I know I said no more late chapters, and I'm sorry, I've just been a little overwhelmed lately and I'm having time-managing difficulties. Hopefully that's going to be fixed soon, so I should be able to update more frequently. This chapter is shorter than the others, it's just something I'm trying out, please, please, please let me know how you like it better, and please let me know what you think of this story overall. If you have any complaints, suggestions, etc, I really want to know, so please let me know about that as well.
When Jess was put in a cell by the madman who murdered her family, she felt panic. It clawed against her flesh from her insides, screaming for as long as it existed, making every second feel unbearably long yet terrifyingly short at the same time. It took her once logical and brilliant mind and twisted it in the most grotesque ways imaginable, filling it with horrible pictures, some real and some invented in the darkest parts of her head.
When Jess was taken out of the cell by Steve Rogers, she was still gullible enough to think that she'd never feel that panic again.
She was wrong.
The panic she felt now was exactly the same as the panic she felt all those months ago. The claws, the screams, the images, they were all there, greeting her as one would greet an old friend as they thrashed violently against her skull, chest, stomach, shoulders – her entire being was corrupted by terror.
Yet even now, in that state of shock, she couldn't help but wonder at how it felt nothing like what she'd imagined. Lawrence's change in behavior was extreme and near immediate, and she's always assumed the purple fire, whatever it was, had direct influence on that. She thought that specific kind of unnatural power did something to the mind, driving the user mad. But now, a flame in her hand and her eyes alight, she felt nothing. No sudden passion for violence, no urge to hurt anybody. She still felt like herself, just more terrified than usual.
At least for the time being, Jess was still Jess, and that was a good thing. She tried to focus on that until the panic passed or at least eased enough for her to figure out her next move.
What could she do next? She could tell someone. Then she'd go right back to SHIELD and be placed behind cement walls (again, she thought with a shudder) until she could somehow prove she wasn't a raging killing machine, if she could. No. Whatever she did, she was going to have to keep her powers a secret from the Avengers, which felt an awful lot like a betrayal of their trust and made Jess's heart twinge.
She could just ignore it. Suffocate the flames forever and never ever light the fire again. Keep the secret forever and take it with her to her grave. But could she? The way her fingertips lit up, it was like she had no control over it. If she didn't learn how to control it, at least to a certain degree… well, that was exactly why SHIELD would want to take her in. She could become dangerous.
Third and final option: To teach herself to control it and never use it.
How hard could it be, really? Lawrence had managed it very quickly, and she wanted to believe herself better than Lawrence.
Jess took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay. She shut her eyes and opened them again, feeling the terror begin to fade. Then she looked at her hand, where a purple flame still danced, and began the struggle to choke it.
Clint Barton was, overall, kind of a badass.
For starters, he was an assassin, which was enough to earn you that title on its own. But Clint had more reasons he was a badass than that; his skill with a bow and arrows, for instance. He could do far above average with a firearm, of course, but there was something about his bow that got his blood pumping with undeniable exhilaration. It took countless hours of hard work to become as good as he was. He was familiar with blood, and with pain. He was anything but a coward. He even still had his sense of humor.
Clint thought that all these gave him the right to be a bit immature sometimes.
That was precisely the reason he now sat on a couch with a game controller in his calloused hands, the coffee table in front of him littered with candy wrappers, uneaten sweets and a soft drink, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him, not feeling the slightest bit guilty.
If he was superhero level in real life, there was no word to explain just how good Clint Barton was at killing animated enemies.
As concentrated as he was in the game, years of experience in his field of work meant he was still at least dimly aware of his surroundings, which was the sole reason he even noticed the sound of soft steps on the floor in the room. Clint allowed a quick glance to the side to ensure it wasn't anybody trying to murder him.
"Hey, Jess," he said, his eyes back on the screen now that he knew it was their newest and youngest resident. "Sup?"
"Oh, you know," came the answer from his left. "Same old, same old. Piles of homework, friends doing stupid crap, fictional characters giving me difficulties, a bunch of superheroes I live with. Nothing unusual."
Clint smiled. "Well, I wouldn't know, you see, because of the amount of hours you spend hiding out in your room," he said.
"Like I said, piles of homework," answered Jess (it wasn't even technically a lie, she really has been keeping herself busy with things that were not related to anything purple). "I'm still catching up."
"Still," said Clint. "You could come out every now and then to socialize with the people who saved your ass." He shrugged. "Just a suggestion."
He heard Jess chuckle. "Sorry. I will."
"Great. Now get over here, will you? I'm feeling stupid talking to you without seeing you."
Jess came into his view, sitting on the second couch which created a corner with the one Clint was sitting on. "You could just pause it," she pointed out with a grin. Now that he could actually see her, he noticed she was a little paler than usual. Not the palest he's seen her, but considering everything that didn't mean much. Her dark hair was braided unevenly behind her.
"I could, but that wouldn't be realistic," answered Clint. "You can't pause in real life and I'm not going to pause this, either."
"Are you claiming that the pausing is the unrealistic part of this game?" asked Jess warily, eyeing the screen with suspicion. "What the hell are you shooting? Are those supposed to be aliens?"
"They're mutations," said Clint exasperatedly. "And there's nothing unrealistic about them. I'm playing a very plausible scenario. Don't diss my game."
"Sorry," murmured Jess, raising her eyebrows. "Touchy."
"What's up with you calling things unrealistic anyway? Aren't you the one with her nose in a book half the time?"
"Admittedly," said Jess with a shrug. "But I read my books because they're unrealistic. Well, not only that, I also tend to really like the characters and I appreciate good writing, but that, too."
"You're such a smartass," said Clint, shaking his head.
"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."
"It is if you're gonna be annoying about it."
"Are you still annoyed that I called your mutations aliens?" asked Jess with a pout.
"They're not my mutations; they're just general mutations that are trying to kill me. And yes."
"Well, I already apologized, I'm not doing it again," said Jess. "Why are you playing it anyway? Don't you have enough of shooting mutations in real life already?"
"For the high scores, mostly," replied Clint.
"Ah," said Jess. "I see. So you're actually playing a video game seven hours straight because you're just that ambitious."
"That's right." He glanced at her briefly. She was looking at the screen, the bright colors reflecting in her eyes. He made a split second decision and paused the game, breaking his habit. "Wanna play?"
Jess's head turned so quickly her messy braid nearly hit her in the face. "Why?" she blurted.
Clint chuckled. "Because no one else in this place can play except Nat, and she pretends not to like it, and I didn't have a Player 2 in ages."
He could see the hesitation on her face. "I can't play, either," she said.
"Then you're gonna learn, and you're gonna learn from the best."
"Being modest, are we?"
Clint shrugged. "Come on," he said teasingly. "Don't you wanna be a big mutation killer like Uncle Clint? Have you no ambition?"
Jess huffed and moved to sit beside him. "This is peer pressure," she stated as he handed her the second controller. "You're applying peer pressure on a mentally not entirely stable teenager. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're going to regret this when I end up terrible and get us both killed by weird ass things."
"Mutations."
"Yes, I get it, Clint."
"Just making sure."
An hour later they were both still sitting there, controllers in hands, shouting and swearing colorfully.
"Move to the right, move to the right!" yelled Clint.
"Why are you saying everything twice?" Jess yelled back, hitting the buttons on the controller almost violently.
"Because you don't listen when I say it once!"
"I was surrounded, Clint, there was nothing I could d- holy shit Clint get that one it's fucking huge!"
"You get it, I'm busy!"
"How can you be busy?" shouted Jess angrily. "You're not doing anything!"
"I'm trying to get achievements!"
"How dare you pick a stupid achievement over my life? You got me into this mess, you get me out of it!"
"Just fight it!"
"You fight it! If I'm going down, you're going down with me!"
"Move to the left! Move to the- oh."
Jess sighed and leaned her back against the couch. "Dammit," she muttered as the game over message played across the screen.
"You really are terrible at this, aren't you?" said Clint with a grin.
"That thing was as big as your ego, Barton, don't you dare accuse me of anything."
Clint raised an eyebrow with amusement. "Now who's touchy?"
Jess rolled her eyes. "Shut up."
"Is that really the best you could come up with? 'Shut up'?"
"Give me a break; I've just been killed in a gruesome fight by something the size of an airplane." Jess sighed. "We were being really loud," she murmured.
"Hmm, yes we did."
"I swore a lot."
"Yeah."
"Aren't you supposed to tell me not to swear?"
Clint snorted. "Do I look like Pepper to you? Nah. Swearing is really not the worst thing you could be doing."
"That's always a good point," agreed Jess. "I could be a drug addict but I'm not, so how screwed up can I be?"
Clint seemed uncertain. "Not all drug addicts are bad. Have you seen Breaking Bad?"
"Yes, but I'm not ready to talk about it yet."
"Fair."
There was a moment's silence before Jess said hesitantly, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"
"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific, kid."
"I don't know, you said that thing about being Uncle Clint," mumbled Jess awkwardly. Clint looked at her and saw that she was picking at her nail nervously and looking back at him carefully. "Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "I'm being an idiot."
"Sure I meant it," replied Clint, cutting her short. She looked at him with those wide eyes of hers and he shrugged. "Look, kid, I can't pretend to understand what you went through. I don't know what kind of things go through your head or what kind of crap you've been forcing yourself to believe, but I can tell there's a lot on your shoulders, and that a certain amount of what's on them doesn't have to be. We weren't lying to you when we said we'd be your family if you wanted. You're a good kid, Jess. There's no reason we wouldn't want you here. Hell, I've just had more fun with you in an hour than I've had with Bruce ever since we met, and god knows I like the guy. You better believe me when I say we care about you." He paused. "Do you?"
Jess hesitated, but eventually gave a quick nod, not trusting herself to speak.
"Good," said Clint. "Now why are you really spending so much time avoiding everyone?" She looked up with surprise. "Come on. I'm not an idiot. You're not doing homework all day long, it took you two hours a day tops until a week ago. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll do whatever I can to help you, I promise. Don't you trust me?"
"I do," said Jess in a small voice.
"Then tell me. Whatever it is, it's okay."
He could see her hesitation, her struggle. The weight on her shoulders. Her hands were clenched into fists. She opened her mouth to say something, but then she closed it again, and he could see something go dim in her eyes.
"It's alright," she said quietly. "There's something wrong, but it's okay. I'm handling it."
Clint sighed sadly. He didn't like this. "Are you sure?" She nodded. "Just tell me this, then," he persisted. "Are you safe?"
There was that hesitation again; he could see it clear as day. That was definitely a bad sign. But then Jess said, "Yes, I am." Clint must've looked as unconvinced as he felt, because she added, "I promise." It didn't do much to help him relax. He wondered if he was being overly concerned. Somehow he had a feeling he was not. But as good as Clint was at his job, somehow that teenage girl remained a mystery to him.
"Alright," he said eventually and forced a smile on his face. "Up for a round 2?"
"Well, I actually do have homework," said Jess with an apologetic grimace. "Geometry; it's going to be the death of me."
"Do you need help?" offered Clint.
"No, thanks," said Jess, rising from the couch. "I'm trying to do as much as I can on my own. Then I feel like I won."
"Like you won… geometry?"
"It's my head, don't even try to understand it."
"Well, good luck winning geometry," said Clint with amused uncertainty.
"Thanks. I'm gonna need it," said Jess solemnly before turning around and getting back to her room.
When she reached it, she shut the door as fast as she could without raising suspicion any further. Taking a deep, even breath she let a flame dance in her hand, before extinguishing it. She closed her hand into a fist, praying she was as much in control as she thought.
The nightmare was vicious.
Jess learned there were several types of nightmares, something she wasn't quite aware of before. There was the basic type, the one everyone knew and remembered from their childhoods, which usually included odd yet irrationally unsettling dreams that stuck to mind for the next few days or so. There were the intense ones, which made you wake up crying and/or screaming. And then there were the ones that came most frequently for Jess, which were some kind of mix of the two.
Those made her wake up quietly, softly, opening her eyes and lying still on the mattress for several seconds, replaying the dream and curling up into a ball in her bed. These dreams were usually more or less logical, in one way or another, and even though they didn't make her react as extremely as the intense ones they left a dark pit in her stomach she couldn't always shake off.
That was the kind of nightmare that woke her up at 3:17 a.m. that night. It wasn't an eventful dream, just dark and filled with unbearable horror. She couldn't even remember most of it, only an image of herself with her eyes glowing and a purple flame in her hand. She was smiling, and there was a terrifying glint in her purple eyes. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her wish she could find it in her to cry.
Very slowly and tentatively Jess sat up in bed, then just as hesitantly left it and turned to wander the Tower. She didn't have a particular destination in mind, and she wasn't sure the wandering would help, but she just knew she wasn't going back to sleep that night. She had enough experience in nightmares to just know. She didn't know where she was going until she saw the soft light coming out of one of the rooms.
Her bare feet padded on the floor quietly as she turned the corner and walked into one of the living rooms. Clint was sitting there, controller in hand, a video game playing on the screen in front of him. She didn't stop in the doorway. Instead, she walked inside, sitting on the couch beside him just like she did earlier that day. Clint glanced at her, probably wondering what she was doing there at 3:23 a.m., or already guessing by her blank expression. Without saying a word, he picked up the second controller and handed it to her. She didn't think before she took it.
And so they played, for hours, without uttering a single word, and said so much.