Come on, Clint! Get a move on, son!"

He messily uncuffed his pant leg so it would fall neatly to his socks. He pressed his small palms to neaten his hear before hurried out of the room he shared with his brother. He was stopped dead in his tracks though when he heard the loud swearing of his father echo off the walls.

"OW! God damn it, Clint!"

He peeked his head out from around the corner to see his father cringing in pain after apparently having stepped on one of his toys.

"How many times have I told you to put your goddamn toys back when you're done playing with them?"

Clint swallowed hard, tears welling in his eyes and then falling freely down the sides of his cheeks. He sniffled and felt his stomach ache with pain and fear.

"Get over here, right now!"

Clint forced himself to move his feet but it felt like someone else was doing it for him. He inched closer and closer to his angry father until he felt the man grabbed his arm and pull him forcefully towards him. He let out a soft cry when he felt his father's tough hand on his skin and ended up falling down on the ground where his Dad then turned on him.

"Are you even listening to me, son? Say something when I'm talking to you!"

Before Clint could open his mouth, he felt the quick, hard surface of his father's fist as it met the side of Clint's head. The other side of his head bounced off the nearby wall and he then lay on the floor, only able to hear a high pitched ringing sound as dizziness engulfed him.

He forced himself to look up at his father and saw his mouth moving and an angry look on his face, but Clint couldn't hear what he was yelling. He felt scared, terrified even, but he just said the only thing he could think of, regardless of not even being able to hear his own voice.

"I… I can't hear anything…"

Clint awoke with a start and looked around, taking in surroundings. He must have only been asleep for a few minutes, the sun now having risen. Before he had closed his eyes, the sky was brightening but he couldn't see the sun.

His hands were shaking. Maybe too much coffee and too little sleep. Or too little coffee, too little sleep? Either way, he moved towards the kitchen, trying to ignore his rumbling stomach. He wasn't feeling hungry, but he also had only eaten a small amount over the past week.

He had almost made it to the coffee pot when he saw Natasha out of the corner of his eye. She looked awake and showered. How long had she been awake for?

"Clint… you need to eat something…"

He shook his head and suddenly laughed, but he wasn't sure what was so funny. His head was spinning, he felt cold, and shaky. He rubbed his hurting eyes. "No, I'm fine, Nat."

"Could've fooled me."

She walked into the kitchen and stood in front of Clint, blocking the coffee pot. He glared at her now, clenching his jaw.

"Get out of the way. I need my coffee. I can't function without it…"

Nat didn't move but placed her hands on her friend's shoulders. "No, Clint. Not until you eat something. You can't live off coffee alone…"

Clint tried to pull her hands off of him but found that he was feeling weaker than ever, and he barely moved her at all. "No! Stop it, Natasha!" He yelled, shoving her suddenly. "Just let go of the food thing already! I don't need it!"

She stumbled back only an inch from Clint's shove and shook her head. "Look at yourself! You're yelling again, shoving… I'm not an idiot. I know you haven't eaten anything in days and it's starting to show,"

Clint continued to just shake his head, not wanting to listen to her. "I'm fine… I don't feel hungry…"

"After a while you wouldn't!" Natasha urged him. "You're not in a good place. I get that. You need to let me help you, though! I want you to feel your best and I want to be here for you, Clint."

The archer found himself laughing again, maybe out of disbelief. She was right; his head wasn't in a good place. Hell, he didn't even know where it was at. He felt like he was in someone else's body having someone else's thoughts. Everything felt so surreal. He felt angry and he didn't know why. He felt lonely and he knew he shouldn't be.

"Actually, no! I don't need to let you help me because I don't need your help, Nat! I don't care what you want! It doesn't mean anything… just leave me alone!"

She looked scared at first, but she straightened her back. Natasha knew the signs of Clint's depression and he was showing all the signs today. "You're going to eat today, whether you like it or not, Clint. Now sit down and I'll make you some eggs and you can have your coffee. Okay?"

He walked out of the kitchen without giving her an answer and then curled up on the living room couch. He was surprised at how much it still smelled like Bucky.

Bucky…

The name made him feel ashamed of how he was treating Natasha. He didn't want her around right now. He wanted Bucky. Even Matt would be fine right now. Hell, even Stark would suffice. Okay, maybe not Tony, but anyone else except Nat.

She was the one person that could make him feel shame. She knew him too well. He'd been able to hide some of his past from the other guys but hiding it from her was impossible after all they'd gone through over the years. All he wanted was to sleep forever now.

No.

Maybe he shouldn't think that way.

But it was hard not to. He hated himself for dumping Bucky at Matt's. Clint had only gotten at least thirty texts from Matt since asking how he was, and if everything was okay, to which Clint had put one word answers like "Ok" or "Fine." If he was honest with himself, he wasn't okay or fine. He was the complete opposite of fine. He wanted to destroy himself. He hated himself for being so selfish. He had no right to be.

"Okay, sit up or I'm going to feed it to you like a child…"

Clint reluctantly sat up and watched as Natasha handed him the plate of eggs and set his coffee on the nearby table in front of the couch. She stood there, waiting.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me eat the whole time?"

She shrugged, a firm look on her face. "If I have to."

He glowered at her now and sighed, staring at the food, feeling the temptation to challenge her. Right now, he didn't care they were best friends and that he was being obstinate. Depression makes a person be like this.

"Eat, Clint. Just take a bite. I'm not even asking you to eat it all."

Then, something dark and horrible inside of him made him lean forward and knock the plate off the coffee table, but not before spilling the coffee all over it first.

"Damn it, Clint…"

He watched as she grabbed a bunch of napkins and paper towels and started to mop up the mess, looking exhausted as she did so. He felt a tinge of guilt now but it wasn't enough to actually make him help her.

He was going to be difficult, damn it, and no one and nothing was going to stop him. After all, this is what depression does to people.

She had gathered all the spilled scrambled eggs onto the plate and the paper towels and then made a beeline for the kitchen before Clint heard a loud clash as she dumped the plate and silverware into the sink in defeat. She stormed back over to him now.

"Fine, you want to be a stubborn child and not eat? Okay, but I won't have any part in your starvation. I don't know what to do, Clint. I stayed here for a week and all you did was get worse. I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore…"

Clint felt angry and sad all at once. He shook his head and glared up at her from his position on the couch. "Then leave! Do what everyone else does and just fucking leave, Nat! It wouldn't surprise me in the least."

She looked offended at first and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Oh, don't worry. I'm gonna leave, but you won't like who I have come take care of you next, Clint."

"Whatever…"

Natasha looked concerned and scared and angry herself now. She knelt down and placed her hands gently on Clint's legs. "Why won't you let me help you? You don't have to suffer alone. I'm here for you…"

The gentle touch made something flicker alive inside of Clint Barton, but only for a brief moment before the self-hatred flared up again. "I don't want you here for me. I deserve to be alone. I deserve to suffer alone."

She shook her head instantly. "No, you don't. I wish you could see it but I know you can't right now. You're a good person, Clint. You don't deserve to feel like shit and be alone."

He turned his head away from her and crossed his arms in front of his chest. After several minutes, she finally stood up, kissed Clint's temple, and then walked out of the apartment, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

When it finally registered with him that she wasn't going to come back, he broke down. Tears made trails down his cheeks just as they had when he had been a kid, and he hugged his legs into his chest and screamed and yelled, and cursed and cried into them. He was alone again.

Of course he was alone again. Who the hell would actually want to be around him?

No, stop.

That's the depression talking… right?

Yes, it is.

He didn't know how long he had cried into his body, but apparently he had cried himself to sleep, because when he woke up, it was raining outside and there was someone in his apartment. He craned his sore neck and peeked over the couch to see Tony Stark in the kitchen, cleaning up the shards of ceramic that were in the sink from Natasha.

He pushed himself off the couch and started towards the kitchen to the fridge and opened it before he grabbed a beer. "Did you lose the coin toss to Nat?"

The genius inventor looked over after he threw out the shards of plate. "Ho," he said before he grabbed the beer out of Clint's hand. "No alcohol for you. Don't you know that it'll only make your depression worse?"

Clint scoffed now. "What? C'mon, man. It's my house. I'm allowed to drink whatever I want, whenever I want."

Tony smirked and shook his head before he opened the beer and took a sip. "Actually, fun fact, you aren't because of your current mental state."

Clint threw his arms up and pointed to the bottle. "What, so you're allowed to drink?"

"I'm not currently depressed. Come on, Barton. Have some coffee or something instead. I brewed a fresh pot for you, knowing your unhealthy addiction to caffeine."

Clint raised an eyebrow but took him up on the offer. He walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug before adding sugar and then pouring the coffee into it. "Nat didn't let me have coffee…"

Tony leaned against the counters next to where Clint was pouring coffee. "I talked to her and she was going to let you have it if you ate something. What's the plan? Going to lose enough weight to fly to Manhattan to see Barnes?"

Clint sighed and shrugged. "I'm just not hungry."

Tony tapped his fingers on the countertop. "If I remember correctly, you liked to have breakfast for dinner back at the Tower. Do you think you could feel hungry for some pancakes?"

Clint shrugged again and took a sip of coffee, his body forgiving him for the lack of caffeine all day. He stayed where he was and watched Tony open the cupboards, looking for the pancake mix he didn't know he had. He looked for a few more minutes before he finally placed it on the counter.

"Aha!" He exclaimed in success. "Knew you had one. Everyone has at least one box of pancake mix, even if they never eat it. Put the radio on to whatever you want while I whip this up real quick."

Clint walked over to the small radio and turned it on, tuning it to a classic rock station he knew Tony wouldn't mind. "I don't think I've ever actually seen you cook anything, Stark."

He heard Tony laugh as he started to mix the ingredients together and then pour the mixture into a pan. "If I didn't make anything, then I'd starve to death, Barton. Pepper isn't there as often as I'd like her to be anymore, and the only other super friends I keep in touch with is Romanoff and Murdock. Did you know, by the way, that that man is scary? It's hard to trust a guy who can't see you, but still knows what you're doing and what cologne you're wearing."

Christ, he was talking too much.

This was going to wear thin for him real fast. He rubbed his temples where a headache was starting to form. "Yeah, no. I want you out right now, Stark. This just isn't going to work for me."

Tony chuckled now as he flipped the pancakes over before he turned to look at the archer. "That's funny… you actually believe you have a choice in this. So cute. Now I can see what Romanoff sees in you."

Clint shook his head. "I just want to be left alone. I thought that, of all people, you would understand the most. Just leave, man. I won't tell Nat that you left if she calls."

Tony was quiet for a bit as he slid the spatula under the pancakes so they wouldn't stick. "I've been where you are, Barton. You're going through PTSD on top of your depression. It's always funny how the symptoms of both mirror each other, though. I know how you're feeling, and I know that it's best if I stay and keep an eye on you."

He flipped the pancakes onto a plate and handed it to Clint, waiting patiently until the other man grabbed the plate before starting his own pancakes.

He sat at the table with his plate and poked at the fluffy pancakes, his stomach growling for sustenance. "You don't know, Stark. Stop pretending like you do. It's insulting."

Tony sighed and then made a plate of pancakes for himself before he walked over and sat down at the table across from Clint. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and then looked back up at him. "Oh yeah, I wouldn't know anything about PTSD. I only flew a nuke on my back into a wormhole to save New York from a bunch of Norse aliens, then… I was the direct cause of the utter chaos and destruction of Sokovia and its people, which resulted in the death of one of our own, but I wouldn't know anything about post-traumatic stress disorder, would I?"

This shut Clint up.

He knew all this. He should have known better than to question him. He was an asshole. It was becoming clear now why Natasha chose Tony to take care of Clint; he could relate more to Stark than to her. Tony knew what it was like, even if the 'nuke through the wormhole' story was getting old. It didn't make it any less true.

He cut off a piece of the pancake with the edge of his fork but didn't eat it. "Sorry," Clint replied pathetically now.

Tony sighed heavily and took another bite before he took a drink of his own coffee. "Don't worry about it. I get it. I get the anger, I get the frustration, the… wanting to be left alone… but you just can't, Barton. You can't be left alone right now. If Pepper or Jarvis had left me alone when I was having constant panic attacks and nightmares and days of insomnia, I would be dead, and that's the truth."

Clint didn't doubt it anymore. He could only imagine how stubborn Tony could have been with Pepper and everyone else who tried to help him. He reluctantly took a bite of the pancake and chewed it.

"Do you still get panic attacks?"

Tony nodded before he set his coffee back down. "Yep. If I don't get enough sleep or I work too hard in the garage, or if I'm stressed out… I still get them. I don't know it's something that will completely go away. It just lies dormant. What are your nightmares about?"

Clint was quiet for a long time, eating the rest of his pancake and taking sips of coffee before he finally answered. "Mostly about my Dad and my brother, and when I became deaf."

Tony bit his lip now and searched the archer's face with sad eyes. "You know, when you had me make you Stark tech hearing aids, I didn't mind. You're a friend and when you told me that you had become deaf because of an accident, I didn't prod. At the time, I just assumed it was none of my business and I made them."

"You want to know how I became deaf," Clint asked, although it came out more of a statement than a question.

Tony nodded once and turned his full attention onto Clint now. "Yes. I would like to know."

Clint shrugged and nodded. "I was six, and my father hit me after stepping on one of my legos I left on the floor one day. When he hit me, my head hit the wall and… that's all she wrote. I couldn't hear anything from that point on."

Tony took this in, and looked at his friend sympathetically. "Good to know shitty fathers are universal, or rather, not good. What happened after that?"

Clint took another drink from his coffee. "We were poor, so… he got me the cheapest, shittiest hearing aids he could afford. My brother and I ran off with a group of carnies, I ran away from said carnies when I was sixteen, emancipated myself, found my apartment here, and… then found the rest of the Avengers."

Tony took this in, seemingly swallowing it all down. "Carnies… that must have been interesting."

Clint shrugged and found himself smirking slightly. "It was nice while it lasted. The leader of it taught me how to shoot." He decided to leave out the part where he had been abused by him too.

"What about your brother? What happened to him?"

His smirk fell, and he remembered now why he hadn't felt hungry. He ran his hands through his hair and pushed his plate away before he stood up. "I'm… going to hang out in my room. Make yourself at home."

Tony watched as he started to walk away from him but stood up as well. "What happened to your brother, Barton?" He asked again, this time more firmly.

Clint stopped walking and swallowed hard. He looked down at his feet before he glanced back at Tony. "Story for another day."

And with that, he trudged into Bucky's room and locked the door before he fell into the bed that his friend used to sleep in. He got under the covers and although he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, he closed his eyes.

He had to get better.

He had to bring Bucky back.

How he could these things though when he was feeling so low? He could relate to Tony, sure, but that wasn't going to cure him. He was still going to feel depressed.

He was still going to have nightmares.

He was still going to have panic attacks.

But then again, so was Bucky.