brandingproblem | open post

It's less about wanting to do it--because god, yes, he wants to let someone (earn the right to) beat the shit out of him--and more about the timing. Ugh, they might have to have a conversation about the amount of hurt involved if he's supposed to recover enough in a day to not be hindered or distracted.

Fine, maybe they do a little sparring, he gets the wind knocked out of him, and then it's up and at 'em. Maybe break his nose so they have to crack it back in place and tape it down, but the swelling still might be a hindrance. Bruised ribs he can work through. Cracked ones, too, though he remembers the way Coulson gave him a stern talking-to about it while laid up in medical after.

Or just go into it blind and let whatever happens happen. Fuck it. Maybe that's the strat.

By the time Steve's done, Clint's curled on the couch with a blanket around him. Pretending to sleep.

Steve's pushing the timing. He's pushing the timing because any time he can get to Clint, it's going to be at best a couple of days. He's making assumptions, but Clint is going to have to move after he acts, and he can't see a scenario where Clint tolerates Steve trailing after him.

Steve would prefer a conversation. He'll live without one. It won't be totally blind, at least. He knows Clint, knows some of the shit he's done and worked through both with Steve and before him, knows more or less what his method is now.

What that translates to is, yeah, rib cage. Heavy bruising, maybe letting something crack but not break - that's easy enough to support. Upper back, but not shoulders, spine, or anything like kidneys - again with bruising, not breaking. Shit that he can make hurt a stunning amount but won't do any lasting damage.

This is absolutely a place where something like a HYDRA electric baton would come in handy, but he'll make it work.

He comes out of the shower smelling fairly strongly of soap, rolls his eyes at Clint pretending to be asleep (but silently), because no way did someone that tense fall asleep that fast. He does not call it out. He shoves the clothes he'd been wearing into a plastic bag and to the bottom of his pack and then takes the damn bed.

He does fall asleep. Not deeply asleep but an up and down thing where he dozes, drops to deeper sleep, rouses enough to orient and make sure he can still hear Clint breathing, and then drops back.

It's almost, almost annoying the way Steve refuses to push him. Maybe they really do need a fast and furious spar just to get something like a fight out of their system. It's what he would've expected, a fight. Just fucking fight him already. Tell him he's wrong, tell him he's being stupid and dangerous and fucked up, try to take him home or whatever the hell home might be now, and fight about it.

But Steve is smart and knows better. That that kind of fight, even if he were aiming for it (and apparently isn't), would make Clint run. And he wants Clint close. And Clint is fucking stupid enough to allow it. The little game of 'I know that you know that I know that you know that-' chess is exhausting, and he knows he can take Steve at his word. That's all he's ever needed from Steve. Just his word.

Steve's a good man, and it has nothing to do with purity or with a willingness to kill or not.

It doesn't make sleep come easily, though. Having another person in the room is...a habit he had fallen out of. His senses feel particularly attuned to each breath and all movement. If they both slept on their sides, they might even both be able to snuggly, tightly fit on the bed together. So of course Clint will stay right where he's at on the lumpy-ass couch.

There's a time deep in the night where, if Steve rouses, he won't be able to hear Clint. He's slipped out into the dark, where he can breathe for a bit. Really breathe in cooler air with the tang of salt on the breeze. Try to work out some of the ratcheted tension, try to meditate a little, try to recenter himself.

It at least makes him feel better by the time he slips back in, enough that when he's curled back on the couch, he feels like he can actually sleep instead of faking it til he makes it.

Steve could physical stop Clint. He could bodily remove Clint and drag him back 'home'. Steve can't get what he wants with force.

And he respects Clint too much - and cares too much - to try.

He's never in his life, not even with Bucky, had a single impulse to drag a person into bed with him the way he does Clint. He'll examine that one later - maybe. More likely he won't think about it but will try it after he kicks the shit out of Clint and gets him into a state that can substitute for more relaxed for a few hours.

He lays awake and quiet until he hears Clint come back in, then settles back into that interrupted sleep cycle. Sits on the edge of his bed and rubs his face with both hands. Sleeping in wet hair made a mess of it, and Steve does not care.

"Rise and shine, Barton." Not that he doesn't expect Clint to have woken up from the second Steve moved.

"Five more minutes," will not make a difference, because yes, he's awake enough to be aware of Steve moving, and he'd really like a coffee, and also would really like to sleep more, and he says it anyway.

He's got one leg over the arm of the couch, the other off the edge with his heel on the floor, one arm under his head for a pillow and the other currently over his eyes. The picture of sleeping beauty, clearly.

He lifts the arm after a few moments to glance at Steve. And his mess of hair. All that time away and getting rid of the good ol' boy Captain, replaced with the wanted criminal on the run, looks good on him. "Maybe even five more hours."

And actually being sleep and sprawled out looks really good on Clint. Enough to make Steve stop for a second and just look at him. Doesn't say a word, but there is... there is definitely a period there of looking without talking.

He is not having 'innocent' thoughts.

He rakes his hand through his hair, wincing a little when he rips through a tangle. "You've got until coffee's done." And if Clint doesn't have supplies here, Steve's got instant shit in his backpack, and will use it and hot water. It's awful, but he has priorities.

Odd ones given that caffeine has no impact on him - or maybe not, because routine does.

He keeps his eye on Steve for as long as Steve looks at him. And only drops his arm back over his eyes when Steve moves to do coffee.

That was a look that felt oddly difficult to discern. Sleepy fog brain needs coffee, that's what he'll blame it on. Gives a hum that's just this side of a whine and throws the sheet off him. "Guess I can't say no to coffee."

They can keep this up. They can keep this up until the mission, this bizarre parody of domesticity. The things they had gotten used to before everything went to hell.

Actually, he has no idea what Steve got used to while he was on the run. But before that. When they were still all Avengers. When there was still a Tower to consider something of a home base. When they would occasionally all live in the same spaces and exist in them and actually all act like friends that knew each other. That was a lifetime ago, huh? Several lifetimes.

"I got us dinner. Feel like breakfast can be on you. Depending on how good your Spanish is. Or lunch. If you want breakfast to just be caffeine." And protein bars.

Steve got used to a lot of things, but he also kept some kind of basic routine. Part of that is the 'parody of domesticity' - meaning as much of the mundane shit as he could manage.

Like coffee in the morning.

"My Spanish is decent," he says, rifling through the cabinets like he lives there to start coffee and find mugs. He figures it's fair game since this place isn't even really Clint's, just a place Clint's moved into for long enough to get a job done. "I'd probably suggest you not go with a heavy breakfast and wait for lunch, but it's your stomach. You want me to go out, I'll go out."

Meanwhile, though, once coffee is working, Steve goes back to his backpack, pulls out a protein bar and tosses it, underhand, across to Clint and comes back with an energy gel pack and second bar for himself. He tears the gel thing open with his teeth, immediately.

...He also got used to riding the edge of not being able to get enough calories to support his stupid metabolism, and finding some relatively low bulk, easy transport and consume, methods of compensating. Sam gets the credit for introducing them, though.

Thank god Steve packed for this trip. He doesn't know actually how long Steve's been traveling around trying to find him. But the man knows how to travel. So does Clint. None of this part is strange to them, as he catches the bar with only seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay, then you're on deck for either lunch or dinner. Guess it depends when you wanna do this."

He's certain he doesn't have to elaborate on what 'this' is.

Steve bites down on the packet, near the bottom and then just pulls it through his teeth. Swallows with a faint grimace, before he turns his body and physical focus to putting coffee together.

"I'm gonna go out and grab some food after I get coffee in me, then we can take a walk and to 'this'." This, that - no, he doesn't need it spelled out. "More flexibility on what we eat and when's not gonna hurt anything."

He's actually going to do a really light 'grocery' style run of food that can wait, so he doesn't have to leave to take care of it once they're back. Grab some pain killers for Clint while he's out there. "Anything specific besides food you want me to grab while I'm out there?"

His spanish is more than good enough for this.

Clint chews on his bar and simply stares at Steve for a while. Because. That sounds suspiciously like running errands in some kind of excuse to, what, get them to eat better? Take care of Clint? He supposes letting someone else be in charge of food means dealing with however someone plans on doing that. Making sure they can stay in as much as possible isn't the worst idea, no. Clint's just trying to see the ulterior motives.

"No."

Steve is perfectly aware he is being stared at suspiciously. He is also perfectly aware that there is no ulterior motive beyond... yeah, trying to take care of Clint, he guesses. Not a lot of benefit in leaving Clint alone later, when later he's going to be at least banged up. Definitely no benefit in adding any additional trips in and out.

Which is to say, Clint stares at him and Steve looks back and looks bewildered while he does it. He does not have a poker face. He's not saying anything, which makes it easy to ignore, but his expression's pretty clearly asking what the fuck.

"... All right, then." Then fills the mugs and hands one over to Clint, and leans back against a counter so he can drink his own, around getting his own protein bar down. It'll take him maybe three minutes and he'll grab his hat and sunglasses and go.

If it turns into a thing, Clint might start an argument. But he'll simply let it be for now. Coffee is blessedly coffee no matter where you go. Food will be something he doesn't have to worry about immediately. Steve going to run his little Take Care Of Clint errands or whatever means he's left to his own devices for at least a short while, and that...feels kind of nice, actually. Clint's perfectly fine with cramped, confined spaces for longer than anyone should be comfortable in, but suddenly having an old friend drop in feels strangely claustrophobic.

He'll 'enjoy' what counts as breakfast as much as he can savor the plain basics, wake himself up, and then go into his own morning routine which involves exercise. He doesn't need any fancy equipment or a gym to keep fit. (Though he misses it sometimes. He's not gonna keep any weights in his bag like he doesn't have enough to carry; he has to make due with his own body and the things around him.) He's in the middle of one-armed push-ups when Steve makes his return, and he thinks nothing of getting the door shirtless and a little sweaty and offering to help put things away or carry bags or...whatever. Hm. That sounds very stupid to him. But it's out of his mouth anyway, and that's that.

Steve does, belatedly, remember that he needs to put on street clothes along with a hat and sunglasses to go out. It doesn't delay his departure by much, at least. Just something he does around drinking the coffee and brushing his teeth.

He's gone a little longer than he necessarily intends, both due to not being super familiar with the area he's shopping and making sure the route back from that warehouse is one they can take easily.

And, you know, the shopping. Which is a maybe four or five bag deal. Eggs, oatmeal, cheese, milk, yogurt chicken type stuff and some prepared ingredients like precooked and season meat, shredded cheese, pico and tortillas that can be slapped together with no effort. Refills on some of his own shit like more protein bars and toiletries - and socks.

It is maybe a solid 24 hours worth of food, when accounting for Steve in the mix. The one thing there that is there soley for Clint's benefit is a bottle of naproxen, and Steve's not apologizing for that one.

He has no problem at all handing it over to Clint. He's strong. He still only has two arms and two hands. Though there's definitely a second there where he's pretty still and processing Clint shirtless (along with any new scars and the tattoo).

After that he throws his glasses onto the counter with disdain. "Those things bug the hell out of me. Just throw anything that's not food into one bag. I'll shove it in my backpack once the rest of it's put away."

"Fruitful haul. Not getting all the calories a growing boy needs while sightseeing, huh?" He's seen Steve eat. It could be considered a drawback of super metabolism for a super soldier super body, though Clint's of a mind that being able to eat a metric ton without consequences is a positive. Must be hell on a grocery bill, though.

He does as asked, chucking all the not-food in a bag, ignoring the naproxen for right this moment knowing it is definitely not for Steve, and shoves everything else in the space that's ostensibly a fridge. Steve will find there's not much in there to start with. Bottled water, mostly.

This is why he just bought enough to feed at least two people for at least a day, and didn't assume anything was there.

"I sure hope I'm past growing," he says, dryly. "The mess after Ultron- " Which is the only way he's referencing that outside of his own head, thanks, "-was pretty uncomfortable. This is just complicated tourism and making sure I'm not running in and out anymore than I have to."

He just drops the bottle of pain killers into his shirt pocket.

Then starts poking through bags and gathering his own stuff out of it, into one place.

Clint barks out something like a laugh. "If you were any bigger, I wouldn't have been able to lend you any shirts. The one I gave you, you barely fit in. At least Tony and Bruce are more my size. Thank god Thor had to go on some vision quest; I probably would've just loaned him a robe."

It's a positive to think about, when it comes to things relating to Ultron, so long as he doesn't think too hard on it or linger on it. Cramming the team in the house and trying to keep the kids from being underfoot.

Don't linger.

"Complicated tourism. I like that. I think I'll steal that phrase for myself."

"If we'd had to put Thor in one of your shirts, no one would've been thinking anywhere close to right," he says, dryly. "Might've kept me from fighting with Tony, though." He's not dwelling, either. Or lingering.

Not flinching away, either, though.

"Steal away. I'll never say anything that concise again." And now that he's got his stuff, he goes and just crams it into his backpack and slides that backpack under the bed. "You have anything besides a shirt you need to grab before we head out?"

"Every seam and stitch would've ripped the second he flexed. I gave you something with stretch to it, at least."

He could go on. It's making him think of other things, and if he lets that dam burst, they might not make it anywhere. So he takes a moment to gather himself back up, grab a couple of those water bottles to throw in a bag, and then grabs a shirt. Give himself enough time to mentally tidy up. Shore up defenses. Steel himself.

"Better I don't bring anything but my own charming self. You don't need me cutting you up." He gives Steve a sidelong glance. "Unless you do."

At absolutely no point in the process of planning this has Steve considered that question, even indirectly.

What he wants to do is sit down and have a blunt conversation with Clint - about limits, lines, and desires. He's not gonna do that, because so far if he's figured nothing out, it's that there are more hard limits on what Clint trusts him enough to talk about than on his physical safety.

So, he's left trying to figure out both whether he wants a blade involved for his sake - and solid pain sounds pretty good to him right now too, but that's not the same thing - and how that changes the interaction with Clint, and Clint getting what he will admit to needing (or at least not deny wanting) out of this.

And to do it fast enough that Clint doesn't start feeling awkward or reading ulterior motives and traps into Steve's silence.

He shoves the sunglasses back on his face.

"Bring it. I'm not gonna go out of my way to let you land hits, but if you manage to I'll enjoy it." When in doubt, go with the truth. ...once he's worked out what the truth is, anyway. Might as well take as many of the 'safeties' off as they can.

They know each other well enough to trust there will be no accidental killing blows. Their reaction times are too good. They know to aim for body shots rather than head shots. It means Steve trusts Clint not to gut or decapitate him, and Clint trusts Steve that he means it when he says he'll enjoy it, however temporary the wounds might be.

So he snatches up the handle, slides it in a pocket, and nods. "Long as it's just you and me and not a single other soul. Lead the way."

"If anybody else is there, they showed up without an invitation and we've both got a problem." He heads for the door and then out of the building. Leading the way. "Hopefully our response is to handle that problem, not make more."

Clint has as good an idea as anyone on this planet, and better than most, exactly what will put him down. What he'll heal, what he can't, and what kind of shit and circumstances will slow that healing down. He's not worried on that level. Bloodied up is what he expects and he probably will get a clearer head for it.

Clint getting twitchy and turning on him before an intruder... he will get worried about if anyone shows up.

"I don't think company's likely. Especially not during the day. Activity out there is the sort more likely to pick up after dark."

Handling the problem and making more problems are concepts they might have different definitions of. He doesn't really care if anyone sees them fighting. That's a duck your head and pretend you didn't see anything situation. He cares about if someone sees a white boy with a fucking katana on the streets of Mexico looking like he knows exactly how to use it.

So sue him, his weapons of choice tend towards being oddball as modern gear. A giant metal frisbee of death would be even more identifying, so at least that's left behind.

"Sounds good." Clint has the better idea about the local warehouses, the ones used for the shadier businesses, the ones more legitimate, the ones left out of use for a while. If there's company, then yeah, it's completely coincidental.

"You miss the fight?"

The world, the universe, is a lot smaller now. Crises still happen, but nothing Avengers-worthy since. Not with everyone busy with their own problems.

"Something you can really sink your teeth into?"

Steve doesn't care if they're seen fighting. Steve cares if someone else tries to insert themselves into the fight. He can think of very few reasons that would happen, much less of ways for those to happen, but it's just about (not wholly, but close) the only scenario there's a problem for him.

At least the only weapons involved are Clint's knife, anyway, and yeah that simplifies a lot.

The question while they walk is fair, but it's another one of those things that makes him look at his own shit a little more than he necessarily enjoys. He doesn't flinch from the answer, dress it up or soften it at all, though. For all the same reason he didn't hold back much when they were sitting on Clint's kitchen floor.

"I miss feeling like there was a reason I was alive." The fight was just the thing filling that role since he woke up - and the thing he was good at.

Edited 2024-11-11 23:13 (UTC)

"You gotta give yourself a reason to still be here." And alive, yeah. But also the random fucking happenstance of still being here instead of dust.

Because this wasn't the first thing Clint did. He didn't vanish into the darkness and the next day become the Ronin. He had to craft this, bit by bit, until he realized what would make his existing feel more worthwhile. Give himself a reason, else there is no reason.

"You can't wait for someone to hand one to you anymore."

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