as he scrubbed his hand over his face and then up into his hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging in an attempt to ground himself. It didn't help. A tingling feeling ran down his arms to his hands and he suddenly felt unsteady on his feet.

"Clint?" Natasha said slowly, sounding a little unsure.

Clint finally spun back around, stalking determinedly toward his bow case, brushing past Natasha. He ignored all his screaming instincts as he seized the bow from the case…

And was immediately assaulted with images of people in SHIELD uniforms falling with arrows sticking out of their chests. People… coworkers… people that he knew were dead because of him.

"Clint! Clint, look at me!"

Clint gasped for breath as he blinked around, confused. When had Natasha approached him? Why was he sitting on the floor? Where had his bow gone?

"What...?" Clint breathed, putting a hand to his suddenly pounding head.

Natasha reached out and put a comforting hand on the side of his head. "You had a panic attack and collapsed. Just take a deep breath."

Clint hung his head as he sucked in a labored breath and held it for a moment before he let it go. He repeated the action several more times, finally feeling the tingling feeling in his arms begin to dull.

"That's it," Natasha soothed. "How about we head to the kitchen and get some water?"

"It shouldn't be this hard," Clint murmured, his voice cracking. "This is supposed to be the one goddamn thing that I can do on a team full of super soldiers, geniuses and an actual god."

"Clint, you are an amazing archer, but you are more than just your bow and arrows," Natasha insisted fiercely. "You bring so much more to this team than just shooting arrows at bad guys, I promise."

"Yeah," Clint said flatly, though he wasn't sure he fully believed that. "But it's more than that…" His eyes darted over to where his bow now lay on the floor a few feet away. "That bow has been the one constant in my life since I was nine years old. It's the one thing I'm supposed to be able to control."

"I know," Natasha said. "And I hate that Loki took that from you. But you just need to give it some more time. And you know what else might help? If you forgive yourself." Clint's eyes snapped to Natasha in surprise. "I know you, Clint. And I know you haven't really forgiven yourself for what Loki made you do."

It was like Natasha had stolen the air straight from his lungs.

"Um… I…" Clint stuttered.

"It's okay to take your time with this," Natasha said gently. "It's okay for it to take more time for you to really process what happened. What it's all going to come down to is for you to place the blame with the person who truly deserves it. It was Loki, and Loki alone who did those things. Not you."

Clint took in an unsteady breath. Damn it all if Natasha didn't know him too well.

"So, how about we head to the common floor and get some water," Natasha went on with a soft smile. "And we can try this again another time."

"Thanks, Nat," he said quietly as she helped him back up to his feet.

As they headed out of the range, Clint sent one last glance back at his bow that was still lying abandoned on the floor. He would heal. In time, he would be able to pick up that bow again without reliving the atrocities that Loki made him commit. He would take back control of his life.

But for now, it was okay to take it slow.