A/N: GAH! I was SUPPOSED TO update earlier. But I've been traveling, which means that I haven't exactly had my usual typing time. (winces apologetically) BUT, here I am, AT LAST! Yay…?

THANK YOU, so very much, for your amazing reviews, listings and support! It warms my heart how many of you have found this emotional little tale. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I doubt you would've come here for my ramblings… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

VIOLENT FLASHBACKS AND MENTAL IMAGES AHOY!

TO AVOID CONFUSION:

/ flashback /

/ thought inside a flashback /

/ 'memory of a thought' /

/ mental image /

Bargaining

/ Once again Clint lost the track of time. It was most likely better and more merciful that way. The beatings continued. And he kept refusing to offer his captor's anything. Through endless rounds of beatings, torture and interrogation he continued to hang on. Kept telling himself that it'd all be over soon. Waited patiently for a chance. And then, at last, it came.

On one dark, endlessly long night two guards clearly imagined that he was still unconscious from the particularly brutal handling he'd been given a couple of hours earlier. Clint listened to them approaching and moving around him, not bothering to pay attention to their words. And when they were just close enough he moved.

The first hostile was down before the man had the slightest chance to see it coming. With all the adrenaline coursing through his veins handling the second one wasn't much of a challenge. A swift kick, during which he sternly ignored how much his leg hurt. Then a second, aimed right at the fallen man's head. After grabbing his enemies' guns Clint was moving, slowly and limping heavily but still, keeping a constant eye on security cameras.

Having tackled down three, or was it four, new enemies Clint was already at the backdoor. Just a single door and a step away from freedom. Which was when Emilia's voice came through a speaker. "Do leave, if you please. Clearly you're not about to give me what I want and now that everyone imagines you to be dead you're fairly useless. Just, something to chew on before you walk through that door…" Something about her tone chilled him all the way to his spine. "I have five men approaching this lovely little farm. And if I don't call them at a certain time, they have instructions to slaughter everyone inside. Do you really imagine that you might get there before them? Whether you want to give it a try is entirely up to you. I believe in free will."

Clint's heart stilled for a few valuable seconds and his blood ran cold. While his body was frozen his mind reeled, fed him with sickening horror images. Of Laura and the kids, of their blood…

His hand, already on the door handle, fell to his side and his fists balled so tightly that it hurt.

"That's a good boy", Emilia purred. "Now go back to your holding room before I lose my patience with your antics. I'll come and punish you for this later."

Only the fact that Emilia was watching through the cameras kept Clint from screaming at the top of his lungs while tears of rage, sorrow and frustration filled his eyes.

Just keep breathing and don't scream, he told himself firmly. Just breathe and you'll be fine. Just breathe. Don't scream.

He continued repeating that mantra in his mind when Emilia eventually delivered her punishment. And while he lay on the floor, broken and bleeding. Unable to crawl to the lousy excuse of a bed he'd been given.

Just breathe. Don't scream. Just breathe. Don't scream. This'll all be over soon, if you just breathe. This is just a bad day. You've had it worse. Don't scream. This'll be over soon.

It wasn't over for another four and a half months. /

It was only four in the morning but with the dream Wanda just had she wasn't going to get any more sleep. So instead of tossing and turning in her bed she headed towards one of the Tower's training rooms. Her steps halted by the doorway when she realized that she wasn't alone.

Close to the room's ceiling was a hammock, and Clint was sleeping inside it.

"A rough night, then." Tony's voice startled her although he was almost whispering. The billionaire had an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face. "He always goes to sleep there when he has a rough night."

Wanda felt a stab of worry and sympathy. She had a feeling she could guess what 'rough night' meant, and hated the idea of Clint having to endure those on top of everything else. "How did he get there?"

Tony shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'll bet that the guy's worked at a circus at some point."

That mental image felt oddly right. Wanda came close to smiling until she sighed, looking towards the hammock again. There was no movement, and right after her brother the archer was the lightest sleeper she'd ever met. Her stomach constricted at the discovery. "I should…"

"Trust me, don't." Tony's tone left no room for objections. "I've… made the mistake of trying to wake that guy up once. Just… Don't."

Wanda frowned, frustration and worry transforming to anger. "Then what? We can't just leave him there!"

"There's a flawless system looking out for everyone in this building, remember? And lots of security cameras. If he as much as breathes funnily we'll know. He's safe here." Tony's voice announced that the billionaire would make sure the Hawk stayed that way. "Now let's go. I don't wanna see how he'd react to waking up to us staring at him."

What the two didn't know was that Clint was, in fact, wide awake. He wasn't aware of their presence, though. He lay perfectly still, vacant eyes darted towards the ceiling and all his concentration on the up and down motions of his chest.

Just keep breathing. This is a bad day, that's all. Just breathe and everything will be okay.

Later that week Steve was about to take his usual morning jog when he discovered that he wasn't the only one with that plan. Clint stood by the Tower's main entrance, his face oddly pale and teeth gritted hard. The soldier frowned, uncertain how to proceed. "Barton? You… heading outside, too?" He worked his hardest to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. Although it was.

Because if this would succeed… It'd mark the first time Clint stepped outside the Tower since… Well.

"Yeah." Clint did his best to grin, and it almost reached the Hawk's eyes. "I… I think I need a good run. Today…" The archer scratched his head. A new nervous habit. "… isn't a very good day."

Steve knew that by now Clint had a lot of very good days, when it was almost like the archer had recovered fully. And then… there were the other kind. It saddened the soldier, but didn't discourage him. Bad days were only that, bad days. They got their friend back from the dead. They'd be able to handle a bad day. And they would. As a team, as friends.

Steve nodded resolutely. "Okay, then", he announced, walking through the door. And held his breath without noticing it until Clint followed. "Let's go." Let's get away from here. Let's run away from all this. Just for a while.

Clint nodded overly enthusiastically, as though agreeing to his unvoiced words. "Just have mercy on me, Cap. I haven't been exactly working out lately."

"Try to keep up, Feathers", Steve ordered mercilessly, taking the first running steps.

"Not you, too…!" Clint groaned.

They'd get through this. Of course they would. After these first steps forward it'd get easier. This bad day would pass.

Clint's act was so flawless that for days even Laura bought it.

He smiled. Spent time with the kids – played with Lila, changed Nate's diapers and goofed around with the baby, helped Cooper with schoolwork. His technique worked on the kids like magic. As time went by they began to relax, accept that him being back with them was their new reality. Some of especially Cooper's nightmares would probably never fade away but according to the kids' therapist they were making slow yet steady progress.

Laura almost relaxed as well, until she began to see. All the little things. Such that only the trained eye of someone in love could catch.

How some of the smiles didn't reach Clint's eyes.

Those haunted looks, like the man's mind was traveling in some horribly dark places while he watched over his family like a Hawk.

How far too often he seemed terrified of touching her.

How completely and utterly exhausted he seemed whenever he imagined that no one was looking, the constant act for the sake of others draining him.

Several times she wanted to scream at him to stop. To quit pretending, to drop that mask, around her at least. Because he was moving forward, getting better. But not like this, not this quickly. Yet she knew her husband. If this was the way he'd decided to handle this part of his recovery there was nothing she could do.

Nothing but wait, watch and brace herself for the inevitable downfall when he'd stumble to the next stage.

When Clint excused himself from a dinner table fairly quickly a few days later, Wanda didn't think much of it. One of the first things she learned about the archer was that the man wasn't a big eater when he was stressed out. She began to worry when she heard the sounds of someone vomiting upon passing by one of the Tower's many bathrooms.

She frowned, worry twisting and turning in the pit of her stomach. "Clint? You okay in there?"

When he offered no reply she made her decision and opened the door. He was sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. Embarrassment took over his face the second he saw her. "Sorry. This…" He cleared his throat. "You should…"

Wanda shook her head. "No, I don't think I should." She made sure that no one else had noticed them, then closed the door to give them some privacy. "What happened?"

Clint sighed heavily and rubbed his face with both hands. "Just… The meat." He swallowed convulsively, and shuddered from relief when the nausea subsided. "Looks like I'm not… good at handling that anymore."

"Is it the…?" Wanda began and gestured towards the stoma, knowing the unwritten rule that it wasn't to be mentioned out loud.

Clint shook his head. And the embarrassment from before turned into complete, utter humiliation. "Just… A while ago I… remembered something. Since then…" He shook his head again, against the memory and as a protest alike. "Haven't liked meat much."

It was Wanda's turn to sigh heavily. After thinking about it for a while she sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. He shivered but didn't pull away, which encouraged her to speaking. "You should've told us", she scolded him gently. "We would've helped you."

Clint smiled, and for once it seemed genuine. "I know, and… That's why I didn't feel like telling anyone. You've already had to help me too much, all of you." His jawline tightened. "The kids… They need a strong dad, someone who can help them, because they've been through a massive trauma. Laura needs a husband who can be there for her. And you guys…" He inhaled and exhaled. "You guys need a teammate who can handle missions without freaking out."

Wanda felt like they were getting closer to the actual root of the problem. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Of course we need a friend who is well. But Clint… You need to actually feel better, you need to give yourself the time to recover."

"I am giving myself time", Clint insisted with a comfortingly familiar amount of stubbornness. "I'm trying, Wanda. And while I am… I'll keep showing the world that I'm okay."

"Because the more you keep telling yourself and others that you're okay, the sooner you will be?"

"That's the plan."

Wanda leaned her head against his shoulder. "You do know that that isn't how it works, don't you?" When a tiny shrug was his only response, she came to the conclusion that the matter was closed. "That memory… Why do you think it came back to you now?" She was itching to ask what it was about but knew that it would've definitely made him shut down. She was already pushing it.

Clint tensed up, and for a while she was sure that he'd go to a total lockdown. Until he sighed and shrugged. "According to Dr. Harris I've recovered to a point where… whatever it was blocking that memory broke." His fingers tightened around hers for a couple of seconds. "Hear that? Even a shrink thinks that I'm recovering. So stop looking so worried."

She smiled. "I'll always worry about you, idiot." She punched his shoulder gently, affectionately, with her fist. "I meant what I said, you know? This… whatever we are needs you. I'm glad you're back, old man."

"And I'm glad to be back, kid." Clint sighed, but this time it was lighter, easier. "Let's get out of here, yeah? It's sort of creepy that we're hanging out in a toilet. And this place stinks."

The next couple of days… Those were the good kind of days, even Lila could sense as much. Her daddy smiled more. Hugged her like he did before.

And she smiled, too. Talked about everything she could think of. Learned how not to scream if she had a bad dream. Did her best to avoid making him sad or… thoughtful. Anything and everything, to keep her daddy, now that she really, truly had him back.

But she was only a little girl and eventually, inevitably, her act cracked and she hurt him.

Lila had been told, several times over, not to run indoors. But she really, really wanted to show her daddy her new drawing and couldn't hold herself back. "Daddy, look…!" She'd already almost reached him when her balance broke.

Lila slipped, and on her way down her head hit the sharp corner of a table. The contact wasn't harsh and the wound was just a tiny scratch, but the startle got to her. And before she could stop herself she was sobbing, loudly.

"Oh, no…! Oh, my poor girl…! Come here, sweetie, let me have a look."

Lila obeyed. Of course she did, because she wanted her daddy's comfort more than anything. Only, what she saw when she was closer, shielded by one of those safe arms…

Her daddy's eyes when he looked at her wound… He stared at it like it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. That scared her, too. Because her daddy was never, ever afraid of anything. "Daddy?" she whispered, the last of her tears drying. "What's wrong?"

And then it was gone, whatever it was. So quickly that she was left wondering if she was being silly and imagining things. He kissed the top of her head just a little longer than he usually did. "Stop worrying, sweetie. I'm okay." At least his voice sounded right. Almost. "Now let's find you a bandaid."

"Can I have one of those princess ones?"

"Would I dare to suggest anything else?"

Much later that evening, while everyone else was busy and at a safe distance, Clint made his way to a shower. He ensured that the water was as hot as he could stand, then stepped in. Like a shower would've been able to burn out the scars and nauseating signs of injuries, inside and out. He lifted his chin, letting the flood wash over him. Letting it burn. And without being invited the memories came. Memories and mental images. Nightmarish flashes, created during weeks upon weeks of isolation and abuse, rammed into his head until his brain couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

/ Emilia leaned closer to him. Her eyes gleamed chillingly in the room's dim light. "If you ever try to walk away from me again, Little Bird… I will send my men to your family. And they'll be torn to pieces." /

/ The Farm's door opening, the deafening, sickening silence inside. /

/ 'Don't scream. This'll all be over soon, if you just breathe.' /

/ The unnaturally loud sounds of his steps as he entered, his breath catching in his throat keeping him from calling out, crying out. /

/ Emilia smiled. "First sweet little Nathaniel… Then Lila, such a beautiful thing… And finally, when he's listened to his siblings' final screams… It'll be Cooper's turn." /

Trembling violently, Clint turned the water just a little warmer and shuddered when it left his skin red and achy. The new discomfort wasn't enough to distract him. Wasn't enough to cut the torrent of other kind.

/ Emilia whispered to his ear. Stroked his hair as she did. "And finally, at last, it'll be Laura's turn. She'll scream, oh how she'll scream. She'll beg for the lives of her children, won't she? She'll beg and beg, and then she'll curse those who took her babies away, until her last breath." /

/ 'Don't scream. Just breathe.' /

/ The unmistakable, far too familiar stench of blood and decaying flesh slapped him across the face. Froze him for an unidentifiable amount of time. If he'd hold still, if he wouldn't take those few more steps and see, then maybe it wouldn't all be real. /

Clint's chest tightened and he gasped desperately, but all the air in the whole world wouldn't have been enough to reach his aching, burning lungs. Warm tears mixed with far hotter shower water while he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Slammed his fist against the wall, over and over and over again. Anything, anything, anything…!

If it'd hurt enough, then maybe he'd know what was real. Believe where he was. Remember who he was.

This time he'd do the cognitive recalibration himself. And when he was done he'd be able to breathe. He'd be the person he needed to be. The person he had to be, for the sake of his friends and family.

He wasn't broken beyond repair, wasn't just damaged goods. He'd prove it. To himself, to Emilia, to everyone. He wasn't…!

But his mind wasn't about to show him mercy.

/ In the end his body took the lead, dragged him forward until there was no choice left. Until he had to see. Until he had to face it.

There, in a sea of red that'd turned to a stomach-turning color over time, was his whole family, his whole wide world.

Clint stared. And stared. And stared.

And then he… /

/ 'Don't scream.' /

/ Emilia smirked at Clint, knowing that she had his mind exactly where she wanted it to be. Her flawless, white teeth shone in the dark. "Laura will be butchered into the blood of her children. Almost poetic, isn't it?" /

Feeling like he was suffocating and torn to pieces, Clint slid to the floor, his back leaning against the wall. He gritted his teeth together so hard that his whole chin hurt and slammed both hands to the sides of his head. Pulled at his drenched hair.

/ 'Don't…' /

And he screamed, not even realizing that he was doing so out loud.

That was how Laura found him ten minutes later, the Tower's system having alerted the rest of them that something was wrong. By the time she dashed into the room he was still howling, although he'd ran out of voice to do so with. He screamed and screamed, in the grips of something she couldn't even begin to imagine. And it terrified her, because no matter how tightly she held on to him under the nearly burning hot water it felt like he was slipping further and further away.

/ "If you ever do something that stupid again, Clint… I will destroy everything you hold dear in this world. The Avengers. Your family." Emilia patted his head. "You won't be walking out of this alive. But if you're an obedient little pet… Maybe they will." /

/ '… scream.' /

TBC

A/N: GOSH…! Emilia… wasn't exactly a pleasant person, now was she? (winces) GOSH, poor Clint – and the whole team! Such a horror story this has been, on all of them. BUT, Clint IS recovering, even when it doesn't necessarily seem like it. Let's just hope that this, too, shall pass…!

SO… Thoughts? Comments? How scared are you of 'Depression'? I'd REALLY love to hear from you!

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!