AN: A lot of these are prompts from tumblr because this is where I posted all of these first. This is one of them

Drabble 6-I Can't Keep Fighting Like This

Danny rested his head on his knees and wrapped his arms around himself protectively. Despite being almost 6′6″, he felt incredibly small. Especially sitting there in a private, closed off room with Sam Wilson.

Sam was a great guy, and Danny absolutely loved him. This was nothing to do with Danny;s feeling towards Sam. No, this was about Sam trying to get Danny to recognize the feelings towards himself.

Being a superhero had more than just its ups and downs, especially at such a young age like Danny. Everybody Avengers struggles with it, whether they realize it or not.

"Danny," Sam said softly, wanting to place a comforting hand on Danny's head, but thought better of it. "It's okay."

"I…" Danny's muffled voice was weak, and Sam had to strain to hear him. He brought his head up, and his eyes were glassy and red. His left hand clutching his chest and the other somehow got tighter around him. He sniffled.

"I can't keep fighting like this, Sam," he said. "None of it works. The workouts, the crime fighting, the therapy, the medicine. None of it works. Not even sticking my head in the freezer can make me feel better."

It was a poor attempt at a joke. They both knew it, and Sam didn't have to say anything to persuade Danny to keep going. It was like a dam in Danny's head, in his heart, had opened, and now the never-ending flow of emotion was drowning the whole room. Sam could feel the energy Danny was unintentionally giving off from his aura.

"T-they cut me open-n," the tears were big and quickly streaming down his face. The look in his eyes were…Desperate, Sam decided. Desperate for his parents to have stopped, desperate for acceptance and love, desperate for peace. Sam could somewhat relate.

"I y-yelled at them to st-stop and they didn't. They didn't care! They just cared about my insides. Once they found out I was half-dead I knew I was fully dead…" his voice became a soft whisper. The dark circles under Danny's eyes seemed to grow, and he became smaller once more as he closed in on himself even more, his shoulders shaking with his quiet crying.

Danny peeked his head up so he could just barely make eye contact with Sam. His tears were hot and uncomfortable, and he felt shame on top of the depression for not being strong enough to hold them in. His chest clenched, and he wanted to scrub his skin past raw with the feeling that came with it. The phantom scalpel that was tipped with ectoranium forcing its way through his skin. There were no pain killers. No sleep. No comfort. No food. No water. Only pain. So, so much pain. So much pain that all Danny wanted to do was-

"-Danny! Hey, clam down, man, you're here. At the compound. You're safe, man."

It took Danny a second to realize that he was on the ground, and his normally almost-too-slow heartbeat had quickly sped up to an almost normal heartbeat. Sam was looking over him, concern in his big, brown eyes.

Those eyes were one of the things Danny liked about Sam the most. Because his eyes just knew, even if they didn't really know. They showed empathy and recognition, almost as if Danny's feelings were valid. But most of all, Danny loved how there wasn't a lick of pity in them. How got it from everybody-Steve, Bruce, hell even Natasha sometimes. But he's never, not once, gotten a pity look from Sam. Because Sam understood what it was like to be hurt by the ones you loved. He knew what it was like to deal with the war going on in his head. Danny would never have the words to truly express how thankful he was for that.

Once Sam got him back in the chair, e too sat himself down in the same spot he's had every Tuesday and Friday for the past two weeks.

"Listen," he said, "I know you probably feel like you need to be stronger. But trust me on this, Danny, this is a sign that you've bee strong for to long. It's okay to just sit down and breathe, let your mind wander, draw a picture and come back to face it another day. It's okay to not be okay."

Somehow Sam;s words made sense to Danny. Made him feel better. Made his feelings valid, which has been something he's seriously been lacking in the past eight months.

"What do you want to do?"

Danny looked up sharply, wiping away the tear streaks.

"…What?"

"What do you wanna do?" Sam repeated, bouncing his leg casually.

"I…I don;t know…Like…Sleep, maybe eat. Maybe kick Clint's butt at DOOM again. I just…why do you ask"

"Because I think it's high time Danny did something Danny wanted to do. Now go, get on out of here. Go do what Danny wants to do, and nothing else."

Danny was somehow able to manage a genuine smile-what felt like the first in years. hen he nodded.

"Yeah…I think so, too."