Gently

21. Reason Falls

It was quite a relief that nobody ordered a nuclear strike the second time New York was invaded by aliens. It might have helped that these intergalactic visitors weren't so much threatening as they were irritating.

"Haven't we popped them all off by now?" Falcon complained, kicking out at what Tony had termed a Pufferblob ("They're like blobs with legs that go spikey when you hit 'em.") as it tottered too close. It spiked up as it flew backwards, a comic little wail escaping its mouth.

"Who knows?" Clint responded as they caught up with the rest of the team. "There were hundreds, and they're small. Could easily have rolled under the sofa, if you get my drift."

"Captain Rogers and Winter Soldier are on their way," Ms. Marvel said. "Got a message from Agent Coulson, too. He says the NYPD want to ask a few questions."

"Leave this one to me, ladies," Iron Man said as sirens were heard down the road.

"Last time we let you talk to the police you were nearly arrested," Natasha reminded him.

"I'll talk to them," Carol said as he opened his mouth to protest. "Cap can join me when he gets here."

Tony raised his hands. "Whatever you say, Lady-Cap." She snorted.

The police arrived then. As Carol left to handle the questions and Tony started to complain about something or other, Clint took a moment to appreciate the day. It wasn't often they got to fight a relatively easy battle in such glorious weather, and he wasn't as exhausted as he often ended up. Hot, yes, but today that was a given; the vibrant sky reflected off the glass of a nearby skyscraper under the sun, almost camouflaging the building. The tops of small trees twitched gently, encouraged by a faint breeze, and through the leaves he could make out the flashes of blue from the police cars, a deep contrast to the light –

"You have heart."

Clint froze, his breath jamming in his throat. The day suddenly seemed neither bright nor warm, but too blue and too green, and he wasn't sure that he couldn't feel something sharp pressed against his chest. The smooth, slick tone was stuck on a loop in his head, praising him, commanding him, asking him for secret after secret, making him break promise upon promise, turning him into something emotionless and calculating, as soulless as Selvig had insinuated. He relived again each arrow he'd fired, intending to damage, to hurt in the throes of a blind devotion he'd sworn never to let himself fall into, not after Chisholm – but there, in New York, struggling to get his breathing even and to stop seeing anything but painfully green grass and cosmic energy, the old fear that he was a failure slipped in and gripped him tight.

"Clint?"

Looking up, he saw Natasha (spinning away with his bow; he pulled out his knife) watching him with concern. He blinked rapidly.

"Hey Hawkass, what's up?"

"Tony, don't."

"Is he okay?"

"He's having an anxiety attack Wilson, I wouldn't call that okay." Clint started as his bow was taken sharply from his hand.

"Stark, what did I just say?"

"Guys relax, I've been through this. I know what to do. Clint buddy? Talk to me."

Except he couldn't talk; how the hell was he supposed to talk when he couldn't even breathe, let alone get a single thought in through the sound of L- him in his head? Maybe he was still in his head. Clint could make out every frosted word, mingling and weaving with Tony's until they became intelligible, and in that moment he thought his hearing was failing again and that couldn't happen, not here, not now, he needed this team, he couldn't stop gods and aliens on his own and what if the Tesseract was still inside him waiting to corrupt him to turn him against them again what if it was happening now –

"Can it, Stark!"

Still unseeing, Clint felt himself turned forcefully around and pushed into walking. He was about to resist until a hand gripped his upper arm firmly. A metal hand. Shaking, he allowed himself to be guided around a corner and placed on a low brick wall, two hands now holding his shoulders, one hard, one softer.

"Look at me, Clint?"

He grabbed onto a lungful of air. "Bucky –"

"Shh, just look, okay?"

Clint lifted his chin off his chest. Bucky was staring calmly at him, relaxed and patient. Faint sweat tracks were visible on his temples. His hair was dishevelled. His eyes were blue – but naturally blue, and beautiful, just a few shades paler than the sky. They were the kind of eyes that showed emotions as easily as they could hide them, eyes that promised safety and trust and love without glowing or swirling, and the longer Clint gazed into them the easier it was to breathe, to collect his thoughts and banish the voice that tried to cling to his inner ear…

"We good now?"

Sagging with a sigh, Clint nodded, feeling Bucky squeeze his shoulders once before letting go. "Thought I'd be over this already," he muttered, covering his face with a trembling hand.

"Loki?" Bucky asked quietly, and he mumbled an affirmative. "Who says you should be over that?" Before Clint could reply, he added, "It's been seventy years and I'm still not completely over the war."

Surprised, Clint frowned at him. "Seriously?"

"My nightmares aren't all red stars and dead politicians." He shrugged. "From what I gather though, that's pretty standard for soldiers."

"I'm not a soldier."

"Is there really that much difference?" When Clint didn't disagree, Bucky helped him to his feet and brushed a kiss to his temple. "Come on – let's get back to the others."

"How long do I have until I have to talk about this?" he asked as they began walking.

Bucky hummed thoughtfully. "I'll give you until we get home." Clint nodded, leaning against him for a moment. Before they rounded the corner, their fingers briefly slotted together, and Clint remembered someone telling him they trusted him.

AN: Prompt: "Clint has a memory relapse, which triggers an anxiety attack, and only bucky can help."

This was what I interpreted 'memory relapse' to mean, though I know the term's more associated with forgetting things. Sorry there's not a bit more on Bucky being helpful, but in my HC it's something they'd address in private. Also, I imagined Pufferblobs as adipose from Doctor Who that do what pufferfish do when they're unhappy X)