Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enough is enough 

Clint tossed his duffel bag out the window and it landed with a soft thud. He checked his door one more time and then climbed out of his window carefully and into the tree beside it, slowly making his way down as he had a million times before when he snuck out to get some space and fresh air. 

He was more careful than usual, knowing that he was working with what might very well be broken ribs and possibly a concussion. His left hand was aching and his grip was weak, so it took him three minutes to get down to the ground instead of his usual one and a half. 

Once he was down, he picked up the duffel, sliding the strap across his body despite its protests. Once more he glanced back at the house. The lights were off, everyone was asleep, he could do this. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, his eyes still glued to the window belonging to his parents’ bedroom. He watched it for a moment longer and then slowly stepped away, walking backwards at first, his eyes still fixed there. 

Once he reached their driveway he turned and he ran. 

The closest bus stop to their home was a ten minute walk, which translated to about a five minute run though he wasn’t going as fast as he usually could but still he pushed himself. If he missed this bus, the next one wasn’t for another two hours according to the schedule. 

He’d found it online sometime ago and then watched from his house to confirm its accuracy. Living in the middle of nowhere, he could see a good distance in all directions and now the corn stalks were the only things providing him cover from his father and he was using that to his advantage if Harold were to look out the window now. 

Clint stayed close to the side of the road for that reason. He wasn’t worried about traffic. It was a small town and it was three in the morning. People around here were asleep at those times. There was nothing to do in the city after ten and if you were out past then, you earned yourself a reputation, so few people did it. 

Clint hated living in a small town. Everyone knew everyone but there was nothing cosy about it. It didn’t feel like a tight-knit community, it felt like his own personal hell. Everyone knew Clint, son of preschool teacher Edith and the town’s favorite mechanic, Harold. And because Harold had been around a lot longer than Clint and was so beloved, what he said was law and that meant his son was a good-for-nothing delinquent. 

And people treated him as such; giving him looks and whispering noticeably when he’d walk through the town. He felt like a pariah in the only place he’d ever known and for what? Because his father was a shit stain of a human. 

Clint ground his teeth and carried on, ignoring the stabbing pain in his left shoulder and the way his hand ached. Nothing was going to stop him from leaving. 

For the last seventeen years, Clint had endured daily abuse from his father. Mostly physical, Harold wasn’t a man of many words and after a while the same insults and accusations became like a fly buzzing around Clint’s head and he could ignore it. There were only so many times that it could really cut deep to hear him call Clint useless, or worthless, or a waste of space. 

No, the verbal abuse Clint could take. Even the emotional abuse and he could go toe-to-toe on his best day but the physical abuse was… well, Clint was at his limit. He had been for a while and tonight was the final straw. 

He had been planning to run for a while—a few years, in fact—but having somewhere to go had always been the problem. What good would it do him to get out of this house only to die on the street in a place where no one knew him? Those were practically the same thing to him, there was no lesser of two evils. 

Six years ago the beatings got even worse. Clint… well, Clint knew why but he didn’t like to think about it. Ever.

So instead he chalked it up to his own failings. He was a klutz, he had a disability—albeit caused by Harold—and Harold made sure to remind him just how unwanted he was with each and every hit, slap, and kick. 

Ever since then Clint had spent his free time planning how he would get away but the destination had always been the big question mark, the thing keeping everything on hold. 

Until now. 

He finally reached the bus stop and dropped the duffel onto the ground, breathing hard, his side screaming in protest with every deep breath and the rest of his body also joining in to make known its objection to whatever Clint was doing. 

He checked his watch. He had five minutes before the bus arrived. He’d cut it too close but he was here and that was what mattered. 

The bus stop was nothing more than a sign and a hard, metal bench and tonight of course had decided to be especially chilly. Clint zipped up his jacket though he knew it wouldn’t do him much good. It wasn’t great quality but it was better than nothing. He tugged his beanie down further and then slid his hands into his pockets, once again ignoring the pain in his hand as he did so. 

He hadn’t taken the time to properly examine his injuries yet. Clint had come home from work, tired and just wanting to crawl into his bed, but his father had other plans. He was already four beers in by the looks of it and when Clint walked in, he demanded another case be brought in from the garage. Clint, feeling bold and stupid, had said no. He said Harold had had enough for one night. 

The last thing he truly remembered was the look of utter terror in his mother’s eyes as his father got up and stormed over to him. Not long after he was peeling himself up off the floor. Harold demanded he clean up the blood before he went off and once that was done, Clint went upstairs and started packing. 

He had planned to do this next week but it wasn’t like he hadn't memorized the schedules for every day leading up to then just in case of a situation like this. Most beatings were painful and usually ended in Clint blacking out and waking hours later to a dark house, everyone else gone to sleep and himself still wherever Harold had left him. 

His mother used to help but Harold had quickly beat that habit out of her and now she was just kind of… empty. Every now and then, Clint would see glimpses of the woman he remembered or he’d see the fear and worry in her eyes for her son, but she hadn’t put herself between her husband and her child in a very long time. A part of Clint couldn’t help but resent her for that as much as he tried not to. 

Tonight’s beating had been different. Clint realized that he had never truly understood the phrase ‘beat someone within an inch of their life’ until tonight. He was probably four inches from there but still much too close to risk dying tomorrow when he could escape tonight. 

He raised a hand up to his face as bright lights suddenly appeared around the bend and the bus approached, groaning to a halt in front of him. He gathered his things, deposited in the fare, and took his seat. It was just him and a man at the back asleep. Or passed out. Either was possible. 

He sat at the front near the driver and looked out the window, anxiously chewing the inside of his cheek. There were a lot of What Ifs going through his mind right now. What if Harold realized he was gone before he could actually get away? What if someone else recognized him and held him until Harold could come pick him up? What if— 

He shook his head, trying not to fixate on the worst case scenarios. He knew the plan and the plan would work. They had gone over it at least a dozen times and he knew that his worries were unlikely to happen. Though that didn’t stop him from glancing back at his house until it was out of sight, making sure the lights stayed off. 

When he got to the bus station, he headed straight inside, his head down as he avoided eye contact with anyone inside. Most of the people were drunks or addicts and they weren’t paying Clint any attention. Though there were still security guards. He risked a glance up to see one of the guards asleep in his chair and the other beside him on his phone. He quickly passed by them and headed for the ticket office. 

“Hi,” Clint said. He didn’t recognize the man at the ticket office, which was strange. Clint knew the people in this town as well as they knew him. Though he wasn’t ever really in town after dark. Maybe he didn’t know Graveyard Shift Waverly. “A ticket to Cleveland, please.” 

The man looked up, eyeing Clint for a moment and then he looked almost… sad? If that was what he was seeing, it would certainly be a first. 

The man continued to stare and then looked back to his computer screen. 

“One way?” he asked. 

Clint sighed in relief. Now was not the time for anyone in this town to grow a conscience and suddenly worry about Clint’s wellbeing. 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Of course. I’m never coming back to this hellhole 

“That’ll be $28.76,” he said, printing off the ticket before Clint could even take out the money. He slid the ticket under the plexiglass and offered Clint an apologetic smile. 

“Have a good trip.” 

“I—”

“Platform two. It leaves in fifteen minutes,” the man said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Take care, kid.” 

Clint put his wallet away and took the ticket, offering the man a nod. “Thank you.” 

Seventeen years in this fucking infected scab of a town and now I get my first act of kindness? Well, better late than never 

Clint made his way for platform two—it wasn’t hard, there were only two—and looked around. From here he couldn’t see the ticket office and the station felt deserted. If a tumbleweed blew through right now Clint wouldn’t even bat an eye. 

He spotted a vending machine and decided to load up on snacks for the trip. He hadn’t been able to grab anything from the house because he couldn’t risk another trip downstairs. All he had was a bottle of water that he’d had in his room and a long trip ahead of him. 

Stocked up, he took a seat on a bench at the far end of the platform behind a pillar. He didn’t want his face to be on cameras, he didn’t want to be easily spotted, they had planned this out so well that it actually helped to calm him a little. 

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the bus driver turned the engine on and pulled the bus up, opening the luggage storage although it was still just Clint. 

Clint took his bags on board with him. Keeping things close and accessible was just smart. 

As he settled into a seat at the back of the bus by the window, he flinched every time he heard someone come running into the station to catch the bus. There were only four other night owls out traveling late and thankfully they all sat at the front and none of them seemed to be his father. 

When the bus driver finally closed the doors and pulled out away from the station, Clint unclenched his jaw and his fists. Once they were on the highway and he couldn’t even see the town anymore, the tension melted away and Clint was left with a sudden lightness that caught him completely off guard and before he even knew what was happening, he was crying. 

He was free.

“I did it,” he whispered to himself, crying into his hands. He curled up in his seat and allowed himself this. 

He hadn’t cried in a long time. Perhaps a tear or two would escape mid-beating but afterwards? No, he hadn’t cried about it in a long time. Instead he was angry and determined and tonight that determination paid off. 

Clint was jolted awake when the bus hit a pothole. His neck felt stiff but he wasn’t sure if that was just the aftereffects of Harold or because he had fallen asleep against the window. 

He looked out and squinted into the daylight. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep but after a quick glance at his watch he realized it had been almost six hours. He wasn’t really shocked. After that cry, he’d felt incapable of keeping his eyes open and it wasn’t like he slept all that well normally anyway. 

He took his phone out to check his whereabouts. They were about twenty minutes outside Dayton, Ohio, and then another three and a half hours to Cleveland. He felt a sudden giddiness run through him at the thought of having put so much distance between himself and his father. And not just any distance but secret distance. Harold had no idea where Clint had gone or where he would go next. 

With that on his mind, he checked again to make sure his father couldn’t see his phone location nor contact him, staring at the number on his blocked contacts list. He put it away after it started to make him feel anxious and decided to try out some of his snacks as his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten dinner last night either. He’d been too sore. 

He was trying to decide between some kind of off-brand honeybun or a strawberry nutrigrain bar when his phone vibrated and he almost dropped everything. He could feel his pulse speeding up and the instant cold sweat covering his body but he put his snacks down and slowly picked up his phone, relief washing over him as he read the name. 

Natasha: Are you okay? Did you make it? 

Natasha: Clint please text me back 

Clint stared at the message for a moment, feeling the smile on his face slowly growing. God, he couldn’t wait to meet her in person. 

Clint: Sorry, I’m okay. I made it. Got another few hours until Cleveland. 

Natasha: oh thank god I’m so relieved. You were supposed to text me as soon as you got on the bus ! [angry face] 

Clint: I know, my bad. I was just a little… overwhelmed 

Natasha: feels good, doesn’t it? 

Clint: like I’ve been trapped under water all this time and can finally breathe 

Natasha was the only person on earth that Clint trusted. Coincidentally, she was also his only friend and they had met in the least trustworthy way possible—over the internet. 

Contrary to what Harold Barton would have people believe, Clint had quite a few talents. One, though, far outshone the others—he could hit anything. Not punching but throwing, shooting. And not guns, a slingshot. Clint hadn’t met a target he couldn’t nail on the first try and after his mother bought him his first slingshot in secret, it had become something of an obsession. 

It was his thing. He enjoyed it, it was just his, and Harold knew nothing about it and it made him happy. Clint didn’t travel and he didn’t eat delicious, fancy foods. He didn’t have any pets either so he used his Instagram to showcase his shooting talents. 

One day five years ago, Natasha commented on one of his posts. Interestingly enough, she had been interested in his slingshot skills but it was the combination of a particularly cool shot and the music Clint had chosen to post over the video that finally grabbed her interest. She had never heard anyone else play the group Clint had posted and turned out to be just as much of a music junkie as Clint was. 

There was a lot of back and forth in the comments and then the conversation moved to direct messages, and then to texts, and then to FaceTime. It didn’t take long before they were talking to each other every day, calling and texting. Clint would call her on his way home from work so she could help him keep it together knowing what was waiting for him. Nat would call Clint when she felt especially lonely or just missed him because, for a while, Clint was also her only friend. 

He loved her—they loved each other—but it was platonic, not romantic. It hadn’t even been considered for a moment. It was like they just knew they were meant to be best friends. Clint had never believed in soulmates until now because he had never considered that they could be platonically bound to one another. Destined to meet and be intertwined in each others’ lives without romance. It was exactly what they both needed. 

On a call once, when he had been unable to hide his latest injuries from her, she had firmly asked him what was going on and how she could help and he explained bit by bit until he had told her the entire story and was sitting there in tears. That was the last time he could remember crying before last night. 

The next time Natasha called him after that it was with a plan and an offer for Clint. 

Natasha: I’m glad to hear it. Your room is waiting for you 

Clint: I know you said don’t but Tasha I can’t thank you enough 

Natasha: get your butt to me in one piece and that’ll be thanks enough, alright? And call me when you get to Cleveland, I gotta get back to work now 

Clint: you got it, talk soon [heart emoji]

Clint held his phone to his chest, hugging it tightly. It was a placeholder for Natasha until Clint could pull her into a bear hug in person. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, feeling tears coming on again but he forced them back down. 

Five more days and Clint would meet her. He would be in his new room, in his new home with Natasha and her other friends. He would be somewhere safe and he would finally be able to live his life. 

+

The hostel was nothing fancy but it was central, cheap, and had a door that locked. And, thinking about the nights when Harold had gotten angry and locked him out, it also wasn’t the most uncomfortable place Clint had ever slept. 

He’d paid a little extra to get a single room. He didn’t trust people generally so he certainly didn’t trust them enough to sleep in a room full of them or leave his things unattended during the day. But it wasn’t like it was a huge splurge and even so, Clint had managed to put away a decent amount of money and actually—though he never would—he had Harold to thank for it. 

When he’d turned fifteen, Harold had decided that Clint was, for all intents and purposes, grown and needed a job in addition to school. He also made him pay for his phone and even give Harold rent, despite the fact that they owned their home and paid no landlord. 

So Clint got a job at the gas station. It paid alright, allowed him to work evening and night shifts after school, and for the most part, didn’t require him to have a lot of social interaction, for which he was grateful. 

He didn’t go out, he didn’t eat out, he didn’t have a social life, so everything he didn’t use to pay his pills, he was able to save and now he wasn’t flush with cash but he could make his way to Natasha without an overly strict budget to add to his list of worries. 

The room was small but it had everything he needed—a bed, a closet, a sink. The toilet was communal and located in the hallway but it was a small price to pay for something he’d never really had—privacy. 

He put his things away, showered, and changed and then climbed into the bed to nap. He’d slept some on the bus but a real bed would be nice. Even if the mattress did feel like a piece of stale toast and the pillow was conspicuously lumpy. 

He sat up for a while, texting back and forth with Natasha who was on her lunch break now and telling her his plans for the rest of the day. She said she would FaceTime him once she was back home and then wished him a good nap. 

He set his alarm so he wouldn’t sleep the day away, pulled the blanket up, and closed his eyes, drifting off quickly. 

The plan was four days in Cleveland and then he would catch the overnight bus to New York on the fourth night. If he had left next week like he had originally planned, it would only be one night in Cleveland but since he left early, the next bus to New York wasn’t until then. Although a quick google let him know there wasn’t a whole lot to do in Cleveland, it was nice being somewhere else on his own. Now that he was safe, he didn’t feel the need to rush through the rest of the trip. 

Now he could just live and he wanted to start immediately. 

Feeling refreshed from his nap, he decided to get out and explore. It was a warm summer day and he walked at a leisurely pace, taking in the sights and sounds, ignoring odd looks he got. 

He’d finally taken a good look at himself in the mirror before his nap. He looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a rockslide. He had a black eye on the left side, a long cut along his cheekbone under his right eye, and a pretty nasty-looking busted lip. There had been a little bit of blood under his nose and in his hair that he had missed the first time around and honestly, no wonder the ticket man had taken pity on him. 

His ribs didn’t seem to be broken but there was a huge bruise across his right torso and right pelvis and smaller cuts and bruises were dotted all around his body like he was a living game of twister. 

It hurt. It hurt a lot but it wasn’t like a part of Clint wasn’t used to the pain. It felt, well, normal. And when he really thought about that for too long he could put himself in a very dark mood, so he did his best not to. 

Now he focused on the hotdog he had bought to enjoy on his walk around town, finding a bench to sit on and do some people-watching. Every now and then people would double take when they glanced at him and he always expected to be met with rolled eyes or angry expressions or pure indifference like he was back home, but each time instead he was offered a small smile and he honestly didn’t know what to do with that. 

He offered smiles back but he was sure they looked a bit off. He wasn’t used to smiling at people he knew, less so strangers. But he wasn’t his father nor his brother, and he knew how to be kind. In fact, it was something he prided himself on. 

No matter what Harold had done to him, damaged though he may be in many ways, he was not broken . Harold had never broken him, had never turned him into a hate-filled monster like he was. 

Clint had issues. Oh boy, did he, but he had never given up or in. And at the end of the day, he thought that that might’ve been what made Harold hate him so much more as he got older. 

He shook his head again to try and change his train of thought, instead watching two kids chase each other around the park where he’d come to sit and eat. They were screaming and laughing and it warmed Clint’s heart. 

No, he wasn’t his father and he never would be. Clint was going to be a good man, a good person, to and with everyone he met as far as was possible. 

+

Clint came downstairs to head out for the day. He was trying his best to not waste the morning even though sleeping in was also a new thing in his life. Plus, he had seen a delicious-looking breakfast place yesterday and they only served pancakes until eleven. 

As he passed through the common room of the hostel, he looked around the room and someone sitting on the floor in the corner on the far other side caught his attention. 

He looked to be on the younger side with wild, curly brown hair and a light brown complexion. He was curled up tight in his corner, knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His hands disappeared completely into the oversized sweater he had on over a polo shirt and beside him was a backpack so worn and tattered he was surprised it hadn’t fallen to pieces. 

But what really caught his attention was the boy’s face. Not because of his attractiveness—because, if Clint was being honest, he was quite cute—but because of the way he was staring down at the floor, his eyes wide and unfocused. 

He looked vacant, like he was a thousand miles from the here and now but it wasn’t daydreaming-vacant, it was numbness. Clint knew the feeling. He’d retreated into before himself, sometimes not talking for days on end, and that was what this looked like but worse. 

And then there were the cuts and bruises. 

His jaw had a big, purple bruise spread across it and there was a cut across his eyebrow, still bright red and angry-looking. He had a few more scratches and bruises on his face and then his hands too were spotted with injuries, much like Clint’s own. 

Clint didn’t need anyone to tell him that this boy was in the same situation as he was. He only wondered if he was actually free or was he here with whoever had hurt him? Did he need help? Could Clint even help him? 

He hesitated, taking a half-step towards him. What would he even say? What would Clint want someone to say to him? Maybe he should start small. 

“Hey,” he called but the boy didn’t react. He took another half-step and then repeated himself but slightly louder. The boy flinched and then looked around the room like he wasn’t sure where he was. Finally his eyes raised to meet Clint’s but his expression remained devoid of emotion. 

Clint swallowed. 

“Hi, uh, I’m Clint and I—”

The boy stood, grabbed his backpack, and walked off, brushing right past Clint and heading back towards the bedrooms without a word. 

Clint couldn’t do anything but watch after him until he couldn’t see him any longer. He took a moment to process what had happened before he turned and continued on his way to breakfast. 

“I tried to make a friend this morning,” Clint said, wiping the pasta sauce away from his mouth with a napkin as he looked up at his phone. He had found a decent Italian place that did take out and wasn’t too expensive. He brought it back to the hostel so he could eat and FaceTime Natasha while she also enjoyed her dinner. 

“Oh?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “How’d that go?” 

Clint laughed. “About as well as you would expect it to go. I mean… I don’t know. He just left. Didn’t say anything.” 

“What made you be Mr Social anyway?” 

Clint shrugged. “He looked so alone, Nat. And hurt.” 

“Physically hurt or…?” 

“Yeah, both. All of the above. A little hopeless. And young. I don’t really know what I was expecting but I barely got my name out before he just… left.” 

He fell quiet, staring down at his food. What was the boy going through? Clint hadn’t been able to tell if he was angry or sad or annoyed, nothing. He had just looked blank and distant. 

“Keep trying,” Nat said. “You’ve got a couple days. If you see him again, start small. Just greet him. A hello goes a long way. That’s what I did with Tony.” 

Clint nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll try. How is he now?” 

“If I can get him away from Steve for five seconds, I’ll ask,” she laughed, glancing over her shoulder to talk to someone who had knocked on her door. “One sec, radnoy, Nick is calling my name.” 

“Tell him hi,” Clint said, watching her nod and then disappear, leaving him with just a view of her room. 

He was oddly already very familiar with it. She’d given him tours of it each time she changed something and he wondered if it would feel strange at all when he was there in person or if it would be like finally unlocking a memory. 

He was actually pretty familiar with the entire house already and had met some of its other occupants briefly when they passed by Nat while she was calling him or giving him a tour. 

The house was owned by an older man named Nick Fury, an eccentric millionaire whose husband had passed away a few years ago. He had been coming home late one night when he was jumped by some kids and Nat had spotted it. She was living on the streets then. She’d run away from the last orphanage where she’d been given back to and had decided that the streets were better than being treated like an item that could be returned. 

She saw what was happening and took pity on Nick, scaring off the other kids and helping him up. She’d helped Nick to a nearby store so they could call an ambulance and then disappeared, not wanting to wait for whatever awful reaction he was about to have to this dirty, homeless child. She had had enough of that for one lifetime. 

But then he came looking for her. Roaming the area and asking around until he found her, thanked her, and took her out for lunch. And then he took her to a gym owned by a friend of his where she could shower. And when she came out, he asked where she was living. It took a lot more than one visit and a few kind deeds, but he won her trust and eventually, adopted her himself. 

Legally, she was his daughter, he treated her like his daughter, and as far as Clint could tell, she felt similarly even if she never actually said the words. He could tell that she loved Nick, and, even more than that, she trusted him. Behind his gruff exterior, he had a big heart. Like Nat. 

That all happened about six years ago when Nat was eleven. Fast forward a few years and Nat had ‘adopted’ a few more siblings. She didn’t extend the invitation to just anyone but she had a knack for finding the good ones in a bad situation. 

Three years ago she’d met Steve fighting in an alley. He was small, probably didn’t even weigh ninety-pounds soaking wet, and yet protecting a stray cat from some kids trying to hurt it. After getting to know him, he was the first person she asked Nick to allow to move in with them. 

Next had been Tony. She’d found him a year and a half ago on a late night run. He was sitting on the side of a bridge staring down at the river, tears streaming down his bruised and bloodied face. She’d talked him down and brought him home that same night. He’d fought her invitation and her kindness for a while, running away all the time, but Nat found him each time, gave him whatever he needed in that moment and left him alone until he came back on his own.  

He and Steve had started dating about a month ago. 

Clint would be the latest of her runaways collection and he couldn’t wait to get there and finally be somewhere where he felt he belonged, where he felt wanted and appreciated. 

“Okay,” Nat said, plopping down on her bed again and offering Clint a smile. “I’m back.” 

“Hey, Clint,” Clint heard Steve call out as he passed Nat’s room though he couldn’t see him. “Can’t wait to meet you!” 

“Hi, Steve!” he yelled back loudly and Nat scrunched her nose at the volume. “Ditto!” 

Yeah, he couldn’t wait. 

+

Following Nat’s advice since nine times out of ten she was right, Clint decided he would greet the boy again if he saw him. He hoped he would see him. It occurred to him now as he headed downstairs to go find breakfast that maybe he was gone already. And honestly what were the chances of him being in the exact sa—

“Oh,” Clint said aloud, looking over at where the boy had been yesterday only to find him in the exact same spot again. 

He was sitting with his body pressed tightly into the corner of the room, a cushion under him, his backpack held tightly in his arms and that same blank stare. The cuts and scratches didn’t look as red and irritated today but his mood didn’t seem to have improved at all. Not like Clint thought that today he would be sunshine and rainbows but at least he didn’t look worse. Hopefully that meant he had gotten away from whoever had put those marks on him. 

“Hey,” Clint called, waving a hand to get the boy’s attention. 

The boy looked up slowly, his eyes taking a moment to focus on Clint. His gaze swept up Clint from his feet to the top of his head and then dropped back down to meet his eyes, his lips tugging down into a frown and eyebrows knitting together. He blinked twice, confused. 

“Uh, hi?” Clint tried again, taking a step closer and the boy flinched like he had been struck. Clint moved back immediately in response and raised his hands to show he wasn’t hostile. “I’m Clint.” 

The boy stared at him for a few seconds, his expression darkening, moving away from that blank, emotional void it was yesterday to something hard and angry. 

“What do you want?” the boy snapped, his voice much too hard for how young he seemed. It also sounded a little hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. 

“Nothing. I, uh, I just wanted to say hi.” 

The boy narrowed his eyes, pushing his glasses up further on his face and brushing a stray curl away from his eyes. Clint noted that his glasses were taped in the middle. 

“Leave me alone.” 

“Yeah, sure. Okay, no problem. But if you need any—”

The boy stood and stalked over to Clint, tilting his head up to look at Clint. He really was small. Clint hadn’t noticed just how small yesterday, too surprised by everything else going on, but the boy’s head only reached the middle of his chest. 

“Alone. Leave. Me. Alone,” he repeated angrily. For someone so small, he managed to make himself impressively terrifying. 

He huffed angrily and then stormed off again. 

As much as he wanted to say ‘message received’ and leave him alone, he also couldn’t. Not when he looked like that. Not when he sounded like that. Clint only had another two days here and he was no miracle worker nor was he Nat. He wasn’t good with people. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what not to say. 

Even so, as he turned his head to watch the boy leave out the front door, he felt determined to at least find out his name. Maybe swap phone numbers. It was still something, right? 

That evening Clint saw the boy in the common room again, wished him a goodnight but got nothing in return. The next two days were much the same. The boy was always downstairs in the common room when Clint came down. Clint greeted him but he didn’t speak back. He only looked up, sent a glare Clint’s way, and then looked back down at the ground or at his book. 

Today was the last evening Clint would be spending in Cleveland. It had been a nice experience, interesting for sure. Would he ever come back to Cleveland? Eh, probably not, but he was still happy he got to experience it. It was still a new place that he never would have been able to see if he hadn’t left and for that reason, he would probably always have a soft spot for the city. 

As he came downstairs to check out, his backpack on and duffel slung over his shoulder, he tried to practice what he would say to the boy. 

He stopped as he got to the door, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. He put on his friendliest smile and walked through the doorway, his eyes going straight for the boy’s usual corner only to find it empty. He wasn’t there. He was gone. Clint had missed him. 

He couldn’t totally explain it—maybe it was because he could tell the boy was going through something and knew from experience how valuable having a friend to help you was—but the idea of never seeing the boy again, of never knowing whether he was alright or got to wherever he might have been going, made Clint incredibly sad. 

He could feel the way his chest was tightening and his eyes stinging. He blinked a few times to get rid of the feeling, swallowed past the sudden dry ache in his throat, and made his way to the front desk to give in his key. 

Outside the city felt a little less than. Less than what he wasn’t sure and he wasn’t even sure what exactly that meant but it was how he felt. Odd how much of an impact strangers could have. 

He made his way to the bus station after grabbing a few snacks and some water from a 7-11. He had another fifteen hours plus two bus changes ahead of him. He really wasn’t looking forward to the trip but he couldn’t wait to arrive at the destination. 

By the time he found his bus, people had already lined up to board so he joined the line and waited patiently, grateful that he wasn’t putting his bag into the cargo area because then he was able to get on a little bit earlier. 

It was pretty packed, which he should have expected for a NYC-bound bus. The back, his usual go-to, was completely taken and most of the window seats as well. He sighed and then spotted an empty window seat, making a beeline for it, so relieved to have found the last—

“Oh,” he said, stopping when he realized that it wasn’t empty, its occupant was just too short to be seen over the tops of the seats. “Hi. Can I sit here?” 

The boy looked up at him and Clint only barely stopped himself from grinning outright. He had a feeling that that would only make this worse so he contained it to a small, friendly smile. 

The boy sighed. “I realize I can’t stop you.” 

Clint stuffed his duffel underneath his seat and sat down, his backpack on his knees. He wasn’t going to wait for the boy to change his mind, so he acted quickly and once he was situated he turned to him and said, “I guess this works out well. It’s a long trip and at least I know you won’t want to make small talk.” 

The boy turned to look at him for a moment and then frowned, turning away to face the window and curling up tightly in his chair. He slipped an old pair of wired earbuds into his ears and Clint let out a soft sigh. 

I tried  

He unzipped his own bag and pulled out his over-the-ear headphones and his book of crossword puzzles, putting his music on shuffle and opening the book to the page he’d dog-eared. It wasn’t long before the world around him disappeared and it was just him, Matt and Kim, and his trivia. 

They had been driving for about an hour when Clint paused, tapping his pencil to his lips as he silently read a crossword clue. He was good at these. He’d always been good at retaining information, both important and unimportant. 

But now he was stumped on an area in which he wasn’t exactly an expert. Pop culture, history, geography, and even languages he was pretty good at but science and math? Clint knew it was such a cliché to suck at math and science but he did and there was no point in pretending he didn’t. The sciences he could understand once it was explained to him but math always went in one ear and out the other.  

He leaned back, chewing the inside of his cheek as he racked his brain for the answer. Maybe he had heard it once in class or on television. Read it in a book? 

He looked down again at 23 Across and read the clue: Latin word for “bridge” in relation to the brain.  

Honestly, he had no idea. He’d come back to it later and hope that he could fill it in using the clues from the answers around— 

Clint turned when he felt a tap on his shoulder to see the boy staring at him. When had he turned around? Clint didn’t even know but he seemed intent on the crossword and tapped it with his finger. Clint slid one side of his headphones off. 

“Huh?” 

“Pons.” 

“What?” 

“The answer. To the Latin one. It’s pons. P-O-N-S.” 

Clint looked down at the crossword, at the answers surrounding it, and then wrote in what the boy had said, turning to him after a second. 

“Uh… thanks.” Clint hesitated, unsure but desperately wanting to keep the conversation alive if it was possible. “How did you know?” 

The boy looked away, seeming shy but at least not angry or vacant. He was quiet for a long enough time that Clint turned away from him and went back to the crossword, pausing his music so he would hear if the boy did decide to speak again. Maybe he would answer in his own time and Clint didn’t want him to feel pressured. 

“I really like science,” he finally said. 

Clint turned and offered him a soft smile. “Oh? That’s really cool.” 

Something in the boy’s expression changed. A bit of that defensiveness faded, there was a small smile on his lips, and his eyebrows went up in surprise.  

At what, Clint had no idea.

Clint felt a little more confident in offering conversation now. He moved the crossword onto his left knee and tilted it slightly towards the boy. 

“You know this one?” he asked, pointing to a question about positively charged ions. 

The boy shifted tentatively so he could see a little better and then answered as he pushed his glasses up with one finger. “Cations.” 

“Sweet, thanks,” Clint said, filling it in. It fit perfectly. “Hey, and you’re welcome to say no of course but, um… you wanna finish this one with me?” 

The boy wrung his hands nervously and Clint couldn’t help but notice the cuts and scratches on them now that he was closer to him. They weren’t too different from his own. Clint’s left hand was still pretty banged up too but the stiffness was beginning to subside. 

“I, uh…” he said, swallowing and then looking up at Clint. “It’s yours. It’s okay.” 

“I know it’s mine. And since it’s mine I can offer to share it with you, right?” 

“I… yeah—yes,” he corrected himself immediately, a tremor running through his hands. Clint recognized that kind of behavior. That ‘waiting to be hit’ dread. 

“In that case, you wanna?” 

“Yes,” he said, the word coming out crisp and clear. Clint made a mental note of that. He might not ever get an explanation but it didn’t hurt to be optimistic. 

“Sweet. Alright, just jump in whenever you know one, okay? I mean that.” Clint used the softest tone of voice he could without sounding patronizing. 

The boy nodded but said nothing, his eyes scanning over the crossword. His glasses slid down his nose as he read and he absently pushed them back up. Clint almost smiled at the sight of the sweater-paws but managed to keep his face under control and turn his attention back to the crossword. 

He filled in two he knew and then pretended to be stumped, tapping the pencil against his lips again. 

“Um,” the boy said, and Clint didn’t look at him but lowered the pencil, hovering it over the page as he waited. “17 Down is ‘relativity.’” 

Clint filled it in without a second’s hesitation and then thanked him. After a moment, the boy piped up again, pointing to 7 Across and then 14 Down. 

When they had nearly finished it, the boy spoke again but this time it wasn’t to give a crossword answer. 

“Clint, right?” 

Clint nodded, allowing himself to smile this time as he turned to the boy. “Yep, that’s me.” He didn’t push him for his name. He would let him give it when he was comfortable doing so. They did have at least a four hour trip ahead of them, more if the boy was also headed for New York City. 

They finished the crossword and then the boy leaned back, seeming sad. 

“You all crossworded out? ‘Cus I’ve got the rest of this book to do, so if you wanna do another one with me, I’d love that.” 

The boy perked up, again adjusting his glasses. Clint wondered if they had never fitted or if it was just because of the break and they had been poorly repaired. He was all too familiar with receiving things that didn’t necessarily fit him just because they were cheap. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, here.” Clint handed him the book. “You pick the next one. Each one’s got a different theme. I think there’re others with science questions too.” 

“I-I—are you sure?” He held the book in his hands as if Clint had just handed him a newborn baby. 

Clint nodded. “Very. Pick whichever you want.” 

The boy’s expression hurt Clint’s heart a little. He seemed so surprised, so utterly shocked at Clint’s words. Clint would never try to compare situations but damn. What had been done to this kid? 

But then again, Clint had a Natasha and his Natasha had most definitely put in the hours to convince Clint that he deserved better and that he mattered. Maybe this kid didn’t have a Natasha. 

Well, then, he could have a Clint. 

Finally, the boy chose one. The theme was the ocean and Clint handed him the pencil. The boy froze again, hesitating to reach out and take it but he did and then started filling in the blanks as he and Clint worked out the answers together. 

It was at least an hour and three crosswords later that the boy spoke again. 

“Why are you so interested in me?” 

His voice sounded small and nervous. 

Clint let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I noticed you were by yourself and I was trying to be nice. I’m a little rusty with social interaction. Sorry.” 

The boy looked up, brushing another rogue curl away from his eyes. “It’s okay. Me too. I just, uh… I didn’t understand. I’m not used to attention. I thought you were making fun of me.” 

Clint’s heart hurt a little more as the boy continued to talk. He wondered if this was how Natasha felt in the beginning when she was talking to Clint and he was still hiding the details of his home life from her. Was he also so obvious about it? Did he also say things that raised red flags for her and made her want to grab hold of all the people who had ever hurt him and shake them?

“No, no. Definitely not. I’ve been bullied enough in my life to not go around doing it to others.” 

The boy snorted and Clint turned to him. “S-sorry,” he said immediately, flinching away from Clint. Did he think Clint was about to hit him? “I just… I can’t imagine anyone bullying you.” 

“No need to apologize,” Clint said gently, making sure to keep his hands still. “And yeah, I’m sure you know what I mean when I say kids can be evil. Teenagers are just slightly worse.” 

“I do,” he agreed, his eyes still focused on the crossword they were doing now. 

He chewed his bottom lip for a moment and then looked up at Clint who was waiting and offered him a warm smile, trying to silently encourage him to speak. 

“Did some teenagers do that?” He pointed with the pencil to Clint’s hand that was mostly still a deep purple with blue and yellow splotches around the edges of the bruise. 

Clint lifted his hand and looked at it, the memory only a few days old so very, very fresh and vivid in his mind. Harold grabbed him by his shirt and threw him roughly onto the tiled kitchen floor. Clint’s head hit hard and he tried to crawl away and that was when Harold stomped on his hand, still in his heavy work boots. Clint remembered crying out in pain and then more insults before his father told him to clean up his mess. 

He tucked his hand away into his hoodie pocket and swallowed past the lump in his throat, not sure if he wanted to cry or scream. He suddenly remembered that he had been asked a question and hadn’t answered it yet. 

“I, um… No... no. Teens didn’t do this.” He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. 

But thankfully it seemed he didn’t have to. 

“Ah,” the boy said, twisting the pencil in his hand, his own bruises fully on display, “adults can be evil too.” 

Clint simply hummed in agreement and they fell back into their comfortable balance of silence and filling in the crossword. 

Eventually, Clint took out a snack, offering some to the boy but he declined, taking out his own food. They closed the crossword for now and ate in silence. 

“Um,” the boy said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and quickly glancing over at Clint nervously, “my name’s Bruce.” 

“Nice to meet you, Bruce.” 

“Likewise.” He gave Clint a small smile, the first one he had seen on the boy’s—on Bruce’s —face. It was nice, it suited him really well. Clint hoped to see it again and hoped even more that he could be the reason why it was there. 

They chatted for a while, talking about neutral topics. They discussed where they had learned a certain piece of crossword trivia and they talked about their impression of Cleveland. It was the first city either of them had been to that wasn’t their hometown. Clint found out Bruce was actually from Ohio, from Dayton, and he told Bruce that he was from Waverly, Iowa. 

They talked about the hostel, Bruce telling Clint that he was always up early and in the common room because there were three other guys in his room with him and socializing had never been his strong point. Finally Clint knew why he was always there. 

By the time they reached the next station where they had to change buses, they had been chatting on and off for nearly three hours. It was comfortable and simple; they didn’t dive into any heavy topics nor did they clash on the things they did talk about. 

And now Bruce seemed a lot more comfortable as they stood in line to get on the next bus. 

“Hey,” Clint asked, standing behind him. Bruce turned. “Sick of me yet?” 

“What?” Bruce asked, genuinely worried, his big brown eyes growing wide. 

Clint laughed. “I’m only kiddin’ but, uh... can I sit next to you again?” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, and this was one of the first times that he didn’t hesitate after Clint asked him something. That made him smile. “I’d like that.” 

After they found their seats and got comfortable again—Clint noting that Bruce only had a backpack with him and making another mental note for later—Clint dug into his bag and pulled out another snack, sour gummy worms, offering it to Bruce who wrinkled his nose but took one and hesitantly put it into his mouth, chewing slowly. 

“Good?” 

“It’s almost 3am, why is this your go-to snack?” 

Clint grinned. “Well, it all started when—just kidding. Uh, I used to work at a gas station before I left and I worked graveyard shifts on the weekends so I’d do anything to stay up. I didn’t wanna overdose on coffee so I went for sugar and well…” He held up the colorful package as if to say and voila . “I’d try any candy but these are my favorites.” 

Clint tilted the package towards Bruce who eyed it and then took another, this time a blue one, chewing it slowly but wrinkling his nose in distaste again. 

“I prefer the other one.” 

“What? Here I am offering you a fine dining experience and you have the nerve to be picky?” 

Bruce looked nervous for a moment and Clint almost apologized and assured him that he was joking but then his expression cleared and he smiled, and then he laughed. It was a short, sweet sound but dammit if Clint wasn’t already thinking about what he could say to hear it again. 

Somewhere around the two hour mark of this leg of the journey, Bruce fell asleep, his head rested against the window and Clint knew he was going to wake up with a crick in his neck at the very least and a headache at the most. He almost reached over to put his scarf between Bruce’s head and the window but that felt like a bit much and he didn’t want to touch him without asking first. Clint knew he valued people asking first and could only imagine that Bruce did too. 

Clint let out a sigh and put on his headphones, trying to get over the weird feeling that he was still in Iowa just going in circles in this bus. He would be happy when they were in New York and he could look outside the window and know for sure that he was somewhere else. 

Right now with the open, empty fields surrounding them there was nothing to distinguish rural Pennsylvania from Iowa. Once they were looking at that famous skyline, he’d be able to rest easy. 

Clint looked away from the window and decided to stare up at the bus ceiling instead to ease his paranoia.  

The bus took a sharp turn and Bruce landed on Clint’s shoulder, still asleep. Clint froze, determined not to move or wake him. 

From this angle, he was even cuter and his hair was a bigger temptation than Clint had expected. He just wanted to touch one of those soft-looking curls but he could resist. Even so, he couldn’t help but study his face. Thick, dark brows sitting perfectly over long, dark lashes. The gentle slope of his nose, ending in a cute little button nose and the softest-looking pair of lips, his bottom one slightly bigger than the top. His cheeks were dusted pink over his light brown complexion, making him look so young but now up close Clint thought that perhaps he was a little older than he’d originally assumed. 

Clint felt a tiny smile on his face and then turned away from Bruce and closed his eyes, drifting off too. 

Clint braced himself against the seat in front of him with one hand, his other moving outwards instinctively to hold Bruce in place and honestly, he wasn’t even sure where the instinct came from but he was happy it was there. 

The bus came stuttering to a halt, a loud bang sounding and Clint wasn’t sure if it came from the exhaust or the engine but either way it didn’t sound good at all. 

Clint turned to see if Bruce was okay. He looked terrified and Clint realized that Bruce was holding onto his arm. 

“It’s okay. Probably just an overheated engine. These buses are all really old,” Clint reassured him. 

Bruce inhaled slowly through his nose and it came shakily out of his mouth. “Yeah… yeah. I—oh, sorry.” He let go of Clint’s arm and Clint pulled it back into his own lap. 

“No worries. I didn’t hurt you, did it? I swung my arm out kinda hard.” 

Bruce just shook his head, craning his neck to see the front of the bus. Everyone was talking now, all having been rudely woken by whatever was going on or at the very least caught by surprise. 

“Hey there, folks,” the driver said over the loudspeaker, “just having some engine trouble. I’m gonna hop out and take a look-see and I’ll update you as soon as I can. For now, just sit tight. I’m sure we’ll be back on the road in no time.” 

People began to relax slightly and Clint watched the bus driver, an older man with greying hair, get out of his seat and exit the bus with a flashlight. 

They were in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Clint thought where he lived was nowhere but this really took the cake. There wasn’t a building or light for miles in any direction. Fields of corn and tall grass flanked them on either side and the road went on in a straight line seemingly without end. 

Apart from the headlights on the bus, the only other sources of light out here were the moon and stars.

It made him anxious, bringing back that feeling of never really having left Iowa. He swallowed dryly, tugging at his shirt collar that suddenly felt too tight. 

It would be fine. They would be on the road again in no time, that’s what the driver said. Clint would make it. He would. He had to. 

He was brought out of his own near-panic attack when he noticed Bruce’s building up. He was breathing shallowly and shaking ever so slightly. Clint’s eyes dropped down to his lap where he was kneading his hands so roughly Clint felt himself wince just imagining how much it must hurt. 

“Hey,” Clint said softly, reaching out but then hesitating. What if touch made it worse? “Can I touch you?” 

Bruce turned to him slowly, wide-eyed and out of it. “Huh?” he asked, another tremor going through him that made him look like a terrified kitten. 

“Can I?” Clint asked, his hand hovering over Bruce’s. 

Bruce looked at their hands for a long moment and then he made eye contact with Clint for a split second before dropping his gaze and shaking his head. 

“No problem,” he said, dropping his hands back into his own lap. “Look, it’s gonna be ok—”

“Uh, hiya, folks,” the bus driver said over the loudspeaker, interrupting Clint’s reassurances, “so it looks like the engine’s died on us. Unfortunately, we’re gonna have to wait on another bus. It should be here in a couple hours and then we’ll make the switch and continue on towards our destination. Sorry for the inconvenience.” 

“Um,” Clint said, swallowing past his own sudden flare up of anxiety to try and comfort Bruce whose trembling had gotten worse. “Okay.” 

He needed a minute to round up his chaotic thoughts, all of them talking at a hundred words per second and none of them on the same topic. A very, very irrational part of his brain almost sent him into shut down mode at the idea that Harold was somehow behind the engine failure and was just waiting for Clint to notice him. Just in case, Clint took a good look at the bus driver who was standing now to help people off the bus. 

Definitely not him but he had to be sure. 

He exhaled shakily, wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans and turning to Bruce who still looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“Some people are getting off,” Clint began softly, “you wanna get some fresh air? We’ve got a few hours.” 

Bruce nodded and Clint stood, grabbing his stuff. 

“You’re taking your things?” 

“Um.” Clint didn’t really want to say yes, I am because I don’t trust anyone as far as I can throw them because that might have a negative impact on his budding friendship with Bruce. So instead he simply said, “Yeah.” 

Bruce chewed his lip for a moment. “I guess we have to change buses anyway.” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Clint said, throwing his duffel over his shoulder and maneuvering his way down the aisle and off the bus. 

A few people were out sitting on the side of the road chatting and snacking, others were taking their luggage off the bus. Clint wanted somewhere a little quieter both for his sake and Bruce’s. He pressed up on his tiptoes and saw that just a little ways into the grass was a clearing. He explained it to Bruce who seemed grateful for a quiet, private spot and followed him to where they dumped their things and plopped down onto the soft grass. 

Clint ran his hands through it, grabbing handfuls but not tearing it out, just enjoying nature. As excited as he was for the city, he knew he would miss wide open landscapes like this. He would miss the tranquility of it all and being able to see as many stars as he could. He’d once FaceTimed Natasha in the middle of the night from out in a field and showed her the sky and she was shocked. There were too many lights in New York City to see the stars like that. 

He would also kind of miss Bruce. It was odd because they had only introduced themselves to one another properly a couple hours ago but he seemed like a nice person. Or maybe Clint’s standards were just low. But that didn’t feel right either because he had Natasha to keep his expectations in check. Bruce was just… interesting. Good interesting. 

He turned to him only to find him leaned back, his palms flat on the grass and head tilted so far back Clint was sure his glasses would slide off. He was looking up at the sky, his lips parted slightly, and with a look of awe and appreciation so pure that Clint smiled. 

“I’m guessing you like astronomy too?” 

Bruce turned, smiling and adjusting his glasses. “I love it.” 

“Know any constellations?”

Bruce nodded, swallowing before he asked, “See that there?” 

Clint tried to follow Bruce’s finger, leaning more over into his space and Bruce seemed fine with it. 

“I think.” 

“Okay, wait. See that box of stars? The four here?” He traced the outline with his finger slowly two times and then Clint nodded. “And see the three rows coming off this side and the one off that side?” Again Clint nodded. “That’s Pegasus.” 

“Wait…” Clint tilted his head, envisioning it. “Oh, wow. That’s so cool. Know any more?” 

Bruce glanced quickly at Clint. Whatever he saw in Clint’s expression made him continue, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

Clint laid back in the grass and Bruce laid beside him, the bus and its occupants far enough away that their conversations and laughter barely registered. Instead it was just the sound of the wind rustling the grass around them and Bruce's soft voice telling Clint about the stars. 

It wasn’t long before drowsiness won out and they fell asleep in the grass, Clint sprawled out and Bruce curled up tightly into a ball beside him.

Chapter Text

Clint woke groggily, his neck hurting but overall it wasn’t the worst condition he had woken up in nor was it his first time waking up outside. As he sat up, it took his brain a moment to take in his surroundings and panic flashed through him as he turned, expecting to see his house in the distance but instead he saw… 

Bruce.  

His name took a second to come back to Clint and then once it did he squinted and realized Bruce was talking. Talking and pacing and he seemed frantic and Clint couldn’t for the life of him understand what was happening. 

Bruce came a little closer and his mumbled words began to register. 

“No, no, no, oh my gosh, no,” he was saying over and over with sprinklings of other worried phrases in between. His hands were clasped together and he was kneading them roughly, Clint could see how red they were from where he was sitting. 

He stood, his legs feeling tingly and heavy, and hobbled over to Bruce. He was just about to speak when he saw it and his brain finally clicked into gear. He froze, unable to move or speak. 

There was the road. Totally empty. Even the broken down bus was gone and so was everyone else. 

They must have slept through it and no one saw them there in the grass. He checked his watch. It was two hours past when the driver said the bus was supposed to arrive. 

“Oh, shit.” 

Clint dragged a hand down his face, breathing into it and looking around. Oh, shit, what were they going to do? Where were they going to go? They couldn’t hitchhike. Hitchhiking was like buying an express ticket to Murderville and they certainly couldn’t stay where they were. 

They were in the middle of nowhere! 

He turned to Bruce who was teetering along the edge of a panic attack and Clint decided to focus on what he knew how to do and worry about the rest afterwards. 

“Hey,” he said gently, careful not to touch Bruce. “Bruce.” 

Bruce looked up, his eyes were wide and terrified. He wasn’t hyperventilating, he wasn’t rocking back and forth, he was just standing there, a tremor shaking his tiny frame every few seconds but otherwise now totally silent. He looked like he had just seen a ghost and that ghost had told him how and when he was going to die. 

“It’s going to be alright.” 

Did Clint know it was going to be alright? No, not anymore than he knew who would win the World Cup this year or the Super Bowl. He had no clue if they would be alright. This was a complete first for him. 

And sure, a lot of what he was currently doing could be classified as ‘firsts’—running away, seeing another city, traveling—but getting stranded in a field in Pennsylvania with a boy he hardly knew was not something Clint had planned for. Everything else he was experiencing for the first time he at least expected. 

Even so, he had never been the panicking type. Panicking never helped, stressing never solved anything, and these were lessons he’d learned early on. He could panic all he wanted about the beating he knew he was going to get once he got home, or he could at least try to ignore it and face it head on when the time came. Panicking only robbed Clint of the few good moments in his life so it was something he did his best to avoid. 

“Bruce, you with me?” 

Bruce dropped down onto his knees, his arms folded over his chest and hands digging into his side, gripping handfuls of his shirt. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, and it was clear that he was not hearing Clint. Not properly at least. 

Bruce did not seem to share Clint’s anti-panic philosophy and that was alright. Clint knew what to do in situations like this thanks to Nat. 

“Hey,” he said softly, plopping down across from him but still with enough distance that he couldn’t accidentally touch him and make things worse. “Bruce.” 

Bruce looked up at him and Clint seized that moment of moderate clarity. 

“Name five things you can see.” 

Bruce’s mouth opened and closed a few times and then he finally got out his first word. “You.” He paused, licked his lips, swallowed, and then listed off four more. 

“Good. Great job. Okay, now four you can touch.” 

Again Bruce paused and stuttered but he got there and then Clint was asking for three things he could hear, two he could smell, and one he could taste. 

“The gummy worms from last night,” Bruce said, his shoulders lowered. He was still nervously wringing his hands but slower and with less force. 

It was a little while longer before Bruce had fully calmed and in the meantime Clint sat a bottle of water beside him and a packet of crackers. Bruce eyed the water and then tentatively opened it and drank some, leaving the crackers untouched. 

Clint walked to the road, trying to get a better idea of his surroundings. Were they really so far from civilization or could he see a town or a city in the distance? Was it within walking distance? Were they near a bus depot? 

He remembered at that moment that he wasn’t a pilgrim and he had a phone with cellular data and a map. He took it out and paused before looking down at it slowly, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach at the idea of it reading ‘NO SIGNAL.’ 

He cracked open just one eye to look at the phone. 

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed, almost doing a little dance at the sight of the three bars and data connectivity. His phone even had a seventy percent charge left on it. 

He did a quick search and found that they were quite a ways from the next Greyhound bus depot but only a twenty minute walk from the next town over with a place to stay with vacancies and a grocery store. They could do that. 

He turned to find Bruce standing now, dusting grass and dirt off of his pants and seeming more coherent although still wringing his hands nervously the moment he was done picking grass off himself. Clint went over to him. 

“You okay?” 

“Not really, no,” he snapped, looking down at his backpack. 

“I have a plan.” 

Bruce looked up then, anger in his eyes that Clint hadn’t expected. “You have a plan? Oh, well, whoopty-doo. Your plan is what got us stuck out here in the first place! You wanted to come sit over here!” 

He moved more into Clint’s space, the anger subsiding and making way for more stress and worry that was poorly concealed as anger. 

“I just wanted to keep my head down and go to New York. I just wanted to get away from here. Not make friends, not—but no, you had to play savior to the sad loner kid, didn’t you? What? Hoping you finally found someone whose life sucks more than yours?” Bruce snapped again, his hands in tiny fists at his sides. 

Clint didn’t react or respond. For one, this was nothing compared to what his father had been spewing at him for the last seventeen years. And for two, he recognized this kind of lashing out. He knew it wasn’t really pointed at him. Bruce was angry but more than anything he was scared. 

Clint had done this before too to Nat, especially in the beginning. Sometimes he was so fed up with school or his father or just life in general and he would lash out at her. Sometimes with no catalyst and sometimes because something she asked or said struck a nerve or brought up feelings Clint would have rather repressed until he died. 

So just as Natasha did with him, he stayed quiet and calm and let Bruce rant and get it out of his system. Bruce was scared. He just wanted to get away from his abuser and here was a sudden unexpected and seemingly impossible obstacle. He had every right to be upset and it was better he get it out now rather than later. 

Once Bruce was done, tiny chest heaving, Clint bent down to pick up his own backpack and sling it over his shoulder. Despite knowing it wasn’t directed at him, despite having had worse said to him, being yelled at still left him feeling shaken and he saw his own fingers tremble when he reached for his bag. 

Bruce seemed to have realized that he’d just let loose like that and he stepped back, flinching at Clint’s proximity, obviously expecting a negative reaction to his behavior. 

Clint picked up his duffel next and said, “It’s okay. I’ll get you out of here and where you need to go. Then I’ll leave you alone. I owe you that much.” 

He turned and started towards the road, not leaving Bruce room to argue and still giving him the choice to follow though he hoped he would. Clint worried about him but he also didn’t want to do this alone. 

They walked down the road in complete silence and Clint was grateful for the overcast weather keeping them from being sunburnt on top of everything else. Especially since he had realized that, yes, they were a twenty-minute walk from the next town but if they were aiming to get to a bus depot then the direction they needed to go meant a forty-minute walk to the next town. 

Clint had explained this new travel time to Bruce a few minutes ago while checking the map and Bruce simply nodded, staring down at his feet as they walked. For once, Clint decided to just leave him alone. If Bruce wanted to talk, he could and if he didn’t that was his choice as well. 

In the meantime, Clint checked in with Nat who wanted proof that he had arrived at the next stop and was changing buses. He had texted her last night about the broken down bus scenario and that was the last update. He sighed to himself and started typing out his message. 

Clint: you like surprises, right? 

Nat: you know I can see your location? Why are you in a field in PA ? 

Clint: surprise [confetti emoji] 

Nat: Clinton Francis Barton 

Clint: yikes government name

Nat: Clint. 

Clint: i fell asleep in the grass last night while looking at constellations with cute angry boy from the hostel and we missed the new bus so we’re walking [peace sign emoji] 

Clint stared at his phone, waiting for a response but none came. He didn’t even get typing dots, just the words Read 11:45AM and Natasha disliked the message . A minute later her reply finally came through. 

Nat: please be careful 

Clint: pinky promise 

He put his phone away, not wanting the battery to die before they got to where they were going. 

“Why are you running away?” Bruce asked, breaking his twenty-five minute silence and finally looking up at Clint. 

Clint knew he was running away and had been planning to run away for a while but it was still one of those things that felt foreign. It felt like something that only happened in movies and now here he was doing it. Running away. 

“To put it simply, my father’s a dick. Why are you?” 

“Same,” Bruce said quietly. “I’m sorry I yelled.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” Bruce said, pushing his glasses up onto his nose as he looked up. “I know that body language.” He made a sweeping gesture to all of Clint. “I never wanna make someone feel the way I do when he yells, so I’m sorry.” 

Clint nodded and then said, “Thank you. Apology accepted.” 

Bruce offered him a small, guarded smile and then went back to watching his feet move along the road. Clint allowed the silence to continue, checking his phone to see how much longer they had to go and then checking his chat with Natasha. 

He didn’t think she was angry. She was definitely annoyed at him and he couldn’t blame her because he was annoyed at himself. She was probably off strategizing, trying to find a way to get Clint out of this mess he had made and doing what she always did and looking after him. 

“How old are you?” Bruce asked all of a sudden without any prompting or warning. 

“Why?” Clint shot back reflexively. Making friends was new to him. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone asking him questions for any benevolent reasons, let alone personal questions. People back home always had an agenda and no matter how much he wanted to like Bruce, he should still be careful. 

“Just curious.” 

Clint’s hand around his duffel bag strap tightened. He knew there were benefits to being wary of people and to being cautious but he also knew it was a good way to stay alone and lonely. 

He sighed. “Seventeen. You?”

“Sixteen,” Bruce responded. 

Clint’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He was sure Bruce was going to be fifteen at the most but maybe even fourteen or thirteen. 

“I know,” Bruce said with a resigned sigh, “I look really young.” 

“I—” Clint searched his brain for something else to say but in the end he just shrugged and said, “Yeah. I, uh. I did think you were younger.” 

Bruce brushed a curl away from his forehead as he said, also with a shrug, “Everyone does. I thought you were older. Another reason why I was worried at first.” 

“I… Yeah, I get that a lot too.” So Bruce at first thought he was a creep in addition to a bully? Cool, cool, cool. “I think my height throws people off. Did you have a hard time getting your bus ticket and everything?” 

Bruce played with the fringed edges of his sweater and didn’t answer. Clint didn’t push. Obviously there was some story connected to that question and Clint understood if he wasn’t up to sharing that with this near-stranger he’d met in a shady hostel. 

However, Clint did change the subject, hoping Bruce would keep talking because the silence was getting to be too much and they still had another ten minutes before they would reach the edge of town, let alone a place where they could find some food or better yet, another hostel. 

Speaking of hostels, there were things they needed to figure out. 

“Would you be okay sharing a room with me?” Clint asked, adding, when Bruce looked over in shock and confusion, “I just figured it’d be cheaper to split the cost of one room rather than book two. Especially if there are only motels and no hostels. I didn’t really plan for this extension when I was calculating my budget.” 

“Oh. Um, okay. I just… are you—are you normal?” 

“What?” Clint asked with a surprised laugh, the word coming out almost on its own and way too loud. It was a weird mix between a laugh and a gasp. 

Clint continued to stare when Bruce added nothing else to make himself understood. 

“Dude, what?” Clint repeated. 

Cue nervous hand-wringing 

And that was exactly what Bruce started doing, looking away and then taking a deep breath before meeting Clint’s eyes again. 

“I have never left my hometown. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to other than my mother in weeks. I don’t… I don’t have a lot of experience with strangers or friendships or socializing. I don’t—I don’t do this,” he explained, gesturing to the two of them, the road. and their bags, “every other weekend. I’m smart—like, really smart—but none of that matters right now because knowing how to explain what a ligand-gated ion channel is can’t help me figure out whether you’re a good person or if you’re planning to murder me.” 

Oh  

Clint stopped walking and took a moment to think. How could someone prove they were a good person? Was Clint even a good person? Good was kind of relative though, wasn’t it? Harold Barton must have thought that he was doing something good in the way he was raising Clint. But Clint thought he was doing good by leaving and those two contradicted each other. 

“I, um… look, Bruce, I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m good or normal. Both of those feel too subjective. I didn’t plan any of this, if that’s what you think, and I sure as hell ain’t planning to do anything bad to you. I’ve committed too much to never becoming like my father to turn around and start being an asshole now. That’s just—that’s just not my thing. I don’t think I’m a bad person and I am weird, but in a fun way. I think. Does that help?” 

Bruce said nothing. 

“We don’t have to share a room. I was only suggesting it for the sake of saving money. You don’t even have to stay where I stay or come with me. You can make some calls or your own plans once we get into town if you want,” Clint told him, “‘cos I don’t know how to prove that I’m not insane.” 

When Bruce continued to say nothing, Clint sighed. 

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I didn’t have ‘get lost in the middle of Pennsylvania’ on my to-do list. I’d be happy to be halfway to where I’m going by now and not stuck out here with no knowledge of this state other than cults and the Fresh Prince. I don’t like this any more than you do and I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation. That’s all.” 

Bruce eyed him for a moment and then said, “It’s also freaking me out that you’re so calm about all of this.” 

“All of what?” 

“This! All of this! The bus being gone, us walking forty minutes in the middle of nowhere, staying in a strange town, rooming with a stranger. Why are you so calm?” 

“Because panicking doesn’t help. It does nothing but make me feel terrible in an already shitty situation. What’s the point?” 

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it again. Clint waited patiently but after a minute Bruce started walking and Clint continued beside him. 

“Are you normal?” he asked. 

“What? Me?” 

Clint nodded. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Clint was not a trusting person. A little voice in his head had been screaming internally this entire time trying to make him extra paranoid. What if Bruce wasn’t as harmless as he seemed? What if he wasn’t going to hurt Clint but he would rob him in the middle of the night instead? Clint was the one most at a disadvantage here because he’d be unable to hear while they slept, his hearing aids needing to charge. Bruce could do something to him and then what?

“Well, I…” Bruce trailed off, his hands gesturing but no words coming out. 

“Yeah, it’s a hard question, isn’t it? Now you know how it feels,” Clint said with a snort. 

Bruce looked over, his lips quirking up into a cautious smile. “Alright, yeah, it’s hard. I don’t know how to prove it either.” 

“So now what? If I can’t prove it and you can’t prove it, what should we do?” 

“I… I don’t know.” 

“Well, my offer still stands. You can share a room with me at the cheapest place available or you can do your own thing.” 

Bruce said nothing, he just did what he’d been doing the entire time and stared straight ahead, his hands clasped together but for once not moving. He chewed the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking, perhaps debating the pros and cons. 

Trust issues aside, Clint didn't want to part ways. Again, partly for selfish reasons of not wanting to be alone but he really did worry that Bruce might not be cut out for something like this. 

But he also couldn’t think of a good enough reason for Bruce to stay other than to potentially make a friend but it didn’t seem like that was really in the cards. 

They made it to the town without ever having said another word. Clint wasn’t sure Bruce was going to stay with him at this point because it didn’t seem very likely. He thought they had had a decent time on the bus doing the crosswords, chatting, star-gazing, but apparently that hadn’t done anything to show Bruce that Clint was a normal human and, in all honesty, he understood. 

Who really thought they could trust a stranger on a bus in the middle of nowhere just because they had done a few puzzles together? 

After a few minutes they spotted a clean-looking diner and decided to stop there and grab a bite to eat, both of their stomachs growling for a real meal that their backpacks full of junk food could not satisfy.

They slid into a booth facing each other and picked up their menus, the only words between them so far an agreement to choose that diner. 

“I’ll have pancakes and a side of bacon, please. And a black coffee.” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” the older waitress said, writing down Clint’s order in her notepad. “And for you, hon?” 

“Um.” Bruce hesitated. “Can… can I have pancakes too? And eggs? Um, scrambled?” 

“Of course you can. Would you like a glass of milk with that?” Bruce nodded. “Coming right up, you boys sit tight. And I’ll be back in a sec with your drinks.” 

She brought Bruce’s milk and Clint’s coffee over and after Clint had taken a long drink of the steaming hot liquid, he settled back against the booth and said, “Not used to doing whatever you want yet?” 

Bruce tore his napkin into tiny pieces as he spoke. “No, definitely not. It’s kind of terrifying having so much choice.” 

“Yeah, I know the feeling. For what it’s worth, you made some good choices. Pancakes are a top tier breakfast food. I’ve had them every morning since I left,” Clint told him with a smile. 

He remembered a time when his mother made pancakes. A time that felt so long ago and disconnected from his current life that he sometimes wondered if he had just dreamed it and wanted it so bad that he created a false memory, if that was even possible. Sometimes he’d eat the microwave pancakes they sold at the gas station but he didn’t dare go into town and eat at a diner. He knew word would get back to his father and only a beating would be fair punishment for such carefree spending and slacking off. 

Clint felt his jaw flex, his teeth pressing together tightly and he took a breath to relax himself and tried to change his train of thought, looking around the diner instead. 

It was small, nothing special. It was something he could easily imagine being in his hometown’s center but the people were nicer. Or at least their waitress was. 

“So, um,” Bruce began, and it was so weird to think that such a fiery temper lived inside an otherwise incredibly timid human. “Did you have a plan? For us, I mean?” 

Clint looked up from his coffee and across the table at Bruce who seemed to be making quite the effort to not make eye contact, staring just over Clint’s shoulder at the moment. Clint wondered if he had somehow managed to convince himself that this had to happen or if he just wanted to hear what Clint had planned.

“Well,” Clint said, “it’s rough and I haven’t actually done much googling yet to iron out the wrinkles ‘cos my battery’s running low now but I do have the makings of a plan.” 

The waitress brought their food over, smiling warmly at them. Bruce and Clint both looked down at their plates and saw that she had made a smiley face on their pancakes out of blueberries. 

“That always used to make my boys smile when they were having a bad day. Thought it might help you two out too. You seem kinda down. Enjoy, hons,” she said, refilling Clint’s coffee. 

Clint was a little speechless. Sure, his mother hadn’t always been so vacant. He remembered her telling him bedtime stories and them having tickle fights before she tucked him in. He remembered long, warm hugs and kisses pressed on his hair but then one day it all just stopped. 

She was different. She wasn’t mean or cold. She was just gone. It was almost as if Harold had replaced her with a doll that looked like her and sounded like her but was lifeless. 

This now was such a simple gesture. It shouldn’t have mattered that much and yet Clint was fighting back tears at the smiles on the pancakes and the waitress’ warm words. Was this what mothers were supposed to be like even when they were older and their kids had left home? Still motherly? Still tender and warm and affectionate? 

When Clint looked over at Bruce it was like a punch to the gut. Bruce was staring at the pancakes, biting down hard on his lip as he fought to keep his cries silent, tears rolling steadily down his cheeks and his shoulders shaking. 

Honestly Clint didn’t even know what to say so he said nothing and did the only thing he knew how to do in that moment: cry with him. 

It took a few minutes for the tears to dry up and once they had, they both began to eat, seeming to have a tacit agreement not to speak of or mention it. The first time they spoke after that was Clint explaining what he had worked out so far of his plan. 

It really was rough but it was better than nothing. He showed Bruce the route he had created in his map app, pointing out the next city with a Greyhound bus depot. It was a three day walk if they were to start right now and take no breaks. Clint had planned breaks anyway for two reasons: 1. Walking three days straight with no breaks and carrying luggage was simply a no-go. 2. He also wasn’t really keen on the idea of walking through any of these cities or along the roads at night. 

Bruce agreed with him, having seemed extra nervous anyway when Clint first explained how far they needed to go. He liked the idea of stopping and then asked what they would do when they stopped. 

Clint had an idea for that too. Just like today, they would break up their distances and stop in small towns like this one, find something to eat and the cheapest motel with the cheapest room and then be out the next morning again. 

“When did you have time to work all of this out? We only woke up less than two hours ago,” Bruce asked, pushing the remaining bits of pancake around on his plate with his fork, his tone suspicious.

“On the walk here,” he answered, finishing his second mug of coffee and stuffing another bite of food into his mouth. He chewed and then added, “I’m good at thinking on my feet. Plus I had all that great silence and had to do something with it.” 

Bruce eyed him. “I see.” 

“So?” 

“So, what?” 

“Are you coming with or did you just ask all those questions for fun?” 

“Yea—Yes,” he corrected himself again, “I’m coming with you but let’s see how much two rooms cost first.” 

“Fine by me,” Clint agreed, just secretly happy he wouldn’t have to be by himself. 

“How do you know we’re going the same way?” Bruce asked and Clint didn’t even need his hearing aids to hear all of the sudden distrust in his tone again. It was clear enough on his face. 

Clint understood the constant need to be cautious and to make certain of things and people but he also just wished Bruce would understand already that Clint meant him no harm and that once they got to where they were going, Clint would leave him alone. 

“Well, for starters, we were on the same bus.” 

“Yeah, but I could’ve been planning to get off at any stop.” 

“Okay, well I’m going to the end destination, so I’ll pass through any you were heading for anyway.” 

Bruce chewed his lip, eyeing Clint. “You’re going to New York?” 

Clint nodded, picking up a blueberry and popping it into his mouth. 

“Me too.” 

“Interesting that you tell me that after learning where I’m going,” Clint countered dramatically, narrowing his eyes. 

“Fair,” Bruce said. He leaned back against his seat, again toying with his sweater sleeves. “I have a cousin and an aunt upstate in New Rochelle. I’m going there.” 

“And I have friends in Manhattan. I’m going there.” 

“Good.” 

“Good,” Clint repeated, trying not to smile as he saw the corner of Bruce’s lip twitch, unsure whether he was amused or irritated. 

Clint let out a huff and then finished off the rest of his meal, wiping his mouth with a napkin and letting out a satisfied sigh. So far no pancakes had let him down and these had been the best yet, initial reaction aside. 

As if she knew she had been indirectly mentioned, Clint’s phone dinged and he checked the screen to see a text from Nat. 

Nat: I’m guessing you’ve already worked out how you’re getting to me, right? 

Clint: naturally, there’s no way I’m ~not~ getting to you 

Nat: keep me updated

Clint: I will 

Nat: promise me, Clint 

Clint: I promise 

“Should we get going to find a place to stay?” Bruce asked, and Clint looked up to see the younger boy watching him text with an odd look on his face. 

Clint checked the time. “Uh, no. Maybe we can just sit here a little while longer. I already checked online, there aren’t any hostels here and the closest hotel has an early check-in fee if we get there before 2pm. The other is on the very edge of town.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said, “okay. How did you even know to check that? The early check-in thing?” 

“I’ve been planning this for three years. I know this whole bus incident must be painting a very weird picture of me but there’s very little I don’t check.” 

“Why are you only leaving now?” 

“Let me ask you something first: what changed your mind? Why are you coming with me?” 

“Does it matter?”

“Trust goes both ways.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Well, in all honesty, your plan sounds like what I would do anyway but with the added benefit of not traveling solo and also the…knowing what to do.” After Clint nodded, Bruce posed his initial question again.

“Didn’t have anywhere to go until now. Why are you?” 

Bruce opened his mouth to speak just as the waitress came back over asking if they wanted anything else. Clint opted for another coffee refill since they were free and Bruce got himself more milk. 

Clint sipped his coffee, deciding this time not to allow Bruce the choice of not answering. Clint was handing out personal information to earn Bruce’s trust, Bruce should be reciprocating if he wanted to earn Clint’s. 

“I didn’t. Not really. I, um….” He swallowed and looked down at the table. Clint saw the way his jaw flexed, his lips pursing with the effort he was making to keep his emotions in check. “Um. You asked me if I had any trouble buying my ticket for the bus.” 

Clint did a small double take at the shift in conversation but responded quickly enough as he remembered. “Yeah, I did.” 

But that was mostly a joke. A joke Bruce hadn’t responded to and something Clint had added to his list but still. Was there really a story there? 

“Well, I didn’t. Didn’t have trouble… or buy the ticket myself. My mom did.” 

Bruce must have seen Clint’s confusion because he went on, his finger tracing the ugly pattern on the tabletop as he explained. 

“I think she—” He paused, the fingers on the table stilling and then moving again. “My father was getting worse. He never used to hit my mom. Only me. And when she’d protect me, he wouldn’t hit either of us because he didn’t want to hit her. But then one day he did. And I guess… Anyway, she drove me to the station and bought my ticket. Told me to go to my cousin’s house, they know and are waiting for me.” 

His eyes flickered up to meet Clint’s only briefly before dropping again to stare blankly at the table. 

“Why didn’t you run away on your own?” 

“I didn’t want to leave her there. My mom.” Bruce’s hand turned into a fist and he dropped his head, his chin nearly touching his chest. “I just know he hurt her when he realized I was gone. I know it.” 

Clint was listening and doing his best to take it all in and remember it because this was more than he ever imagined he would hear Bruce say, and especially about himself. 

“She sounds like a good mom.” 

Bruce sniffled. “The best, she just married scum.” 

“I know the feeling.” That was enough emotions for one day. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Clint called out to the waitress who turned and came over with that same friendly smile. “Could we get the check, please?” 

“Of course you can, hon. One or split?” 

“Split, please,” Clint told her. 

Back outside the day was starting to heat up. It wasn’t supposed to get too hot but it was definitely too warm for all the layers Clint was wearing because he didn’t want to carry them. Being able to put his bags down and take a shower would be heavenly. He smelled like grass and dirt and he was sticky and sweaty. 

The motel was small and gaudy. It was bright red and pastel pink on the outside with a big, spinning sign out front that read ‘Penn Motel’ in black and red letters. Nothing matched and it was awful to look at. 

Inside was a little less visually assaulting. Still bright and mismatched but at least everything was pastel instead of pastel and neon. 

They walked up to the counter and an elderly couple came out, which wasn’t at all what either of them were expecting if their shared look of raised eyebrows and half-smirks was anything to go by. 

“Hello, could we get two rooms for one night please?”

The couple were both smiling at them and the man, presumably the husband, moved to the computer to check availability and read off the price. 

Yikes, that was a lot more than Clint was willing to spend on one room for less than eight hours and by the looks of it, Bruce felt the same. 

“Sorry, could we actually get one room for tonight? We’re kind of traveling on a budget.”

The older man clicked something on the computer. “Sorry, boys, we’ve only got single beds left. No two-bed rooms.” 

“Oh, well, um…” Clint trailed off and looked at Bruce who simply shrugged. Well if Bruce didn’t seem to care… “That’s fine. We can share.” 

The couple were still smiling and then their smiles dropped. The husband moved forward and leaned closer to them and said, “Unfortunately, we can’t allow that. We don't accept that kind of behavior here. This is a family establishment.” 

“What?” Bruce asked, but Clint was already glaring. He was used to this kind of shit. 

“We’re just friends, we’re traveling to New York, and we just need an overnight pitstop.” 

“Well, then you can pitstop elsewhere or pay for two rooms,” the wife said. 

“Come on, Bruce,” Clint said, grabbing Bruce as a reflex. “We don’t want to stay in this ugly-ass rathole anyway.”

The couple called out something in response to Clint’s insults but Clint stopped listening, their voices being drowned out by the loud sound of his pulse in his ears. He was so angry he didn’t know what to do. 

They got outside and Clint spat on the ground. 

“Fuckin’ bigots. It’s twenty-fucking-twenty-one. You’d think—oh. Sorry,” Clint said, only just realizing that he had grabbed Bruce by his hand but oddly enough Bruce hadn’t yanked himself free yet. 

Clint relaxed his fingers and slid them out of Bruce’s, feeling awkward now. Awkward and angry wasn’t the best combination. 

“I didn’t even realize at first. I’m so stupid,” Bruce chastised himself. 

“What? You’re not stupid,” Clint told him. “Your crossword answers more than confirm that. They’re the stupid ones.”

Clint shook his head and sighed heavily. 

“There’s still the other place at the edge of town. Let’s try there? Otherwise we’ve got to go ahead and start heading for the next town if we wanna make it and find somewhere to sleep before sundown.” 

Bruce nodded and they turned and headed towards the outskirts of town, passing grocery stores and family-owned clothing shops, a few gas stations, and fast food restaurants. Nothing special. 

“Sorry,” Clint said after five minutes in silence. 

“What for?”

“For grabbing you. For grabbing your hand.” 

“Oh, um.” Was that a blush? “It’s okay. Really.” 

Clint decided to tease him a little and see. “Well, I’ll still make sure to ask you next time I decide to hold your hand and make a dramatic exit.” 

Bruce’s cheeks reddened even more and he turned away to look at a laundromat. 

Was Bruce…? No, he was probably just shy and touch-starved like Clint. No need to jump to conclusions because honestly what were the chances of that?

The next place was surprisingly better. It was even smaller and plain white outside with a sign written in black calligraphy that read ‘Alisha’s Inn.’ Even the name was nicer. 

Clint inhaled deeply and walked through the door. The lobby area felt like a living room. The kind of living room someone’s sweet little grandma would have. It wasn’t old, it was cosy and inviting. Inside were lots of softly-colored walls and furniture, with fresh flowers all around the room and paintings of beautiful landscapes. 

Hopeful, they approached the desk and rang the service bell. A woman who was the spitting image of the waitress from the diner came out and offered them a huge smile. 

“I—you work here and at the diner?” Clint asked without really thinking about it. 

Her smile widened and she laughed. “Oh, no, you boys must have met my sister, Aniya. I’m Alisha. You two need a room?” 

“Uh, yes,” Clint said and he wondered when he had been decided as the spokesperson for the two of them but then again, Bruce didn’t really strike him as a people person and while Clint certainly wasn’t one either, he’d always had a gift for pretending to be. “Can we get one room for one night? We're not together, we just—”

“Oh,” she said with a frown. “You went to Penn Motel first, huh?” They both nodded. “Don’t worry. Everyone in town knows those two’s reputation. They don’t like anyone. I’m surprised they didn’t turn you away the moment you walked in,” she said, looking pointedly at Bruce. 

This time it looked like Bruce understood immediately, looking away from Alisha, and it only made Clint hate those people more. 

“But don’t worry. I don’t care if you are or aren’t, you’re welcome to stay as long as you don’t break anything,” she joked, typing away on the computer. 

“Thank you,” Clint said, feeling completely out of touch with reality. He just wasn’t used to strangers being this kind. “Oh, also, we’re kind of on a budget so if we could get your cheapest room?” 

“Sure thing, hon,” she agreed, sounding just like her sister. 

She found them a room in no time and handed them the keys; wishing them a pleasant stay and letting them know to call down if they needed anything. She also told them about the complimentary breakfast she would serve in the morning and Clint was happy he could check that worry off his list for tomorrow. 

Clint opened the door and let out a relieved sigh, grateful to finally be able to put his things down and relax. There were two twin beds pressed up against opposite walls with bedside tables between them, a desk with one chair, a small television mounted on the wall, and then a door they assumed led to the bathroom. 

“You mind if I take that one?” Clint asked, pointing to the bed on the far left side of the room. 

“Sure,” Bruce said, dumping his backpack onto the other one and sitting down on the side of it. “These are nicer than the hostel.” 

Clint chuckled, laying down across the end of his own bed and closing his eyes. 

“A blanket on the floor would’ve been nicer than the hostel.” He lifted his head when he heard Bruce laugh, just wanting to see it again and sure enough it was just as nice of a smile as the last time. 

Bruce looked around the room and Clint propped himself up on his elbows to watch Bruce, looking away at the last moment so he wasn’t freaked out. 

“Do you mind if I shower first?” Bruce asked, grabbing his backpack. It was a decently sized thing but how Bruce managed to have a change of clothes and pajamas and everything else he needed all in one backpack was a mystery to Clint. 

“Sure. I’m not gonna shower just yet anyway. We passed a dollar store on the way here. Might run out and get some stuff.” Clint felt his own cheeks warm up as he added, “I don’t think I packed enough underwear for this extended trip. You need anything? I can grab it for you.” 

“Oh, you—you’re gonna go now? While I shower?” Bruce asked, clearing his throat and trying not to make it any more obvious that he didn’t want to be left alone. 

Clint sat up fully, offered Bruce a soft, sincere smile. “You wanna come with me?” 

Bruce’s jaw worked for a few seconds but produced no answer. He seemed conflicted, his hands resting flatly on his backpack but Clint saw the way his fingers twitched, likely wanting to be wringing together instead of staying still. Clint kind of hated that Bruce felt he needed to suppress his nervous habit all of a sudden. 

“Bruce,” Clint began, leaning forward to close a bit of the gap between them, “it’s fine if you say yes. It’s fine if you say no. Just choose whichever you really want. You can do that now and I’m not going to get angry or hit you or nothin’. You don’t wanna be left alone? Come with me. It’ll be nice to have some company so I won’t have to talk to myself.” 

Bruce laughed weakly at the last part and Clint smiled in response. Clint thought he was going to hate trying to be like Natasha—trying to be there for people and comfort them and figure out what they needed to hear and say it—but it was oddly… relieving. Clint felt like a weight had come off his own shoulders as he spoke the affirmations that he himself needed to hear and remind himself of. It wasn’t about how it made Clint feel but it didn’t hurt that helping Bruce helped him too. 

“I, uh… I’ll come,” he said, putting his shoes back on. 

They waved to Alisha as they left and walked in silence for a couple of minutes after that. 

“Listen,” Clint began, “we don’t have to talk about it or anything but I just wanted to thank you for, you know, sharing. At the diner.” 

Bruce had turned to him when he started talking and was still staring now, too many emotions passing across his face for Clint to keep up. After a moment he turned away and let out a wild-sounding laugh, shaking his head. 

“What’s funny?” Clint asked, only feeling a little bit offended. 

“I just… I’m not used to anyone wanting to hear me talk so for you to go the extra mile and thank me for talking? It’s beyond weird.” 

Clint huffed, remembering the first time Nat had thanked him. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

“Can I ask a question?” Bruce asked while they waited to cross the street. 

“Sure, go for it.” 

“Earlier, uh, who were you texting?” 

“Natasha. She’s my best friend. She’s the one I’m going to live with in New York.” 

“Oh, how did you meet? I mean, uh—sorry. I don’t mean to pr—”

“It’s okay. Breathe,” Clint told him and Bruce actually inhaled deeply and then let it out slowly in time with the hand motion Clint was making. “How about this: let’s set up a system because I sense this might be a reoccurring thing. Let’s just ask questions without any ‘can I ask’ or whatever else and if you don’t wanna answer or I don’t, we don’t. And I’m not gonna be mad at any questions I don’t answer or vice versa. How’s that sound to you? You in agreement?” 

“Yeah, actually. That sounds great.” Bruce looked away, smiling, and Clint had no idea what that boy was thinking. “So… how did you meet?” 

“Well,” Clint said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “we met on Instagram.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said and really he didn’t even need the displeased tone, his face said it all and then some. 

Clint laughed again. “I know, I know. It sounds super sketchy but it’s been five years. I know everything about her, I know all her roommates, her workmates, everything. We normally FaceTime every evening while we eat. Sometimes I think she just kept it up to make sure I was still alive every evening,” he joked darkly, choking on his own spit when he realized what he’d said out loud. 

“Um. Anyway, I know her… family and everything.”

Clint talked a little more about how he met Nat, their shared music taste, and his unique skill—which then made Bruce ask two more questions (Clint was surprised to hear him talking so much)—as they finally reached the dollar store and went in. 

Clint made a beeline for the socks and underwear, grabbing a multipack of each and putting it into the basket he’d grabbed. He went over to their limited but thankfully cheap clothing selection and grabbed a pack of t-shirts too and found a semi-decent plaid shirt. 

He hummed softly as he shopped, glad that things between them were getting… easier. They both still had trust hurdles to overcome but at the very least Bruce was starting to talk more. 

Bruce had also disappeared once they’d entered and now Clint went up onto his tiptoes to try and find him. 

“Bruce?” 

“Aisle two.” 

Clint found Bruce in the book section holding open a picture book. It wasn’t exactly what Clint had thought he would find him reading but to each his own he supposed with a grin. 

“Whatcha got there?” 

Bruce looked up, a blush dusting his cheeks and a tiny smile gracing his lips. He lifted the book to show Clint the cover, peeking over the top of it. Bruce was kind of adorable. 

“An Illustrated Guide to Astronomy and Constellations for Kids,” Clint read, tilting his head to the side as he did. “Wanna get it?” 

“Oh, I was just looking at it.” 

“Do you wanna get it though?” 

Bruce hesitated, biting his lip. 

“Do you have money?” 

“Yes. I had a job,” Bruce said matter-of-factly, almost snippy. 

“Congrats, me too. Okay, do you have enough money to spare for the book?” Bruce nodded. “Get it. If there’s nothing on TV tonight maybe we can try to find some of those constellations out the window.” 

Bruce looked down at the book in his hands, his thumbs moving slowly over the cover as he debated with himself. Clint thought he was just about to back out and say he didn’t need anything when he suddenly looked up, determination in those big brown eyes that surprised Clint and also did weird things to his stomach. 

“Okay,” he agreed, holding the book to his chest. 

Clint grinned, wide and happy. “Awesome. Now let’s go see what kinda snacks they have.” 

They raided the snack aisle, laughing at some of the names of the off brand stuff—the Oreo knock-off ‘dark circles’ was their favorite—and then once they had accumulated a decent amount of junk food, especially some gummy worms for Clint, they decided to walk down the other aisles too and see what was on offer. 

They tried on ugly sunglasses and even worse hats. Clint found a pair of sunglasses buried at the back of a shelf behind some old Fisher-Price stuff and chuckled to himself as he slipped them on, turning to Bruce. 

“Okay, a little late, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” he asked, his gold and red glittery sunglasses with the numbers 2008 balanced on the top for New Years’ sitting crookedly on his face.

Bruce turned and laughed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as more giggles escaped. Clint felt like that little achievement easily made his week. 

Bruce found some space stickers and Clint picked up a new crossword book. This one had puzzles that had been featured in the New York Times and he was very excited to start it despite the three others he had in his backpack. 

When they finally made it to the register, they’d been in there for two and a half hours laughing and browsing. They paid and headed out, having both decided—that is to say, Bruce reminded Clint—that getting some proper food to take back to their room instead of just junk was a good idea. There was a grocery store with a hot foods section at the end of the street and they went in and picked up a meal each, lasagne for Clint and spaghetti and meatballs for Bruce.

“You working in a library is perfect,” Clint said around a mouthful of lasagne. 

The television was on in the background playing a Spongebob rerun and both boys were sitting cross-legged on their beds chatting and eating. They had talked briefly about Clint working at the gas station and then Bruce mentioned where he had worked. 

“How so?” Bruce asked with a soft laugh. 

“Loads of books for you to read, silence, I’m guessing  not very many people in and out if the way you’ve described your town’s citizens is anything to go by,” he listed off on his fingers and Bruce grinned. 

“That’s basically it, actually. Plus the librarians would give me any old books they were throwing out or that were too damaged to reshelve, so I had a decently sized collection growing at home. Had to hide it under my bed though.” 

“Ah, yeah. Like me and my slingshot.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Tell me more about the slingshot?” 

Clint felt his own face light up at Bruce’s question, reaching down beside the bed to pull the item in question out and give a brief demonstration on how to use it. 

“I don’t hunt with it. I’m not the kind of small town bumpkin who shoots squirrels or anything. I’d hit cans or targets that I put up in the field behind our house. That’s what I post on my Insta.” 

“What’s the appeal exactly?” 

Clint thought about that for a second and then said, “It’s a useless talent. Absolutely worthless, especially since I don’t use it to hunt.” 

“I—you lost me.” 

Clint smiled sadly. “My father is a very practical man. Made me get a job as soon as it was allowed, made me pay all my bills and even rent. He wanted me to come work with him once I graduated, ‘do something useful with your life,’” he said, imitating his father’s voice. “There’s nothing useful about a slingshot. At least not to him. I like that I have this skill and hobby that has absolutely no useful function other than to make me happy.” 

Bruce nodded along for a moment, processing, and then he smiled. Clint wanted to know what Bruce was thinking but he was already talking again. 

“Can I see it? Your Instagram?” 

“Sure, my handle is—what?” 

Bruce blushed. “I don’t have any social media. Never had anything worth posting.” 

“No problem,” Clint said quickly, trying to keep Bruce from feeling bad about it. “Here, look on my phone. And maybe we can set you one up? I mean, this trip is definitely post-worthy.” 

Clint stood to reach across the gap between their beds and hand Bruce his phone. Bruce took it and started scrolling through his page, commenting aloud on a few photos and videos before reacting to what Clint had suggested. 

“But,” Bruce began, swallowing audibly, looking away and then back at Clint with fear in his eyes. “What if he finds me that way?” 

“We don’t have to put your face on it and we can use a fake name.” 

“A fake name? Like what?” 

Clint shrugged and took another bite of his lasagne, tapping his fork to his lips as he chewed. “Mmm, I dunno. How about the scientist? You like science and all. Or the librarian? Or maybe ‘big ol’ nerd’?”  

“Shut up,” Bruce teased, pinching off a piece of his bread roll and tossing it at Clint who not only caught it but ate it. 

“You can’t attack me with food. That’s like trying to take down Cookie Monster using cookies. Rookie move.” 

They brainstormed a few more ideas and by midnight they had narrowed it down to two. Bruce was really fond of ‘TheScientist’ and Clint liked ‘SmartBoi’ so they planned to flip a coin first thing in the morning. 

After cleaning up and brushing their teeth, they got into bed, the television still on in the background, though on mute. 

Clint relaxed into the mattress, spreading his arms and stretching his toes—listening to his body crack in ways that a seventeen-year-old body probably should not—and he sighed, turning his head to look over at Bruce. 

His curls were damp from his shower and dangling down much further because of it, almost covering his eyes. Bruce pushed them out of the way as he often did and then removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table, yawning. 

What the hell 

Clint was positive he had never seen another human being yawn as sweetly as Bruce. It was like watching a baby animal yawn. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and that certainly didn’t help him seem any less cute.

“What?” Bruce asked and Clint startled. 

“I, uh…” He searched his brain for something to say other than did you know you’re crazy cute? “Uh, we should buy some glue soon and fix your glasses properly.” 

“Oh. Yeah, sure. I mean… at this point I’ll probably just buy a new pair when I get to my cousin’s house. No point in trying to fix these.” 

Clint felt the oddest wave of sadness wash over him. For a second there, he forgot Bruce wasn’t coming with him, that he had his own plans and own home to go to. It wasn’t far away from Clint’s but still a pretty decent distance and besides, Clint had promised to leave him alone once they got to New York. Maybe Bruce still wanted him to make good on that. 

He rolled onto his back, saddened by his own stupid brain and his own stupid thoughts. 

He heard the sheets ruffle and then, “Goodnight, Clint.” 

“Goodnight, Bruce.” 

After a few minutes, he removed his hearing aids so they could charge, set his alarm, and drifted off. 

+

“I won the coin toss fair and square.” 

“That coin is rigged.” 

“I wouldn’t even know how to do that. But enough stalling, gimme your phone,” Clint said, opening and closing his outreached palm impatiently. 

Bruce sighed and handed it over and honestly? That shocked Clint. Maybe Bruce didn’t have anything personal on his phone—Clint didn’t really either, just lots of dumb screenshots and ugly selfies he’d sent to Nat—but still. To think about where they had started only six days ago in the hostel in Cleveland where Clint couldn’t even get Bruce to greet him back or offer a smile, or yesterday morning when he wasn’t sure if they would be continuing on together, and now Bruce was handing over his phone so Clint could set up his Instagram. What was in the dollar store’s air?

Granted, after explanations and plans had been exchanged, they had had a great day together, bigot villagers aside. Wandering the city, going to the store, getting dinner, and then chatting in their room—Clint hadn’t enjoyed himself that much with someone in such a long time. At least, not with anyone in person and Bruce seemed to have enjoyed himself too if the trust he was displaying now was any indication. 

He took the phone and went to Instagram, which they had downloaded last night, typing in the name SmartBoi and then pausing. 

“Um, did you want to set your own password?” 

“Oh, okay,” Bruce said, taking it back and looking down at the phone. Clint smiled when he caught Bruce’s tiny smirk at seeing the username. Bruce had lost fair and square when the coin landed on tails, which meant bye-bye TheScientist and hello SmartBoi. 

Bruce’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard, uncertain. They kept walking along the road while he thought, having left Alisha’s hotel about twenty minutes ago after breakfast. Now they were headed to the next town—an hour-long walk—where they would have lunch before continuing on. 

Seeing as they were the only guests at Alisha’s hotel, she chatted with them at breakfast about their trip, letting them know that the best (and cheapest) hotel after hers was two towns over. She wrote down the name of it as well as her own number. When Clint asked why, she said “just in case of anything, give me a call.” Not right at that moment but for the first five minutes of their walk out of town, Clint and Bruce had been silent, both teary-eyed at yet another unexpected display of kindness. 

Now they were just under a half hour away from the next town but it was a pleasant morning, slightly overcast, so they were trying to get this leg of the trip over with before the sun came out in full force. 

Clint looked over at Bruce who was still staring down at his phone. 

“Any ideas?”

Bruce looked up, his eyebrows scrunched together in thought, and then he looked back down at his phone before typing out something and handing it to Clint. 

“Awesome, so let’s see… let’s set you up a bio now.” 

“A bio?” 

“Yeah, just a little info, doesn’t have to be about you personally. It’s just to tell people what this account is all about. For example, my account says ‘slingshot enthusiast’ because I’m lame and that’s all I could think of.” 

Bruce laughed and then tapped his finger to his lips, thinking. “How about ‘backpacker’? Or ‘really, really amateur photographer’?” 

“I kinda like that second one. It’s modest but also flexible so you can put whatever you want on your page. Sweet,” Clint said, typing it in, his fingers faltering just the tiniest bit when Bruce moved more into his space, looking at the phone in his hands and Clint could feel Bruce’s breath against his forearms. “Alrighty, all done.” 

“Now what?”

“Now we need a profile picture for you—again it doesn’t actually have to be you. It could be anyone. Or anything.” 

After a short discussion, Bruce ended up taking a picture of a sunflower they were passing and made that his profile picture. He tried to hand the phone back to Clint but Clint shook his head. 

“I think you’re ready, young Padawan.” 

“Young what?“

“It’s a Star Wars reference.” 

Bruce mouthed ‘oh’ and then said, “So I’m ready? What do I do now?” 

“Take pictures of stuff and post it,” Clint said simply, taking out his own phone and going to Instagram. He tapped away for a second while Bruce looked around him for inspiration. “Oh and here.” Clint leaned over and tapped on Bruce’s phone, going to requests and hitting accept on Hawkguy14 . 

“What was that? Oh wait, are we Instagram friends now?” 

“That we are,” Clint said, warming at the purity of Bruce’s smile and watching him go to Clint’s page and follow back. 

Bruce looked up. His lips were parted like he wanted to say something but he seemed unsure. Clint watched his hand open and close, his knuckles cracking and then he said, “Maybe we can be real life friends too?” 

“Mm, I dunno. You’re kind of a nerd.” 

Bruce laughed, bumping Clint with his shoulder. Clint looked down at him and Bruce looked up. Even though Clint was sure the time between meeting Bruce’s eyes and his next words was only a second or two, it felt like the world slowed down and he got to live in that moment for hours. 

He looked down at Bruce and his warm, wide smile. It was all lips and dimples, crescent-moon eyes and those ever-rosy cheeks. Those beautiful curls of his were blowing in the gentle breeze and Clint felt his heart give one incredibly loud lub-dub that seemed to resonate throughout his entire body. 

Clint swallowed and time sped up again, things back to their normal pace as he said, “Of course we can be real life friends, Bruce.” 

After a moment he turned away, his pulse racing and hands suddenly clammy. He stared straight ahead down the road, pretending he was trying to spot the town they were heading towards. 

Stop it 

This was his first friend that he had made in this new life of his, the first person who truly understood what he was going through. This was someone as hurt and in need of healing as he was and for that reason alone he knew he couldn’t act on how he felt. There were plenty of other reasons but he decided to focus on that one for now. Bruce needed a friend and a friend was all he needed from Clint. 

Clint inhaled as quietly and deeply as he could, exhaling slowly and turning to ask Bruce how his Instagram inspiration was coming along when he heard the sound of a camera shutter. 

“Perfect,” Bruce said, holding the phone up to inspect the image. He turned it around to show Clint his own bewildered expression. “I won’t post this one, don’t worry, but…” he trailed off, chewing his bottom lip. “You’re the first friend I’ve ever taken a picture of.”

Chapter Text

Bruce took another huge bite of his burger despite his cheeks already being full of food and Clint watched on with a satisfied grin, eating his fries. 

“This is the best burger I’ve ever had,” Bruce said happily, grease all around his mouth and on his fingers, a little mayonnaise on his nose that Clint pointed out. 

Bruce blushed and grabbed his napkin to wipe it away just as the waiter passed by and dropped a few more napkins onto their table with a friendly smile that only made Bruce’s blush deepen. 

“It kinda feels like this is your first time having a burger. Say it ain’t so, Bruce.” 

“No, this isn’t the first time, it’s just… I love my mom but she wasn’t the best cook,” he admitted. 

Clint laughed. “Ditto. Casseroles and ham sandwiches were her sweet spot. Anything more exotic than that kinda turned into Fear Factor.” 

Bruce grinned and Clint’s answering smile came along so naturally now that it almost surprised him. He could still remember a time when the only moments he smiled were those filled with Nat, either through texts or calls. He laughed quietly to himself because of course he could remember that time—it had only been a week since he had left, four days spent at the hostel and three so far with Bruce. 

It was odd how time worked. Looking over at Bruce, Clint didn’t quite feel like he had known him for a lifetime but a few months instead of a few days? Oh, definitely. 

They ate quietly, the noise of the diner at a comforting level that made them feel normal instead of suffocated. The staff were all nice and the food was delicious although Clint didn’t think they would meet anyone else on this trip who could outdo Aniya and Alisha. 

After a couple more bites and a huge gulp of his drink to wash it all down, Clint sat back, his stomach starting to feel full, and looked over at Bruce to see if he had managed to finish his burger without any more mess. 

When he did, they immediately met eyes. Bruce must have already been watching him, sitting back against his booth bench as well, his drink in his hands. 

Clint’s chest and stomach were doing completely unwelcome things, his heart fluttering and his stomach tickling as butterflies flapped around inside it. He bit down on the inside of his cheek roughly to get ahold of himself, clearing his throat and Bruce’s eyes widened as he seemed to realize he was not only staring but had been caught doing so. 

“Sorry, I just, can I ask—”

Clint gave him a pointed look. No more pleasantries, they should just ask their questions. 

“Right. Um, so, your hearing aids… I actually hadn’t noticed them before this morning when I saw you putting them in. I don’t know if this is rude to ask but were you born deaf?” 

“First off, it’s not rude. Not to me at least. Plus, I know you don’t mean it rudely. And no, I wasn’t. Well, I’m not anyway. Deaf, I mean. I’m hard of hearing but I, um—” Clint paused, waiting for the waiter to finish clearing the table nearest theirs and leave again before he continued. “When I was four, m—I fractured my skull.” 

It was a reflex, one that Clint thought was gone but he should’ve known it would take time. Occasionally he had been asked about his various injuries and scars. Of course he couldn’t tell the truth. He didn’t want to be in the foster care system and he knew that on the very likely chance that his teacher or whoever was asking spoke to his father before calling CPS, Clint wouldn’t even live to be taken away. So he was used to covering up for him, used to taking the blame for his pain. 

“I, um… I lost the majority of my hearing in this ear.” Clint pointed to his left ear, trying to ease the awful feeling in his stomach that came along with those memories. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, looking sick to his stomach too. “But it’s just the one side?” 

Clint let out a joyless laugh and shook his head. “Uh, no. I wish. When I was six, it happened again but I landed on this side,” he explained, turning his head to show Bruce the hearing aid in his right ear as well. “It’s not as bad on this side. Things are… muffled without the hearing aid but this side is practically useless. Eighty-percent gone, the doctor said.” 

“I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“I know but I’m still sorry it happened. That he did that to you.” 

Clint looked away but was grateful Bruce understood the words he couldn’t seem to get out. “I know you’re sorry but… I dunno. I’ve gone all this time without hearing apologies so hearing it now just feels like overkill.”

“Oh, sor—” Bruce stopped himself and laughed softly. “I don’t think I have any vocabulary that isn’t an apology.” 

“Childhood trauma hazard, huh?” 

“Seems so. In that case, what should I say?” 

“Anything else you can think of that says ‘I’m listening and it’s awful that that happened.’” 

“How about ‘that sucks?’” 

“Perfect.” 

“Alright,” Bruce said, cleaning his greasy fingers with a napkin. “That sucks. So do you know ASL?” 

Clint nodded. 

“Would you teach me? At least a little? I think it’s such an amazing language.” 

Clint perked up. No one had ever cared about ASL before. Well, no one but Nat. Nat had learned a decent amount already from Clint and YouTube but not even his family had bothered with it to make things easier for Clint. If Clint wanted to hear and be part of the conversation, he needed his hearing aids, and even though making life easier for Clint wasn’t Bruce’s objective, it was still nice that he wanted to learn. 

“I’d love to.” 

They paid and left, Clint showing Bruce the ASL alphabet as they walked aimlessly around the town. The next town over where they would stay the night was only a thirty minute walk and while it did have a much better hotel on offer, there was next to nothing to do, Alisha had said, so they decided to explore this town and leave for the next in the evening. 

Getting distracted by the sights and sounds of the town, Clint stopped his language lessons for the moment and they people-watched and window shopped as they strolled. 

After a while, Bruce took out his phone, taking pictures of the town. Clint did his best not to stare too hard, not wanting Bruce to feel self-conscious about his photography skills but he couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of things caught Bruce’s eye. Did he like architecture? Nature? Funny things or even people? Was he taking pictures exactly as they were or capturing from a different perspective? Clint already knew one glaringly obvious reason why Bruce would view the world differently to him—the height difference—and even that intrigued him. 

“Taken anything good?” Clint asked after doing his very best to reign in his curiosity and let Bruce enjoy his moment. 

Bruce raised his phone again, aiming it straight forward but there was a lot going on in front of them. Clint couldn’t be sure of what he had just photographed. He lowered the phone and went to his photos, moving slightly into Clint’s space to show him his growing collection of memories. 

There were some in there that Clint hadn’t noticed him taking. Some from earlier that morning as they walked along the road. Some from even earlier of the sunrise seen from their hotel window. There were a few more of Clint just doing random things like packing or texting and that made him smile. Then there were the city pics but just as he was getting to those, Bruce took his phone back. 

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” Clint complained, bumping into Bruce playfully. 

“Well, you can see the rest on my Instagram.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realize I was traveling with an influencer.” 

“A what?”

“Are you sure you’re sixteen?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for not being caught up on all the latest terms and trends. Obviously I’m too cool for all of that.”

“Oh, but of course. Silly me. Allow me to rephrase in a language you speak: oh, I didn’t realize I was traveling with a rocket scientist.” 

“Oh, so you’re calling me fancy?”

Clint snorted, grinning down at Bruce whose head was down as he edited a photo. “Yes, that’s one word for it. You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” 

“Yea—yes,” he corrected again. He had done that a few times now. Always correcting “yeah” to “yes” and words like “wanna” and “kinda” he would also correct himself on. Clint had yet to ask but he might do so the next time Bruce made the correction. “It’s fun.” 

“Well, I’m glad you like it. And I’m glad we followed each other before you become a famous photographer and forget all about little ol’ me.” 

“Pfft, right.” He cropped the photo and then undid it, deciding to edit the color first instead. “You haven’t really posted on yours, though. How come?”

“Not really much to do with mine. It’s not like I can shoot out a window with my slingshot while you film.” 

“So dramatic,” Bruce mumbled, taking a look at his final product. “We could also just find a nice spot in the park for you if you want.”

“To do what?” 

Bruce shrugged. “Dun—don’t know,” he corrected, his shoulders tensing momentarily and then dropping again before he exhaled and continued on with his sentence. “I don’t know. You’re the slingshot expert.” 

“Well, how about I think of something and in the meantime I’d like to ask you a question.” 

Bruce’s fingers, which were slowly typing out a caption for his photo, slowed down before moving again at their usual pace. Bruce’s eyes flickered up to Clint quickly and then back down to his phone. 

“And that question is?” 

Yeah, they had their system set up for asking questions but Clint still had the sneaking suspicion that Bruce wasn’t all that comfortable being blind-sided so easing into it instead wasn’t going to hurt anybody. 

“Why do you do that? Correct yourself.” 

“Ah,” Bruce said, his eyes still glued to his phone only now it felt more intentional than casual. “My father spent a lot of time in and around the military. He was a researcher for them.” 

It was unfortunate that Bruce seemed to get his knack for science from his father, especially seeing as he was so passionate about it. 

“Elbows on the dinner table, not meeting people’s eyes when I was being spoken to, using casual language or slang, etcetera, were all things he wouldn’t tolerate and you don’t need me to explain what I mean by that.” 

Clint let out a sad laugh. “I sure don’t.” 

“It should never be ‘yeah’, it should be ‘yes,’” Bruce said, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the words and Clint just knew it was a direct quote from his awful father. 

“I see. Well, that sucks.” Clint saw the corners of Bruce’s mouth lift just the tiniest bit into a smile. “Can I see your fancy, edited photo?” 

“Yes.” Clint tried to reach for the phone and Bruce moved it away. “Um, no, you can see the picture like the rest of my adoring fans by checking it on your phone.” 

“Ohoho,” Clint teased and Bruce grinned, seeming proud of himself, “soon I’ll have to buy a ticket just to speak to you.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ll start with free meet and greets to really draw in fans and then slap a price tag on the world tour.” 

“World tour, huh? Where you thinking? The wide open fields of Pennsylvania?” 

“Sounds perfect. Book it for me.” 

“So I’m your agent now?” 

“Well, it’s a trial run. Still deciding whether or not I’m going to keep you on.” 

“Do I get paid during this trial run?” 

Bruce’s sense of humor was absolute perfection. 

Bruce dug into his pocket but it was out of Clint’s view. When he turned, he held his hand out, his expression dead serious. “This is all I can afford at the moment.” 

Clint looked down at Bruce’s hand to see a shirt button, two pennies, and a clothing tag and he snorted out loud. 

“Wow, didn’t realize you were Mr Moneybags. We could’ve been staying at the Ritz all this time.” 

“The key is to not let fame and fortune go to your head.” 

“I’m learning so much,” Clint said, finally taking out his phone and opening Instagram. The first picture to load on his timeline was from Bruce. It was of the city and taken at a slight angle that captured enough of the pure blue sky to make the buildings almost feel outlined by it and appear much more striking than they were in real life. “Wow… this is—this is really good, Bruce.” 

He doubled tapped and then immediately left a nice comment too. 

Bruce blushed, brushing hair away from his eyes and tucking a curl behind his ear. He smiled, looking up at Clint with those pretty eyes and happy face. 

He was so different from the Bruce Clint had first met at the hostel. Of course he understood why but the more he got to know him and the more he got to see him smile and laugh and joke, the less he understood people like their fathers. Granted, he had never understood them but even less so now. 

How on earth could anyone justify being mean to someone like Bruce?

+

They spent a few more hours wandering around the town exploring, going in and out of shops with no intention to buy anything, only to see what was on offer and find things to make each other laugh. 

This time it was Bruce who found the ridiculous item and came sneaking around the corner with the most hideous bowling shirt Clint had ever seen and then it dared to have a big American flag, bald eagle, and fireworks on the back with the words ‘MURICA’ in all caps across the shoulders. 

“Please buy that,” Clint said. “In fact, I’ll buy it for you.” 

“And do what with it exactly?” 

“Pfft, wear it, ya dumdum. Look at it. It’s practically art. You sure there’s no Picasso signature at the bottom?” 

“You know, I forgot to check,” Bruce drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes and laughing as he began unbuttoning the shirt. 

“You didn’t wanna just have the cashier scan you in it so you could wear it out?” 

“I am not spending money on this. This is a walking migraine.” 

“Aw, Bruce. It’s art, I’m tellin’ ya.” 

“Why don’t you buy it then? Here, my gift to you.” 

“So sweet but sadly it clashes with my hair. If you’re not gonna buy it, put it back so the next lucky guy can come through here and find the shirt of his dreams.” 

“True. Wouldn’t want to crush anyone’s dreams to look like the Walmart bumper sticker section threw up on them.” 

Clint snorted loudly, caught off guard by Bruce’s joke, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Bruce was grinning from ear to ear. 

“Did you snort?” 

“No, do you need hearing aids?” 

“You snorted earlier too. Don’t try to pretend you didn’t.” 

Clint eyed him for a long moment and then settled on, “That wasn’t me. That was my evil twin Clont. Can’t help ya.” 

They wandered around that store for another twenty minutes before leaving with nothing but some sunglasses that they actually would need seeing as the longer walks between towns were coming up. 

To make it fun, they had agreed to buy whatever the other picked out and Bruce picked out a pair of glittery purple glasses with the Barbie logo on the side for Clint and Clint found Bruce a pair of wrap-around gas station shades in camo-print with the words ‘Bass Pro Shop’ on the side. 

“Mine are worse,” Bruce said, trying them on and looking around. 

“I kinda have to agree because at least purple is my favorite color,” Clint said, sliding his on. 

“Exactly, mine make me look like I use racist slurs.” 

“Well in that case, if you ever feel like taking another trip—without me, of course—you’d fit right in back home in those.” 

“Oh no, thanks. After this trip, I’ll have had enough of the middle of nowhere to last me five lifetimes.” 

As they walked to the next town, Clint started humming. He caught himself off guard with it. He listened to music all the time, especially when he would go out in the field and hide in the tall grass. He would lay his phone on the ground beside him and just let it play on shuffle, closing his eyes and pretending he was anywhere else. 

Music was an escape for him, a way to close his eyes and transport himself out of his situation and he loved it but he hadn’t hummed in a while. Or so he thought because as he tried to remember the last time he had done it, he realized it was only a few days ago while he and Bruce roamed the dollar store but before that? 

Before that he couldn’t remember the last time his mind had felt carefree enough to fill itself with music instead having to blare it manually to drown out the constant bombardment of worries and anxieties. For the first time in a while, his mind was at peace and so from the peace came music. 

“What song is that?” Bruce asked. “Sounds familiar.” 

“Oh,” Clint said, having to stop and think about it for a moment. He started humming the chorus again and then quietly sang it out loud as he tried to remember the title. 

“Is it Matt and Kim?" 

“Yeah,” Clint said, surprised and turning to Bruce. “You know ‘em?” 

“Yeah I like their mu—”

“I’d Rather!” Clint exclaimed, making Bruce startle. “Sorry,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm up and looking away. For the first time, he was the one waiting for the scolding that never came. He’d always had an issue with interrupting. He didn’t do it to be rude, it just tended to happen involuntarily. “I, um… I remembered it and had to get it out before I lost it again. But you were—what were you saying?” 

Bruce smiled and Clint felt his traitorous, bastard heart skip a beat. “No problem. I was just saying I like them too. Who else do you listen to?” 

“You know, only Nat has ever asked me that question and just like then, I have suddenly forgotten every single song I’ve ever heard.” He dug into his pocket for his phone, opening his music app and going to his favorites playlist. “Here. Tell me if you know any.” 

Bruce scrolled and Clint watched his face closely, seeing the way his eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise and stayed that way as he went through Clint’s music. After a stressfully long stretch of silence, he looked up at Clint and grinned. Clint felt his pulse race. 

“Almost all of these. I—wow, it’s not like I thought I had some kind of super unique music taste but I never heard anyone talk about these groups at school and here you—gosh, you’re just really... just so cool.” 

As far as compliments went, it wasn’t like Bruce had just told Clint he lit up the night sky or was the most amazing person he had ever met and yet… Clint felt like he had heard those words. Looking down at Bruce, into those big, happy eyes and that bright, excited smile, Clint felt his chest tighten and heart race and he just wanted to pull him into his arms and hug him. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead he smiled back and said, “Well, if you like all the same music you must be equally as cool, which, like, I already knew you were, obviously.” 

“Oh,” Bruce laughed, “obviously. Why so much Matt and Kim? Just like their sound?” 

“I love everything about them. The sound, the lyrics, they seem like cool people, their songs are so percussive and heavy on bass, which is great for me because it means I can slip my headphones on without my hearing aids, crank it up and just enjoy the vibrations—”

“Huh,” Bruce said, blinking. “I’d never thought of that. I’ll make sure any songs I recommend to you also fit that criteria then.” 

“—and—thank you,” Clint said, interrupting himself as he carried on, “and what I think I love most about them is the way they present their messages.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well—wait.” He dug into his bag. “I have a splitter. If you’re interested.”

“Definitely.” Bruce swung his backpack around and pulled out his headphones, offering the jack to Clint who took it and connected it. 

“You’re okay listening to mine?” Clint asked, just to be sure. 

“Yeah. You’ve got some on there I don’t know. Next time we can listen to mine.” 

Clint wasn’t sure why ‘next time’ made the butterflies in his stomach attack so viciously. Of course there would be a next time. They still had a long trip ahead of them and talking wasn’t always what either of them wanted but music? Oh, music could fill all of the silent moments neither of them liked. And yet the idea of Bruce already looking forward to the next time they would do this made Clint’s smile widen. 

Clint connected the splitter to his phone and pressed play, his headphones on, and suddenly the world took on a new mood as the song began to play. He slid one side of his headphones off so he could still hear Bruce who was talking.  

“...mean about liking how they present their message?” Bruce was asking. 

“So this song, it’s upbeat, makes you wanna dance, it’s got a good hook that’s easy to remember but when you actually listen to the lyrics, it’s sad.” 

Bruce fell quiet, cupping his hands over his ears to hear the song better and focusing intently. It was very, very cute the way his eyebrows scrunched in concentration and his lips pursed outwards like he was waiting for a kiss. 

Clint cleared his throat and focused. That was not what he needed to be thinking about. 

“I see,” Bruce said. “‘Plain and a little bit sloppy, I’ve always been scarred and bruised.’”

“Exactly, it’s misleading. It seems joyful until you focus on it and, I dunno, that’s kind of how I try to be. Not that I want people to see I’m unhappy or was unhappy, I guess, but I don’t wanna bring people down just because I’m hurt. I won’t ignore what’s happened to me but I won’t let it hurt others and that’s what Matt and Kim’s music is to me sometimes. Meaningful but done in a way that I can enjoy singing and dancing along to it just as much as I can crying because I relate. I dunno if that makes sense.” 

“No, no, it does. It… it makes a lot of sense actually.” Bruce put his other earbud in and Clint slid his headphones on properly, both of them enjoying the song now as they walked. 

Clint bobbed his head along to the beat, holding the phone in the hand between himself and Bruce. He risked another look over at Bruce who was smiling softly and tapping his hand against his thigh. 

Clint looked away but it didn’t last long before he was looking over at Bruce again who was moving his head left and right now in time with the song, that same small smile on those perfectly soft-looking lips of his. Bruce tilted his head up and looked at the sky, his eyes such an inky black in the low evening light. 

Clint had never really been the artistic type. Making playlists was about as close as he got to creating anything but right then there were very few things he wanted more than the talent to be able to paint Bruce, to capture exactly how he looked in that moment. 

There were still bruises on him—on Clint too—and scars and scabs but they were healing. And Bruce was healing. And Clint was healing too. Everyday he felt better than the last; everyday he found himself thinking that he was the happiest he’d ever been. 

He hoped it was the same for Bruce. 

“What?” Bruce asked, though Clint only read his lips and didn’t actually hear the words over the sound of the music. 

Clint smiled and said exactly what he was thinking, waiting for Bruce to pull out an earphone. 

“It’s really nice to see you smile.” 

Bruce’s smile widened at that, something slightly different about this one that Clint couldn’t quite put his finger on. He and Bruce locked eyes for another of those eternal moments and Clint’s entire body felt warm and fuzzy. He had never felt this way about anyone. It was just as amazing as it was terrifying. 

‘I’d rather be making memories than reminiscing on the past, you see,’ Matt Johnson continued to sing in their ears. 

Clint was glad that he got to make new memories with Bruce. 

“It’s not as nice as Alisha’s,” Bruce said later that evening, testing out his bed. 

It was a decent place—clean, nicely decorated, and definitely fairly priced. The owner was a friendly man by the name of Stuart and the room was cozy. Overall the hotel was smaller than Alisha’s too but Clint hadn’t really noticed it until he got into the room and realized that the beds were within reaching distance of each other. 

They unpacked and took turns showering, both of them sweaty, disgusting messes by the time they made it to the hotel. They walked the entire way listening to Clint’s music, Bruce getting excited each and every time he heard a song he really liked and oh, god, it was adorable to watch him gasp and do a little tippy-tap dance each time. 

As nice as the walk was, it had stayed hot the entire time and this place, which Alisha neglected to mention, was an entirely uphill walk. Clint was pretty sure he had some new leg muscles. 

He let Bruce shower first and in the meantime he texted Nat. 

Clint: closer every day! 

Nat: ! 

Nat: still wish you were already here tho :/ 

Clint: samesies but I will be soon and we will make up for lost time 

Nat: you know it 

Nat: how’s angry boy? Still angry? I haven’t been updated on him in years, Clinton 

Clint: well I didn’t wanna be rude and be on my phone all the time 

Nat: good point, now update me 

Clint: idk what’s there to update really. He likes the same music as me and he’s even cuter when his hair is wet and did I tell you he’s 16? 

Nat: you didn’t ! So…. are you gonna flirt? 

Clint: Nat. Just cus we have an acceptable age gap doesn’t mean I should pursue it 

Nat: why not 

Clint: it’s not what he needs right now  

Nat: you don’t know that 

Clint: okay then it’s not what I need 

Nat: why not

Clint: fine then he’s probably not even into guys 

Nat: you gave in so quickly… anyway you can't know that without asking 

Clint: can we just drop it? Bruce and I are friends, that’s it 

Nat: Bruce. Hm, just gonna make a note of that. 

Clint: [rolled eyes emoji] he’s coming out of the shower, talk later! [hearts] 

Nat: oooh [smirk emoji] talk later [hearts]  

Clint turned the water up and tilted his head back, standing underneath the steady stream and letting it beat down on his face and sore body. He felt like he had a permanent indentation on either shoulder from both the backpack and the duffel. He could also feel a pain in his back from the way he leaned to compensate for the extra weight. He was going to have a lot of R&R to do once he finally arrived in New York. 

After a long shower that would have never been allowed back home, he got out, putting on his pajamas and toweling off his hair as he went into their room, still humming softly. 

He wasn’t sure how but it wasn’t until he was getting into bed and about to take out his hearing aids and call it an early night that he noticed Bruce. Not that he had forgotten he was there at all but he hadn’t noticed the way Bruce was sitting at first—on his bed, legs crossed underneath him, and body hunched over, facing away from Clint. His hands were in his lap and he was silent. 

Clint sat up, trying to get a better look before he spoke but he couldn’t see anything but the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s petite frame. 

“Bruce? Buddy, you ok?”

Bruce sniffled as quietly as was humanly possible, which only worried Clint more. “Yeah,” he croaked, “I’m fine.” 

“Aw, Bruce. That doesn’t sound anything like fine.” 

Clint got up and made his way over to Bruce’s bed, hesitating before he finally sat down. He crawled into the middle of the bed to sit cross-legged directly in front of Bruce. After a moment of internal debate, he reached out and just barely touched Bruce’s knee with his fingertips. 

“Hey,” he coaxed gently. “What’s wrong?” 

Bruce looked up, his eyes the darkest Clint had seen them, save for the red around the edges. There were no tears yet, only the threat of them, and his lips kept trembling as if he were only barely holding himself together. In his hands was his phone and it was open to a contact that read ‘Mama.’

“Talk to me.” 

“I want to call her.” 

“But you can’t?” 

Bruce shook his head, looking down at his phone again. His thumbs were moving slowly up and down the sides of the device. He let out a sigh. 

“No, not without putting her at risk. And myself. I—if I called and he picked up or was around… I just know it wouldn’t end well. Even if she hung up immediately. He’s the jealous, controlling type. He’d wanna know who she called.”

Clint nodded slowly to show he was listening although this wasn’t something he could totally relate to. Despite everything, he did still love his mother and hoped to one day see her again but was he desperate to call her right now? Not really. 

“Why do you want to call her?”

“Just to hear her voice, really. Make sure she’s okay. Let her know I’m okay. Tell her about you. Gosh, she’d be so excited to hear about you,” he said, seeming to be talking to himself more than to Clint. He was smiling as he spoke but it was sad and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I honestly don’t think she’d believe it at first.” 

“What, that you made a friend?” 

There was a glint of something in Bruce’s eyes when Clint spoke but it was gone as soon as it came. He nodded. “Yeah. Even before kids started treating me badly, I kept to myself. Loner by nature, I guess. I always preferred it that way. So, yeah, she’d be surprised.” 

“Well, lucky me that I made the cut. I hope that she would have liked me.”

Bruce reached down and grabbed his backpack, digging around in there until he pulled out an envelope and slipped out a photograph. It was worn and soft around the edges, a little faded but still a clear image. Bruce handed it to Clint who took it and held it closer to examine it. 

It was a picture of Bruce and his mom. Bruce couldn’t have been any more than six years old and he was in her arms, his head tilted back as he laughed. His eyes were closed tight, his cheeks warmed pink, and a wide smile on display with his two front teeth missing. His mother was tickling him, watching his face with enough love in her expression that Clint actually felt a brief pang of jealousy. 

She was pretty too. Her complexion was richer than Bruce’s—darker—and she had long, thick chocolate curls and Bruce’s big brown eyes. She had deep dimples in both cheeks and a contagious smile. In fact, Bruce looked a lot like her. 

Clint looked up from the photo in his hands only to meet Bruce’s steady gaze that was fixed on him. Bruce smiled warmly, reaching out for the picture and then holding it to his chest, his eyes still on Clint. 

“She definitely would have liked you. You’re really hard not to like.” 

Clint felt himself blush, smiling. 

Bruce stared at the photo for a moment longer before slipping it back into its protective sleeve and tucking it away into his backpack. Clint wasn’t quite ready to get into his bed yet. He liked sitting here with Bruce, talking in such a relaxed and comfortable setting. Plus, there was something he had always wondered. 

“Why do you only have a backpack?” 

Bruce sat up and stared down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He was quiet long enough that Clint almost gave up on his question and moved on to another but then he spoke. 

“I told you I had never planned to leave. Not like—um, not like this, anyway. I had… other plans,” Bruce added quietly, still not looking at Clint.

Clint felt a chill run up his spine at Bruce’s words. Was he saying what Clint thought he was? Clint felt his heart ache but Bruce carried on. 

“I told you before that my father had gotten much worse. That day… I don’t know what came over him but he hurt me really badly. You saw some of it,” Bruce continued, his voice shaking. “And then he hurt my mom really badly too. And then he just left . Said he was going to his friend’s house to hang out as if he hadn’t just nearly killed his family.” 

Clint stayed silent, watching Bruce whose eyes were wide and cold, almost like he was detached from the story. As if it were someone else’s life he was talking about.  

Clint wasn’t sure if this story even had anything to do with his question. Maybe it would come later or maybe Bruce just wanted to talk about this with someone and was seizing his chance now. In either case, Clint would listen. 

“A little while after he left, my mom got up and she took me to the bathroom, cleaned and bandaged me up. Then she went to my bedroom and silently packed this bag for me. I just sat there, out of it and staring at her. I hadn’t spoken for a couple of weeks at that point. I had just… given up.” 

Bruce paused, inhaling and exhaling deeply. 

“I finally asked what she was doing and she said I had to leave. I had to get out so I could live. I—I dunno if she knew or…” he trailed off, just shaking his head. “She wanted me to be able to travel light. Said she’d send anything else I needed once I got to my aunt’s but she wanted me to have a head start so we needed to leave while my father was still with his friends. The next bus only went as far as Cleveland and, well, you know the rest.” He looked down, this time just staring vacantly at his bed. 

He had that same emptiness about him as the first time Clint had ever seen him, wringing his hands in front of him as he worked through whatever was going on in that head of his. 

Clint opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally, after another moment of silence he figured out what to say. 

“It was the middle of the night when I left,” he began. He saw Bruce’s hands still but only for a moment before they were wringing again, beginning to turn red with the pressure and repeated action. “I’d been planning it for a while but I never said anything to anyone but Nat. Not even my mom. I just left. Just like he did.”  

Bruce’s hands were stationary now but he was still staring at the blanket, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose. 

“I think my mom knew though. She’d started leaving money here and there. Under my pillow or in my sock drawer. My mom… she wasn’t like your mom. She—she used to be. Years ago. Warm and protective, sweet and fun. But then one day she just… stopped and it was like she was gone. At that point I knew I had to go.” 

Clint swallowed, feeling himself being sucked down into that cold void that had captured Bruce. 

Why did he do that? What on earth possessed him to share? Just because Bruce shared? To make Bruce feel understood? And now here they were both miserable and—

“That sucks,” Bruce said, turning his head to look up at Clint and offer a weary smile. 

Clint snorted softly and then he was smiling too, bumping his hand against Bruce’s knee. 

“Thanks for sharing,” Clint told him. 

Bruce’s expression was surprised again but slightly less so than the first time Clint had thanked him. It was nice; he must have been getting used to it. 

“Likewise.”

“You ready to sleep?” 

Bruce looked down at his lap. “Uh, yeah.” 

Clint let out a slightly exasperated sigh. “Bruce, if you’re not, you don’t have to. In fact, if you’re up for it, I have an idea.” 

Bruce looked up and smiled hopefully. “What is it?” 

Clint cracked open their door and looked left and right down the hallway. There was a security camera at the far end but judging by the room prices and empty lobby, Clint didn’t think they were busy enough to actually bother monitoring it. 

They slipped out and made their way to the door Clint had seen. He wasn’t surprised to find that it was unlocked and all it needed was a firm push to get it open. It led to a narrow stairwell and they made their way up to another door. Clint pushed on it and then they were met with a fresh, crisp breeze and a sky full of stars. 

The hotel wasn’t very high—only five stories—but they could see the majority of the small town they were in and, if Clint squinted, he could see the few lights of the neighboring one where they had spent their day. 

Bruce found a good spot and laid down the extra blanket they brought up with them, plopping down and opening his constellation book, glancing from it to the sky and back. Clint came over after a moment and sat beside him. 

The night was quiet and cool, unlike during the day when the heat had gotten them through two bottles of water each and made them stop a few times along the way. The sky was clear—no clouds, no light pollution, just stars and inky blackness. 

Bruce was holding his phone in one hand to use the flashlight, the book balanced on his lap as he checked the skies and then the book’s pages for matching constellations. His glasses slid down to the tip of his nose as he studied the pages and the word ‘librarian’ popped into Clint’s mind and made him grin. 

Clint stayed quiet and let him work, knowing he would share when he found something. So for now he leaned back, propped up on his palms, and enjoyed the moment, humming softly to himself. 

It was so peaceful. Clint couldn’t even begin to count how many times he had sneaked out in the middle of the night to go stargazing and imagine himself thousands of miles away, living another life, being happy, not living in fear. And despite the many other times he had done this, this time felt different. 

Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the location. Or just the fact that he was free now. Everything he had done lately that he had already done before felt different. It was no longer tainted by the fact that back then all good things always came to an end. He could go out and stargaze for hours but if he wasn’t in his room by the time Harold was getting up and passing by, it would mean a beating. He could eat gas station pancakes and gummy worms until he was so full he felt sick, but he still knew he would have to go home and face his father’s inevitable drunken rage. 

Before he left, nothing he did was truly enjoyable and he had never even realized that until now; he had never noticed just how much his home life negatively impacted everything else around him. And now? Now having that badness gone, knowing that there was nothing and no one waiting to hurt him after he enjoyed himself was almost overwhelmingly wonderful. 

“Do you know the song Satellites by The Palms?” Bruce asked suddenly and Clint turned to look at him. 

The book was on the blanket between them, closed, and Bruce was imitating his posture, leaned back on his hands staring up at the sky. 

This was the third time that Clint had really thought this but something about Bruce was particularly attractive at night. Maybe it was the way the shadows shaped his face or just how at peace he seemed. 

“Uh, no, I don’t.” 

Bruce smiled, still watching the stars. “I’ll add it to the playlist I’m making you.” 

“You what now?” 

Bruce’s smile widened and he finally turned to Clint. “I told you I would recommend some songs. I figured a playlist would be the easiest way to do that.” 

Clint felt his cheeks warm and his heart skip a beat, his smile wide and happy. “Aw, Bruce. I can’t wait to listen to it.” 

They smiled at each other for a moment before Bruce’s eyes went back up to the night sky, a wistful look on his face. 

“‘If you could see the world from here, we’re satellites in the air, no pain no fear just floating through the atmosphere. I wish, my dear, take me away from here, we’ll disappear like satellites in the air,’” Bruce sang quietly, his voice as pleasant to listen to when he sang as it was when he spoke. “The first time I heard that song, it made me wish I could just float away into space and never come back.” 

“I think I know the feeling actually.” 

Bruce let out a quiet sigh, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them. “I used to imagine myself floating above the earth, looking down at it. I’d do that whenever I felt like I couldn’t—couldn’t take it. It would make it seem small. Whatever was happening to me, I mean. Made it easier to deal with. It just got harder to do as I got older.” 

“I used to wait until I was sure my parents were asleep and then I’d sneak out and walk as far as I could and just scream. Sometimes into my hands or I’d take a pillow out with me if I was too hurt to go too far.” 

“You’d scream?” Bruce asked, a small smile on his lips. Clint nodded. “Hard to imagine since you’re so calm.” 

“Ah, well, this,” he said, gesturing to his face and body, “is all a very elaborate party trick. I mean, it’s better now. But I’m not calm, I’m just tired.” 

“Somehow I manage to be tired and panicky at the same time. It’s very fun.” 

“Sounds it. Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this to yourself all this time. Maybe I wanted to have fun,” Clint teased, lifting a hand to poke Bruce’s side. 

Clint could feel Bruce’s eyes on him but he didn’t turn nor did he speak. He just waited, sensing that Bruce was trying to work up the courage to ask or say something. Clint watched a plane flying overhead masquerading as a star and gave Bruce the time he needed. 

“Earlier,” he finally said after a full minute of silence, “when you were telling me about leaving, you mentioned something I didn’t understand. You said you just left ‘just like he did.’ Who?” 

Clint felt his entire body tense. Had he said that? Had those words really left his mouth? There were few subjects that made Clint clam up and shut down and this was one of them. It was one of those things that he had pushed to the very back of his mind so securely that he could almost deceive himself most days into forgetting it had ever happened. 

“I—”

He stood up. The awful feeling that overtook him now made him need to move and try to shake it off. He paced for a moment before heading back to their spot, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. Sorry, I brought it up.” 

Clint was very close to thanking him for being understanding but maybe it would help to talk about it. It had been years since he had. 

Clint’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to actually get sound to leave his lips and when he did, he felt an ache in his chest as sharp as the day it had happened. 

“My—”

He saw Bruce’s head raise in his peripheral vision but he didn’t turn to him. 

“My,” he tried again, only for the words to catch in the back of his throat and refuse to budge. He swallowed roughly, clenching his hands into tight fists. 

“Sorry,” he said instead, staring down at the blanket. 

He hated that it still bothered him this much. At the time it had sent Clint into the worst of his downward spirals. He’d skip school, skip meals, and take beatings in near silence, which only made Harold hit harder. He had no motivation to do anything. If he did go to school, he would come back home and just go to sleep, maybe eat something the next day on his way home but he lost all traces of light in his life. 

His mother was still somewhat coherent back then. He could tell she was worried but even more than that distraught over what had happened. It wasn’t long after that she bought him a new slingshot and it managed to bring him a small sliver of joy. He was sure that meeting Natasha a few months later was the only reason he was still here today. 

“It’s okay. Take your time. Or you don’t have to tell me at all. Sorry for overstepping.” 

“No, you—” He gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply through his nose, slowly sitting down on the blanket beside Bruce but staring down at his feet, fiddling with some loose threads on the bottom of his pajama pants. 

He could do it. Maybe to prove to himself that it could one day not matter at all. Or maybe in hopes of really solidifying a friendship with Bruce. In any case, he knew if he didn’t answer now he probably never would. 

“My brother.” Clint expected the surprised expression on Bruce’s face because he had not once mentioned having a sibling. 

“He’s who I meant.” 

“Is he… did your father, um—”

“No. He’s alive. I think. Haven’t heard from him in a few years.” 

“He left?” 

Clint nodded. 

“But your father used to hit you both?” 

Again Clint nodded. 

Bruce was quiet for a long stretch and Clint wasn’t sure if he was done with his questions or not, so he turned to him. Bruce’s fingers were twisting and untwisting the edge of his oversized sweater. 

“Did you have a good relationship? You and him?” 

“Really good. Or—or so I thought. I dunno. For a long time I thought he was the only person who really understood me. We did everything together and sometimes he’d even get in between me and our father. I’m a couple years younger than him so he was always protecting me and then…” Clint trailed off, one of his hands in the air, palm facing the sky because this was the part of the story that he never knew how to word because it just didn’t make any sense to him. 

“And then he left you there. With him.” 

Clint’s hand fell with a resigned plop into his lap and he turned and met eyes with a furious Bruce. 

“Yeah.” 

“How old were you?”   

“Eleven.” 

Bruce dropped his gaze down to the blanket, his hands in tight fists in his lap. 

“You know, I get it,” Clint blurted out, about to tell Bruce the same lies and empty reassurances that he told himself whenever he started thinking about Barney and what he had done. “I was young, and small, and would’ve probably slowed him down. His best shot at gettin’ away was without me.” 

The silence between them stretched on forever before Bruce spoke up, his voice quieter than Clint had ever heard it but there was no mistaking the anger in it. 

“I’m young and small and probably slow you down and you didn’t leave me behind. And I’m not even your family. I wasn’t even your friend then.”  

When Clint blinked, he felt the stinging behind his eyes and did his best not to cry. He just didn’t want to. 

Rationally, he had always known that what Barney did was selfish and awful. Clint and Barney had talked about getting out, about leaving and going somewhere Harold would never find them ever again. Sometimes they would sneak out of the house at night and go walking in the fields and talk about their dreams of running away, all the plans they had and places they would go. 

It was Barney who first taught Clint to go out into the fields to find some peace of mind. It was Barney who introduced him to all the music he still loves now. It was Barney who taught Clint so many of the things that kept him going and now Clint wondered if he’d done all of that because he knew he would leave him there. 

He turned back to Bruce. 

“And then one morning I woke up and Barney was just gone.” He knew he was gone and not dead because of the things that were missing. Baseball cards he collected and his favorite hats and his backpack. He didn’t even leave a note for Clint. No goodbye at all. Maybe he had really never cared for Clint to begin with. 

Howard’s anger and his beatings only worsened after Barney left. Clint wasn’t sure if he was angry that one son had managed to escape him and his wrath or if he was just pissed he’d gotten stuck with Clint, the child he had always liked the least. 

Despite everything, Barney was still popular at school. He was captain of the football team, he had a new girl after him every few months, teachers liked him. Howard might have beaten them both but he had always plainly had a favorite. Barney was better than Clint at acting like nothing was wrong and it made Clint wonder just how much else he was simply good at pretending to do. 

And now here Clint was having to face the second person in his life to confirm that Barney was a shitty person for leaving his little brother there to suffer. Nat being the first. 

“You didn’t deserve that, Clint. And your brother sounds like an asshole. No offense.” 

Clint blinked back tears again and this time they almost won and spilled over. 

“Thanks. I… I think I might head back in and sleep. I’m not… I’m not mad at you or anything. I just….”

“I get it. I’m sorry for what happened.” 

Clint paused and considered reminding him that he didn’t need to apologize but, honestly, he appreciated that one. 

“Thanks. You coming?” 

“No. I’m gonna try and find a few constellations,” he said, lifting the book and giving it a gentle shake. 

Clint stood, pausing and chewing the inside of his cheek as he debated with himself. “You sure?” 

“Yeah. I’ll come in a bit.” 

Clint still didn’t move. He was worried and trying to figure out how best to phrase what was bothering him without coming across as a clingy psychopath. He couldn’t help it right now. He and Bruce might not have been extremely close but after talking about Barney, the idea of someone else leaving him made him feel sick. What if Bruce didn’t come back in? What if he took off in the middle of the night because Clint wasn’t worth the hassle and emotional baggage he came with?

“You still think about floating away and never coming back?” 

Bruce looked away from him and then out into the darkness before his eyes raised once again to meet Clint’s. He frowned, tilting his head to the side. “All the time.”

Clint felt his stomach drop and his throat constrict and burn. He knew he would lose his struggle to contain his tears soon and if Bruce was planning on staying up here for a while, at least he could cry without an audience. He knew he had no right to be sad about Bruce thinking about getting away from him one day but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. 

“Oh. Cool. Goodnight, Bruce.”

Bruce eyed him, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Clint.” 

Clint scrambled backwards on the floor, blood trickling down the side of his head and his ears ringing so loudly he almost couldn’t hear the vile and vulgar things his father was saying as he approached, a folded belt in his hands. He smacked the leather against his open palm and Clint flinched, knowing exactly how it would feel as it came into contact with his skin. 

“No,” he said, still trying to get out of the way but he couldn’t stand. His legs felt like they were made of cement, so he kept pushing backwards until he hit a wall and suddenly the room was smaller. 

There were no windows, no doors, and the walls were black. It was just a single spotlight following Harold’s menacing figure as he made his way over to his son, the sound of the belt hitting his hand was like a gunshot, making Clint flinch each time. The sound of Harold’s boots vibrated throughout his body, his heart beating in time with it at first and then speeding up. 

Clint couldn’t breathe, his throat felt tight and dry and the harder he tried to breathe, the less air he got. He was choking. Harold stopped, a wicked grin spreading across his face as Clint clawed at his chest, trying to get air. 

“Pathetic,” Harold spat, his words echoing off the walls, louder with each repetition. “Useless,” he continued, moving closer again. “Worthless.” 

The wall behind Clint began to move, pushing him towards his father, speeding up the inevitable. Clint’s vision felt fuzzy around the edges as he still struggled to breathe and then suddenly Harold’s hand was around his neck, squeezing tightly. 

“You shouldn’t have run away, boy.” 

Clint woke up screaming. He was drenched in sweat, his heart racing so quickly that in his panic he briefly wondered if he was having a heart attack. 

There were hands on his and he snatched them away in the darkness, trembling and yelling at the person to get back, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the hit to come. What was worse was having to do all of this in silence as he remembered his hearing aids sitting on the bedside table. 

“Please, don’t,” he pleaded with Harold, thinking the man was in the room with him. 

And then he remembered which room he was in and opened his eyes to an illuminated room and a wide-eyed and worried Bruce standing in front of him, clutching his own hands nervously to his chest. 

“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” Clint asked, reaching out with shaking hands to grab his hearing aids and put them in. 

Bruce let out a relieved sigh and then shook his head. “No, but it would be alright if you did. You were having a pretty nasty nightmare. I tried to wake you but you wouldn’t.” 

Clint swallowed dryly, the image of his father with his hands wrapped around his throat popping up every time he blinked. He exhaled shakily, running his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. 

“Here,” Bruce said, going over to the table and grabbing a bottle of water. “Drink.” 

Clint took it and did as he was told, almost finishing the entire thing before he put it down and wiped his mouth. His heart was still pounding and he had the lingering feeling that he was going to run out of air but at least he knew he was safe. It was just an awful, awful nightmare. 

“You okay?” Bruce asked, handing him a towel next and Clint took it tentatively, dabbing at his face and neck. 

“Not yet,” Clint said honestly, “but I will be. Thank you, Bruce.” 

“Don’t mention it. Mind if I sit?” 

Clint looked up at him quickly and then averted his gaze. The nightmare left him feeling weak and vulnerable and that was on top of how awful he had felt before he went to sleep anyway, silent tears falling down his cheeks being the last thing he remembered before he drifted off. 

A part of him was genuinely surprised to see that Bruce was still here. That part of him that Barney had ruined that made Clint expect to wake up in an empty room with Bruce having disappeared in the night. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t know how to get by on his own by now. And it wasn’t like he had any real reason to stick with Clint. 

Clint looked down, feeling like the things Howard so often called him: worthless, useless, pathetic. 

He balled his hands up into fists in his lap trying desperately to keep himself from crying. He was enough of a burden when he was in a good mood. He wasn’t going to ask Bruce to comfort him and become even more of one. 

“I’m okay,” he finally managed, his voice low so it wouldn’t crack. “You don’t have to stay up with me. You should sleep.” 

Bruce frowned and then said, “Do you want to be left alone?” 

Clint opened his mouth to say ‘yes’ although the word never came. It caught in Clint’s throat along with the sobs he was still holding back. That question felt like it held a lot more weight than Bruce intended. Did Clint want to be left alone? No, never. 

He hated being alone. He hated all of the lunches he spent eating alone at a table. He hated all the times his father locked him in his room alone or bullies left him in a locker until someone came and took pity on him. He hated being left alone when Barney took off and he hated being all by himself when his mother started to fade. 

For all of Clint’s smiles and no matter how easily he seemed to be able to brush off pain with a quick joke, inside he was still a scared, lonely little kid. Every remark he brushed off hurt and every smile he forced drained him. 

He didn’t want to be alone but wouldn’t telling Bruce that result in him being alone? In Bruce realizing he wasn’t worth the effort as so many others had before him? 

Bruce sat down on the bed without bothering to ask and then lifted his hand and, hesitating, rested it on top of Clint’s. At first Bruce’s hand just sat there, skin on skin, and then he slowly wrapped his fingers around Clint’s, holding on tightly. After a moment, Clint closed his fingers around Bruce’s. 

Clint stared down at their hands, smiling at the contrast. Bruce’s hand was not only a few shades darker than Clint’s but small enough that it barely covered it. Bruce’s hand was also warm and soft. Its weight was welcome and anchoring, keeping Clint firmly in the moment and helping to reassure him that he was far away from Harold who could not get him and had no power over him anymore. 

Clint was utterly dumbstruck by what was happening. He had never had anyone come to his aid after a nightmare. No one had ever brought him a glass of water or made sure he was alright. Even before Barney left, they didn’t share a room and his brother always conveniently managed to not be woken by Clint’s cries and whimpers in the night, so Clint was used to dealing with the aftermath on his own. This was nice but it was also kind of surreal. 

Would this be what his life would be like once he got to Nat’s? When he was having a nightmare, she could just come in and be there in person? Offer him hugs and water and talk to him? And he would be able to do the same with her, being there whenever she needed him and not just via text or FaceTime. Was that what normal, non-abusive households and siblings who loved each other were like? Just… there for each other all the time?

When Clint looked up, Bruce was staring down at their hands and slowly looked up to meet his eyes. Bruce’s eyes looked so much bigger and more innocent right then. Clint felt like if he wasn’t careful, he would just fall forward and dive headfirst into them. It occurred to him then that Bruce wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

Had he really jumped out of bed so quickly to help Clint that he hadn’t managed to put his glasses on? 

“Can… can you see?” 

Bruce laughed, his smile fond and warm. Clint had never wanted to poke his finger into anyone’s dimple before but the temptation to do so now was scarily strong. 

“I’m not blind, you know. Things are just very blurry. I couldn’t read anything like this,” he explained, his eyes dropping back down to their clasped hands. 

“I see,” Clint said, biting back a grin when Bruce looked up at him with nothing but betrayal on his face. 

“Was that a pun? That’s awful. You should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Clint’s grin broke free and he giggled. Bruce’s expression softened from his melodramatic shock to something warmer. 

“You have a nice smile,” Bruce told him. 

“I thought I was blurry?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and blushed, looking away quickly before he met Clint’s eyes again. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve seen it. My eyes may suck but my memory works just fine.” 

“Well, then thank you.” 

“You’re more than welcome. And, Clint? Ignore me if I’m understanding this wrong but… when I said I wanted to float away, I meant from life in general. Not you. No offense but I’m not your asshole brother.” 

Clint laughed and though it didn’t sound nearly as sincere as he had hoped, he went ahead with his joke. “I’m starting to think you don’t know what ‘no offense’ means.” 

Bruce smiled softly and then his other hand landed on top of Clint’s as well. He looked up at him and said, “Really, Clint. You’re my friend. Friends don’t abandon each other.” 

“You’ve known me less than a month.” 

“I know, the longest friendship I’ve ever had. Crazy, right?” 

Clint smiled but it didn’t stay on his face for long. “Bruce, I—”

Clint’s sentence was suddenly cut off as Bruce’s small frame slammed into his, winding him. Bruce’s arms wrapped around him and after a moment Clint’s brain caught up with what was happening and he slowly lifted his own arms to wrap around Bruce. 

“You’ve done nothing but help me. I’m happy I can finally return the favor,” Bruce told him, still holding on.

Clint smiled and this time it stayed. He sighed, feeling some of the pressure on his chest and shoulders lighten. “Thank you. I think I needed this.” 

“You really don’t need to thank me for a hug. This is as nice for me as it is for you.” 

Bruce’s small frame felt so incredibly fragile in Clint’s embrace. He couldn’t stop his hands from moving slowly over Bruce’s back. He needed this hug for himself for obvious reasons but it was also out of relief for the fact that Bruce was still here. He really had come down from the roof and was there in Clint’s arms. 

He was also warm. 

Clint closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

And he smelled good. 

Clint’s arms wrapped more tightly around Bruce, burying his face into the space between his neck and shoulder and Bruce let out a soft sigh but didn’t let go or loosen his grip either. 

Clint wanted to pull Bruce all the way up onto the bed or into his lap and hold him properly but he did still have a little bit of sense left in him so he took what he got and was happy with it. More than happy. Bruce gave great hugs and Clint reckoned that even if he didn’t have budding feelings for him, this would still be one of the best hugs he had ever gotten. 

Neither of them spoke and neither of them seemed particularly eager to pull away. Clint did his best not to read too much into that, attributing Bruce’s reluctance to let go to his touch starvation theory so that his stupid crush wouldn’t flare up. 

When they did finally pull away, Clint wasn’t sure how long it had been. It was still dark outside but his heart was beating at its regular pace and he had cooled down and wasn’t sweaty anymore. 

Bruce stood at the side of the bed, his hands interlocked in front of him and a self-satisfied smile on his face. 

“What’s that look?” Clint managed around a deep, eye-watering yawn. 

“Nothin’,” Bruce said, still smiling. 

Clint wanted to ask but he was too tired to find the words. 

“Sleep. I’ll set my alarm and we can leave a bit later than usual,” Bruce told him, going back over to his bed. 

“Bruce?” Clint called, barely still awake, his hearing aids still in because after a nightmare like that, silence felt too threatening. 

“Yeah?” 

“For someone who’s new to it all, you’re a hell of a friend.”

Chapter Text

“Oh,” Bruce said, taking a half-step back into the bathroom of their latest hotel and bringing his clothes up to shyly hide behind. His eyes were fixed on Clint’s phone.

Clint was laying on his stomach on his bed, his phone in his hands in front of him, and Nat on the screen as they chatted over FaceTime. 

“Sorry, I can go out and give you two some space if you need,” Bruce said, his expression sad for a reason Clint couldn’t work out. 

“No need. I always call her while you shower. Usually you take a little bit longer. I can grab my headphones,” Clint said, leaving his phone where it was so that Nat now got to stare at the awful popcorn ceiling. 

“Is that Bruce? Clint. Clint, show me the—” Clint grabbed his phone with a lightning speed he didn’t even know he was capable of, inserting the headphone jack to keep Natasha from exposing him and his crush on Bruce. Knowing her, that was exactly what she was just trying to do. It was no accident. 

Clint laughed nervously. “I, uh, I can go out if—”

“Can I?” Bruce asked and Clint tilted his head to the side, confused. 

“You wanna go outside?” 

“Oh, no, I, um… can I say hi to her? Is she okay with that? Are you ?” 

“Oh,” Clint said, looking warily at the grinning girl on his phone. He narrowed his eyes at her and she mimed drawing a halo above her head and then for extra reassurance, she pretended to zip her lips. He knew this was going to go badly, he just wasn’t exactly sure how she would do it. “Um, yeah. Sure.” 

He unplugged the headphones again and the background sounds on Nat’s end filled the room. Clint sat down on his bed and patted the spot beside him and a moment later a wet-haired Bruce came into the frame and Clint could see Nat visibly trying not to make a face at how adorable Bruce was. 

So far he hadn’t so much as sent her a sneaky picture of him. She had nothing to go on but Clint’s brief descriptions and his occasional texts of ‘he’s so cute!!!!!!’ 

“Hi, Bruce,” Nat began, smiling warmly and okay, yeah that was fine. It was fine that Clint’s best friend already knew Bruce’s name. That was a totally normal thing for best friends to talk about and wasn’t exclusive to someone who had a crush. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Clint’s told me so much about you.” 

Oh she’s such a rat 

Bruce blushed, moving hair away from his face and readjusting his glasses. “Likewise. I almost feel like I know you already.” 

Oh nice. Now it feels normal again 

They chatted for a while, both exchanging information about where they were from, some of their hobbies and interests, and became Instagram mutuals. Nat told Bruce a few stories about Clint that made Clint roll his eyes and playfully cover Bruce’s ears who swatted him away each time. 

Watching Bruce smile and laugh with someone else gave Clint the purest sense of joy. Bruce’s smiles and laughs had absolutely nothing to do with him and yet he felt so proud to see them. Watching him interact with Natasha so easily, it wasn’t Clint’s victory but he still felt like he had won something. 

Maybe it was because Bruce had been so withdrawn and reserved-going-on-hostile when they had first met and now look at him. They both still had a long way to go—six days wasn’t going to permanently fix anything—but the improvement was a hell of a thing to get to see. Clint knew the credit belonged to Bruce who had really come out of his shell the last few days but that didn’t stop him from smiling just because Bruce was smiling because a win was a win. 

“Well, I’d like to continue getting to know you,” Nat said once the conversation had naturally begun to come to an end. It was nearing eleven o’clock and Bruce had been hiding yawns for the last ten minutes. Nat too. 

Nat’s smile was warm and friendly but Clint could see the cunning glint in her eyes now. She was up to something alright. 

“Oh, well, uh, sure,” Bruce said, sounding surprised. 

“You seem great and also, you see, I’m very protective of Clint and I just want to know for myself that he’s in good hands.” 

Clint closed his eyes and sighed internally, waiting for Bruce to be offended or upset. 

“I totally understand,” Bruce told her with a solemn nod. 

“What?” Clint exclaimed. 

Bruce turned to him, those big beautiful brown eyes of his wide and confused. “Clint?” 

“I just… I wasn’t expecting that is all.” 

Nat was outright smirking at him but as soon as Bruce turned back to face the phone her warm and friendly smile was back. That little traitor. 

Bruce shrugged and offered them both a sad sort of smile. “It’s really nice of you. I wish I had someone looking out for me like that.” 

“I’ll do it,” Clint said, speaking without thinking and honestly his brain hadn’t truly processed what he had said until the words were out of his mouth, hanging in the air between them waiting for Bruce to either catch and keep or swat them away. 

Clint swallowed slowly, doing his best not to look at the camera to see the knowing smirk on his best friend’s face. 

Clint knew why he had said it. He said it because he meant it. Because he had been thinking since the beginning that he wanted to be for Bruce what Natasha was for him but that didn’t mean he’d meant to say it out loud. Not now, not yet, maybe not ever. 

He knew one day soon he wasn’t going to be around anymore. He and Bruce would go their separate ways and how was he going to look out for Bruce then? 

They were almost halfway done with their journey now. They had broken it up into trips of between two and a half and three hours. That gave them an estimated, though ever-changing, twenty day trip and they had just reached day six. 

Sure, it was still a long way to go but maybe it would have been better to say that on day eleven as opposed to day six. Maybe it was too soon now. Maybe it would freak Bruce out or he would accept just to be nice, maybe— 

“Really?” he asked, his eyes so earnest and hopeful that it nearly knocked the wind out of Clint. 

That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He wasn’t expecting Bruce to be surprised in such a pleasant way. 

“I—yeah, of course. W-would you want that?” 

Bruce’s eyes grew a size bigger and slowly a smile spread across his face and then he nodded, his curls bouncing. “I would. A lot.” 

“Then you got it,” Clint said, not sure what to do with everything he was feeling for Bruce. It was more than just a crush. It was also a sense of protectiveness and those lingering feelings of proudness at his progress. It was also a relief having finally said the words aloud to Bruce that he had been thinking for so long and getting a positive response. It was a bundle of varied feelings all wrapped into one. 

Bruce was still staring at Clint, something off about his expression that Clint couldn’t place but it wasn’t bad. Just different. He was so close, just a few inches away on the bed, looking so soft and warm and happy and Clint just wanted to grab him and squeeze him in the world’s tightest hug but if he ever did get the chance to do that, he’d rather Nat not be on FaceTime with them. He could just imagine the kinds of things she would say. 

“Aw,” Natasha said, interrupting the moment. And then what she said next was serious and it made Clint turn to her, his heart so full of appreciation and happiness he thought it might burst. “I’m really glad he has you, Bruce. You don’t know how much better I sleep knowing he’s not doing this alone.” 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

Spending those last few days with Bruce, Clint had almost forgotten how excited he was to finally see Nat in the flesh. To hug her and be in her warm, loving presence. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten that. That was what had kept him going for so many years, that was what had given him the push he needed to start planning his escape and to actually take the first step to leave. 

But right now, looking at her kind face and hearing those words, that desire and excitement felt renewed, perhaps even increased. 

“Of course,” she said, blowing him a kiss. She yawned again, covering her mouth as she did. “Bruce, we’ll talk again soon but I need to get some sleep.” 

“Definitely,” Bruce said. The fact that he seemed to like Nat was making Clint’s entire week. 

“I’ll text you. Night, Nat.” 

“Goodnight, boys.” 

Clint put his phone away and turned to Bruce who was still sitting on his bed, looking deep in thought. 

“You okay? I’m gonna shower.” 

Bruce looked up after a moment. “I… yeah. I’m alright. Okay, I might go ahead and sleep.” 

“Be my guest,” Clint said, stretching and yawning as he headed for the bathroom. 

By the time Clint came back out Bruce was still sitting up in the bed. He was on his phone, squinting at the screen because his glasses were off. 

“Whatcha up to?” Clint asked, climbing into his own bed. He always loved the feeling of being clean and sleepy and getting into nice, fresh sheets. It never failed to knock him right out. 

Bruce blushed. “Um, looking at Nat’s Instagram page.” He scrolled a few more times and then turned to Clint with a small smile. 

Clint felt his pulse race and the permanent butterflies in his stomach flutter. As the days went on, his crush on Bruce only ever seemed to intensify. Every time he got the chance to learn something new about him, he only ended up liking him even more. And somehow Bruce just kept getting cuter. Clint wasn’t sure how but it was definitely happening. 

“Nat’s really, really nice. I like her.” He turned back to the phone, double-tapping a photo. “And I’m pretty sure she’s the prettiest person I’ve ever met too.” 

Clint was just about to wish Bruce a goodnight so he could spiral in silence over Bruce’s words and his apparent confession of a crush of his own, when Bruce spoke again. 

“Thank you for sharing her with me. And thanks for… for what you said. You, um, it’s okay if you didn’t really mean it. You know, if you just said it to impress Nat or—”

“Firstly,” Clint began, sad that Bruce thought Clint had only offered to look after him as a means of winning Nat over, “I meant it. I meant it then and I mean it now. I’ve kinda… always thought it. Like, ever since we first met, so that’s not changing. I’m here for you, dude. And secondly, impress Nat? No, she’s like a sister to me. She’s what having a sibling should’ve been like all along. It’s nothing romantic. Never has been. So, um, if you like her then—”

“Oh, no. No. B-but not in a rude way. She’s beautiful and funny and nice but I… I’m not interested in that way.” 

Before Clint could try to boldly ask ‘why not’, Bruce was talking again. 

“What do you mean you’ve always thought it?” 

“Oh,” Clint said, almost having forgotten that he admitted to that. 

Clint sat up to explain, starting with the first time he had spotted Bruce in the communal room and how he had felt seeing that sad, distant look on his face paired with the injuries. He told Bruce about his chat with Nat and how he had asked for advice on how to talk to Bruce. He told him about how secretly happy he had been to see him on the bus and how he hoped they would get a chance to talk. 

“It wasn’t pity that moved me to talk to you. Not like ‘oh this guy has a hard life, let me come be a knight in shining armor.’ None of that but you reminded me of myself before I met Nat. And that was when I realized that everyone should have a Nat but unfortunately you got the Walmart version, which is a Clint.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m pretty sure having a Clint has benefits that having a Nat doesn’t. I’m very happy with my Clint,” he said. 

If this were some kind of romance story, Clint was sure this would be the moment when one of them would get out of bed and impulsively kiss the other. This was the moment when Clint should say something like ‘and I love my Bruce’ but he didn’t. None of that happened. 

Instead they both blushed and looked away, silence filling the room and it was only slightly awkward. Clint was replaying those last two words over and over again in his mind. My Clint. God, his poor heart couldn’t take any more. 

When Clint finally did look over again, he smiled and said, “You don’t know how happy that makes me to hear.” 

+

Almost daily Bruce and Clint chipped away at the walls they kept themselves safe within. At least when it came to one another’s company. With strangers, their defenses were still up and charged to full capacity but with one another Clint could feel himself relaxing more and more as time went on, as they shared about themselves, and bonded over common interests. 

Waking up in the morning and looking over at Bruce made him smile. In the beginning, Clint had been uneasy about it all. Then Bruce was a guy Clint knew was suffering and Clint wanted to help if he could but by all definitions he was a stranger, and a somewhat hostile one too. Now he was a friend, a crush, someone Clint laughed with and spent every minute of every day with and somehow still hadn’t gotten tired of. 

They had been getting on really well. Apart from the occasional disagreement about where to eat or grumbling because one of them had used up the hot water, it was surprisingly pleasant. Well, surprising to Clint mainly because after many, many years of having the mantra ‘nobody likes you’ repeated to him at full volume, it was a nice plot twist to find a second person who did in fact seem to like him. 

And because it was already such a rare thing that someone liked him platonically, he didn’t even bother too much about his crush. Instead he focused on being a friend to Bruce, which was just as much of a blessing in his eyes. 

Over the last couple of days, Bruce had really… Maybe saying he had ‘relaxed’ too was the wrong word but he couldn’t think of a better one. Bruce still worried, still wrung his hands and picked at loose clothing threads, but he teased more, laughed more, initiated touch more often. Clint couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for the change, that same proudness welling up in him like it had the other night watching him talk to Nat. 

Clint continued to watch Bruce sleep for a few moments, not sure when was the proper cut off to keep it from being creepy. He turned away now and looked at the window, focusing on the tiny sliver of morning light coming through the blinds. He knew his alarm would go off soon and they would need to get up and start the day’s trek. 

Maybe just maybe this next town would actually have something to offer. He hoped so because the last few had shops and restaurants and maybe one recreational thing but it was for kids ages ten and under. This area so far had kind of been a Fun Desert, not a hint of it for miles. He pulled out his phone to check google, feeling hopeful. 

“Hey,” Clint said, packing his last item and zipping his duffel while Bruce folded his pajamas behind him. 

“Hm?” 

“I was googling this morning and found out the next town’s got an arcade. Ever played video games?” 

“Uh, no. But I’ve always wanted to.” 

“Your wish is my command.” 

The arcade was better than either of them could have imagined. It was still dated and some of the machines didn’t work but as far as their experience with these small towns had gone, this one was the closest to being in the twenty-first century. 

They had also done something rather unusual and deviated from their routine. They checked into their motel first to leave their bags, grabbed a quick breakfast, and then made their way to the arcade feeling free and unburdened. 

As he and Bruce explored the arcade looking for which machine they wanted to start on, Clint wondered when their trip had become less about getting from point A to B and more about enjoying the journey. It didn’t feel like this huge, daunting task anymore; it felt like it had actually been planned. Like it was a trip between old friends. Old friends who had now decided to stop at an arcade. 

Arcades were one of the few things that Clint had good memories of and not just any memories but good ones with Barney. The two of them used to cut class and instead make their way to the mall. They would spend the entire day there going between the food court and arcade before sneaking back home with none the wiser. Every so often their mother would give them a knowing look since she always received the calls home from the school but she never told them to stop. Maybe she knew they needed it. 

“Come on, slowpoke,” Bruce said, coming back to grab Clint’s hand and pull him along. 

Clint looked down at their clasped hands and then up at the back of Bruce’s head, his curls bouncing as he dragged Clint determinedly over to his chosen game. 

“This one,” he said and then, ever so very Bruce-like, “please.” 

Clint grinned, staring at the huge machine with the words PAC-MAN written across the top. 

“A classic for sure. You’re a man of taste, I see.” 

“I’ve heard about this game and one time I downloaded a free version on my phone but I’d always wanted to play it like this,” Bruce admitted, moving in closer and slowly tracing his finger around the buttons. 

“Then let’s do it.” 

“Oh, um. Can you go first? So I can watch and see how to do it?” 

“‘Course I can, Brucie.” Clint stepped up to the machine and started digging around in his pocket for a quarter. Thankfully this arcade was still stuck in 1995 and most of the games were between twenty-five cents and a dollar at the very most. There was a fish game they had passed on the way in and Clint had done a double take when he’d seen the words ‘one gameplay = ten cents.’ 

Clint inserted the coin and waited for the game to load. He was excited. After Barney left he’d stopped going. He didn’t like going on his own and Barney had always been better at hiding from the mall security who were on the lookout for kids playing hooky. He was ready to— 

“Brucie?” Bruce asked. 

“Oh,” Clint startled, feeling the warmth rising up his neck and face. “I, uh—do you hate it? If you hate it, my bad. It just slipped out and I guess people probably have called you th—”

“I don’t hate it. And no one’s called me that before.” 

“Really? No one? What about your mom?” 

The music on the game increased in volume and Clint turned back to it, realizing that it was time to play. Reflexively he started pressing the buttons, looking away from the screen briefly to make sure his question hadn’t upset Bruce, who just seemed distracted by the game, and then he asked it again. 

“Oh, uh, no. She had other nicknames for me. So, what exactly are these things?” Bruce asked, pointing at the creatures chasing Pac-Man. 

“They’re called ‘ghosts’ and they’re trying to stop Pac-Man from eating the pellets. They have names too. Wait, so what did your mom call you? ‘Brucie’ just seems like the most obvious nickname.” 

“Do you know their names?” Bruce asked, moving closer so that his hands were resting on the side of the machine, his arm bumping against Clint’s. “Oh, uh, well she’s Mexican, I’m half-Mexican, so she called me cariño, chiquito, mi amor. Stuff like that.” 

“That’s so sweet. Wait,” Clint said, hitting the pause button and turning to Bruce. He had questions but in all honesty he was mostly just distracted by the way Bruce’s voice changed ever so slightly when he spoke Spanish. “So you speak it?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “It was always nice too ‘cos my dad didn’t speak it fluently so it was like our little secret, me and my mom.” 

“Teach me some sometime?” 

“As long as you teach me some more ASL. And tell me the names of the ghosts.” 

“You bet. So their names are Pinky, Inky, Blinky, and the orange one is Clyde.” 

“I’m Clyde.” 

“Why?” Clint asked, resuming gameplay. “You like orange?” 

“Not particularly but all the others get to have rhyming names and he gets to be Clyde. It just feels right.” 

Clint chuckled, bumping Bruce’s shoulder with his own. “Well, you’re not a misfit anymore, Brucie. You and I are a matching set of outcasts. So I’ll be, uh… Slyde.” 

“Slyde? That’s the best you can do?” 

Clint snorted. “Well, sorry. Remind me next time to let you be a sad little outcast on your own,” he teased, his grin widening when he saw Bruce’s. “Now quit distracting me, Clyde, I have a game to win.” 

Clint won his game and once it was over he pulled out another quarter and turned to Bruce, raising an eyebrow. Bruce fidgeted worriedly and then took a deep breath and nodded. 

“You’d think you were about to go to war with how nervous you seem,” Clint observed and though he kept his tone light and his smile in place, he was genuinely curious as to what was going through Bruce’s mind. What about this game was getting him so riled up? 

Bruce stepped up to the buttons, looking down at them for a moment before he took the quarter from Clint and inserted it. 

“Apart from Pac-Man, I never really played video games because I never wanted to actually,” Bruce admitted after a few moments. His body was incredibly tense, his shoulders nearly raised to his ears and his jaw flexed as he played. Pac-Man should not have been such a high-stress game. 

“How come?” 

“I don’t like things I can’t predict or uncertainties. I like to get things right, to have solid answers, and even though you know to some extent what a game holds, you can’t know everything.” 

“But that’s half the fun.” 

Bruce shrugged. “I guess but it’s just not that fun for me.” 

“Is that why you like science and math so much? The certainty?” 

Bruce nodded, his smile coming back a tiny bit. He risked a glance at Clint as he said, “You remembered.” 

“Of course I remembered.” 

Bruce’s smile stayed fixed on his lips now and some of the tension faded from his body. “I—yeah. That’s a big part of why I like it. While I know sometimes even science can surprise us, like biology for example, it’s still usually a surprise within the realm of what I already know is possible. Knowing I’ll never put two plus two into my calculator and get five or that nothing will make two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen suddenly create fire instead of water is comforting to me. Is that weird?” 

“I mean you’re weird,” Clint countered and saw the way Bruce’s smile dropped the tiniest bit on the edges and he quickly spoke to explain himself. “But that’s what I like about you. I’m sure there’s more to you that I haven’t seen yet but I really like what I have. Never change yourself for anyone, okay?” 

“That’s what my mom said to me the last time I spoke to her, you know? She told me to promise her to be exactly who I am and who I want to be and not to change for anyone.” 

“I really think I would like your mom. And see? She gets it. She knows you’re awesomely weird. And now I get to know.” 

Bruce blushed, looking away, having won the game but they weren’t even paying attention to it anymore. When he turned back to Clint, there was an odd look in his eyes Clint couldn’t quite put a name to but he liked it. It looked good on him. 

“What?” Clint asked, smiling too because Bruce’s grin was so contagious. 

“You said ‘get to know’ like it’s a privilege or something.” 

“Well, ‘cos it is. Duh. It’s an honor to know you and a privilege to be your friend. Besides, you seem like the type to be very picky about the company he keeps. I’m glad I made the cut.” 

“You’re right, I am. No one was good enough for sixteen years. I had people practically falling off me left and right begging to be my friend and I said ‘no, I’m waiting for this insanely tall, blond guy from Iowa.’” 

“So crazy, that’s exactly how I pictured it happening in my mind.” 

+

“Clint.” 

“No.” 

“Clint?”

“No.” 

“Clint.” 

“No, Bruce. I just…” Clint sighed, shaking his head. “I just don’t see how I can get past this.” 

“Clint,” Bruce whined. 

“No, I’m sorry, Bruce, but I just can’t do this. I think it might be time for us to go our separate ways. We’ve had a good run but all good things must come to an—”

“I promise it’ll be the first thing I do when I get to New Rochelle,” Bruce said, grabbing Clint’s arm and giggling, a grin on his face that spread from one ear to the other. 

Clint looked down at him and almost broke character when he saw Bruce’s face and heard that sweet, sweet giggle bubble up out of him. 

“I dunno, dude. I just don’t understand how you’ve gone sixteen years of life and not even once thought to yourself ‘Hey, I should watch that award-winning, culturally-impactive movie with its one-of-a-kind soundtrack and A-list cast.’ How, Bruce?” 

They had stayed at the arcade for a long time. About to leave when their stomachs started growling but then Bruce spotted one last game in the corner that they hadn’t played. He pulled Clint—who had quickly grown comfortable with the way Bruce liked to just grab him and tug him along—over to it and then at the same time that Clint gasped and said, “Oh my god, how did we miss this one,” Bruce said, “Which one is Shrek?” 

Clint felt his entire world come crashing around him. If he were in a movie that would have been one of those record-scratch moments with the camera zooming in on the protagonist who was wearily side-eyeing it and trying to understand what exactly was happening. 

Now they were trying to find somewhere to eat and Clint was still trying to understand how such a tragedy had occurred and why it had to involve his poor, sweet Bruce. 

“I don’t know!” Bruce said, letting go of Clint so he could throw his hands up dramatically. 

“Frankly speaking, I’m appalled that this didn’t come to light sooner. I think I’m gonna be sick. How have you not seen Shrek ?” 

“In all fairness, I think I’ve missed out on a lot of necessary life experiences.” 

Clint narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers to his lips. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But I just can’t accept this. And I have an idea.” 

“You always do,” Bruce replied, still smiling widely. 

“But first, food. What do you feel like?” 

With their bellies full and keeping an eye out for a good stop to get some dessert, they made their way to their favorite store: the dollar store.

“I can’t think of anything else in the last twenty years that’s had more of an impact on society as we know it than Shrek has,” Clint said confidently, looking around the DVD aisle. 

“I feel like maybe there might be one or two other things but for the sake of my sanity, I’m going to agree with you,” Bruce said with a dramatic sigh, following Clint. 

This wasn’t their usual dollar store visit because for once they had a goal in mind. Of course they made their usual stops to point out absolutely terrible things and ask if the other wanted them—Clint found an action figure called Wind Man and the toy was totally transparent but alas Bruce wasn’t interested—but they were also on the lookout for Shrek. 

With their now extensive knowledge of how dollar stores worked, they decided to check every aisle, looking under items that had been left on shelves where they didn’t belong and under the shelves themselves just in case it had been kicked underneath. They never knew what literally hidden gems they might find if they looked hard enough. 

The one other thing Clint made sure to get was a postcard with the town’s name on it. He had been collecting them during their trip with the intention to mail them all to his mother one day and give her a little insight into his adventures. He may not have had the relationship Bruce had with his mom but that didn’t mean he didn’t still love her and want her to know he was safe. He knew she would want to know.  

“Found it!” Bruce called from the other side of the store. 

Clint made his way to him after choosing a postcard and found him, not in the DVD aisle, but in the kitchenware. 

“Unexpected. Where was it?” 

“Inside this pot.” 

“So weird but 10 Dollar Store Hunt points for you,” he laughed, taking the dvd and turning it over in his hands. He smiled and gave it a little shake. “I don’t even think you understand how excited I am to watch you watch this for the first time.” 

Bruce looked down at the ground, chewing his bottom lip. 

“Bruce? You have a thought?” Clint said in his best teacher voice. 

“I, um… what if I don’t like it?” 

Clint scoffed. “Impossible. That’s like saying you don’t like air. You’re gonna love it.” Clint turned to head for the register but stopped when he realized Bruce was still standing there staring at the floor. “Brucie?” 

Bruce looked up slowly, the worry plain on his face. “But really… what if I don’t like it?” 

Oh. He really is worried about it 

Clint walked back over to him and gently rested his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, giving them a soft but comforting squeeze. 

“Then we’ll just have to find another movie from my personal Best Movies Ever list that you will like. Now, come on. We have to find movie snacks for tonight and then go get off our feet. Mine are killing me.” 

“Alright, so we got already-popped popcorn, not ideal but we’re making do. We’ve got chips, gummy things, chocolate, and, what is this again?” 

“I don’t really know but it says ‘gourmet snack’ so how can I not try it?” 

“Excellent point. Alright, I think we’re ready,” Clint said, holding his bag of goodies securely against his chest as they left the store. 

It was an especially hot day and all Clint wanted to do was not be moving or outside at all anymore preferably. Bruce kept wiping sweat and pushing his hair away from his face too. It was too hot. 

As they walked through the city making their way to their hotel for the night, Bruce had decided to share his music and to talk a little more about himself. Clint listened, both to the music and to what Bruce wanted to share, happy to be learning more about him and especially happy that Bruce now seemed so much more comfortable sharing so freely. 

He didn’t talk about anything too deep or heavy but it was still nice hearing him speak. Clint listened attentively and asked questions as Bruce talked about his favorite artists and why he liked them. While Bruce and Clint did have quite a bit of musical overlap, there was a lot in Bruce’s collection that was new for Clint and he loved it, immediately adding some songs to his own playlists. The more he listened, the more excited he got about the promised playlist to come curated by Bruce himself. He had good taste. 

Now at their hotel, having finished their music discussion with Bruce telling Clint that Aaron Bruno, lead singer of Awolnation, was deaf in one ear and he thought Clint might like that fun fact, they were setting up for their movie night. 

Showered and in their pajamas, they climbed onto Clint’s bed together because it was better positioned in front of the television, and spread out their snacks on the comforter in front of them. Thankfully, this motel had a room with a DVD player so Operation: Introduce Bruce to Shrek was a go. 

“Okay, we’ve got everything, are you ready to have your mind blown?” 

Bruce still had that worried look in his eye but he nodded, his expression determined now. “I am.” 

Clint lifted the remote and clicked play, sitting back and doing his best not to stare at Bruce for the entire movie. 

It was hard though not only because he wanted to see every single one of his reactions but also because he was so close. Clint could feel his warmth under the blanket, their legs only a few inches apart. He could smell Bruce’s shampoo! And sitting there in his PJs, slowly eating M&Ms, and looking so focused and soft as he watched Shrek, Clint felt his heart start to beat faster. The desire to pull Bruce closer and rest him against Clint’s side was almost too much. 

Sometimes Clint could almost forget about the crush and all he focused on or noticed was how much he enjoyed Bruce’s company. Bruce made him laugh, he taught him new things and wasn’t patronizing or condescending when Clint asked him to explain something he didn’t know or understand. Bruce had a temper for sure—Clint had seen it flare up twice since they’d been on the road—but the majority of the time he was patient, gentle, and kind. So sometimes it was so easy to just focus on how much Bruce was an ideal type of friend. 

Other times it seemed to hit him out of the blue. Like now. He wasn’t sure what separated these moments from the purely platonic ones or even if there was actually a separation but right now all Clint could think about was how much he wanted to kiss Bruce. And not in some pervy ‘ooh we’re in the same bed this could get steamy’ kind of way but in the ‘I want to tilt his chin up with my finger, stare into those eyes, and press my lips to the tip of his nose before my heart explodes’ kind of way. 

In other words, Clint was struggling. 

He bit the inside of his cheek to break himself out of that line of thought and focused his attention on the movie and not Bruce’s proximity or off-the-charts levels of adorableness. 

“Oh, I like the song,” Bruce said as the movie began and the theme played. “I never knew Shrek was a fairytale.” 

Clint smiled, chuckling softly and eating his snacks. He would do his best not to recite any lines and to just let Bruce experience it on his own. 

Bruce laughed and gasped his way through the first few scenes, telling Clint that it wasn’t what he had imagined Shrek to be like at all, neither the movie nor the character. 

“Oh no, the poor gingerbread man,” Bruce said, reflexively clutching Clint’s arm as Lord Farquaad used Gingy’s own legs to mock him and then Bruce was laughing again once they started up the ‘Muffin Man’ part. 

“I feel like if Shrek were the talkative one and Donkey was the quiet, broody one, it’d be a pretty good representation of you and me on this trip. Except you never said you didn’t want me to tag along,” Bruce observed. 

“Wait, why am I Shrek?” 

“You’re tall.” 

By now Bruce had scooted all the way over. The bowl of popcorn in his lap was all but forgotten, he was holding onto Clint’s arm, leaning against his side, their legs almost touching under the blanket. If Bruce yawned one more time Clint wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up with his head on Clint’s shoulder. 

Sadly that never happened. Bruce’s head stayed upright, too intrigued by the movie in front of him to relax that much. Occasionally Bruce would gasp and check with Clint that nothing bad was going to happen and it was adorable. 

Bruce felt bad for Dragon when the others tricked her and left her there chained and alone. That part almost brought tears to his eyes. He cheered for Fiona when she beat up Robin Hood and his men. He was sad again when the bird exploded and they ate her eggs for breakfast. 

For all of the badness Bruce had experienced in his life—and Clint was well aware that what he knew was barely even the tip of the iceberg—he was still such an incredibly pure human being. Things influenced him so deeply at times whether it be music or a particularly nice sunset or the budding friendship between Shrek and Donkey. 

Clint didn’t often allow himself to feel his emotions. He had spent years not letting himself cry or look weak or hurt in front of anyone, no matter how battered and bruised he may have been. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was the principle of the matter, or maybe Clint just knew he wasn’t good at it. He knew when to be sad and when to be happy. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to have emotions at all but he always needed that extra nudge from Natasha to open up and be vulnerable in any way, shape, or form and yet here was Bruce, still holding tight to his arm, looking like the personification of ‘puppy face’ as he watched Fiona transform after true love’s kiss. 

Clint was glad he had seen this movie an embarrassing number of times because he barely watched any of it. He spent almost the entire movie watching Bruce. Clint could have pressed a kiss into the middle of his curls. He could have lifted his arm to wrap around Bruce’s shoulders and pull him in even tighter. He didn’t but he sure as hell wanted to. 

As soon as the credits began to roll, Bruce sat up, detaching himself from Clint who let out a silent and remorseful sigh. 

“Okay. Time for your honest opinion,” Clint said, putting on his happy face. He turned the volume down and turned to Bruce who looked nervous again, chewing his lip. “Listen, yes I love this movie to death but it’s not like I actually wrote and created it, right? It’s just something I like. So if you don’t like it, I promise you I won’t be upset. Here, pinky promise with me.” 

Bruce lifted his hand slowly and hooked his pinky around Clint’s. To Clint’s surprise, he didn’t let go and spoke with their pinkies still wrapped together. 

“Well, I…” He looked away and Clint felt his heart sink. He was still hoping Bruce would like it at least a little. “I loved it. Are there more?” 

“Wait, what?” Clint said, grinning from ear to ear now as Bruce matched his smile. “You loved it? Really?” 

“Are you kidding? It’s great. So funny but also a decent romance.” 

“Right?! Oh my god, Bruce. Bruce!" Clint repeated, kicking his feet excitedly under the covers. “Okay, I know I said I wouldn’t care if you didn’t like it but I am, like, ecstatic because you did and I—Brucie. Bruce, do I have your permission to hug you?” 

Bruce looked at all the open snack packages on the bed. “It might make a mess.” 

“Sleeping on crumbs is so worth it.” 

Bruce smiled and opened his arms wide, angling his body toward Clint. “Hug away.” 

Clint scooped him up easily, his arms wrapping tightly around his slim figure and rocking them slowly for a moment.  

“You have no idea how happy I am right now and yes there’s more Shrek.” 

“How much more?” 

“Two movies.” 

“Aw, that’s it?” Bruce asked as Clint slowed to a stop and slowly pulled away. 

Clint did his best to ignore the sudden sharp pain in his chest as he pulled away from Bruce, as he lost that concentrated and oh-so-pleasant smell of Bruce as well as his comforting warmth. 

For the first time ever, he was almost grateful for how well he could think one thing and show another on his face and in his voice. 

“Well, okay, maybe there’s four in total plus animated shorts and a musical that we will never watch but—” 

“Four! Why did you say only three?” 

“‘Cos the other is…” He made a displeased noise and a few hand gestures that seemed to confuse Bruce even more. “They got lucky with number two, right? Two is a masterpiece. Three was like closure. Then four… Well, I barely remember what happened but you know what they say, too much of a good thing. Like the Transformers movies. Who even knows what the plot was after the first one?” 

Bruce was silent. 

“I haven’t—”

“You haven’t seen those either. The Emperor’s New Groove?”  

Bruce shook his head. 

“Ice Age?” 

“Also no.” 

“Monsters Inc.? The Land Before Time? El Dorado? Mulan? Goonies?” 

“All no. I didn’t watch much tv.” He didn’t need to explain why. Clint could figure it out from other stories Bruce had told him about his home life and Clint knew from one story that the only television was downstairs in the living room. He could understand a lack of desire to be in there. 

“Gosh darn it, Bruce. You need a movie education and I sadly don’t have the time to provide it in full.” He plopped down onto his bed. 

He tried to keep things light but as happened every so often when he remembered, there was that wave of sadness that Clint was beginning to grow accustomed to. That painful reminder that Bruce would soon no longer be a constant in his life. At least not in person, not physically beside him. He was determined to never lose contact but he already knew it just wouldn’t be the same and he would miss him too much for comfort. 

“Well you can always send me recommendations and I’ll watch whatever I can find. I’ll message you on—” 

“You should take my number.” 

“—insta—oh, yeah, okay.” 

Clint waited for Bruce to get his phone and then recited his number, watching him type it into the new contact field. 

“There, now you can reach me anytime. And if I change that number, I’ll make sure you’re the first person I send the new one to.” 

Bruce stared down at his phone and then up at Clint with those big doe eyes that were making Clint melt. 

“What’s your last name?” 

“Why? Got many Clints in your phone?” 

“Maybe I do,” Bruce said, still looking down at the contact page. He looked up at Clint and said, “I just realized I know your breakfast order, your bedtime routine, and your 3am snack preference but I don’t know your last name.”

“Huh. Very true. Well, my last name is incredibly exciting and exotic. It’s Barton. What’s yours?” 

“Banner,” Bruce said with a laugh as he typed Clint’s last name.  

“B Name Gang represent.” 

Bruce chuckled, typing again on his phone and a second later Clint’s phone dinged. 

Bruce: hi! :) 

God, he’s too cute. How can any one person be this damn cute? 

Clint added Bruce Banner to his contacts and then sent back a grinning emoji. When he looked up, Bruce was watching him, his expression hopeful. 

“So we can text. Or maybe, um, FaceTime and watch them together so you can point out all the important parts and answer my questions.” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, feeling the way Bruce’s words were making his stomach flutter, “I’d like that.” 

Clint walked over to take the DVD out, trying to get those damned butterflies under control. 

“Clint?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you really?” 

He paused, holding the disc in his hand. He turned to look at Bruce, frowning because had he missed something? Bruce was sitting on his own bed now, looking down at his hands, his phone on the bed beside him. He looked up and that hopeful expression had turned into something sadder, something almost distrusting. 

“Will I really call you?” 

“And keep in touch?” 

“‘Course I will.” He started to turn back to grab the DVD case but stopped and once again met Bruce’s eyes. “How am I s’posed to look after you if we don’t keep in touch?” 

Bruce smiled bashfully and looked away, hopping down off his bed to slide underneath the covers properly. A happy Bruce was a happy Clint. 

“And hey, I already know the next movie. We should do Treasure Planet . It’s one of my all-time faves. Pretty sure Jim Hawkins was my gay awakening.” 

Clint froze, the DVD in one hand and the case in the other. He felt a sudden chill go over his entire body, followed quickly by a heat so intense it made him feel dizzy. He was sweating and his skin felt prickly. His mind was reeling, he swayed on his feet before slowly turning around to see Bruce’s face. 

Bruce was sitting up in bed, his hands holding the edge of the covers as he was frozen in the motion of pulling them up. His eyebrows raised and eyes went wide but he otherwise didn’t react. 

Clint didn’t know what to do. His breathing felt labored and his throat was dry. He felt sick to his stomach and still he couldn’t get his legs to cooperate so he was stuck where he was. 

“I-I-I,” he stuttered, flinching when Bruce moved even though all he did was readjust his glasses. 

Bruce tilted his head to the side, frowning. 

Here we go  

“What?” 

Clint’s mind went blank. He wanted to say he was sorry but... why was he sorry? Did he even know? Maybe Bruce didn’t hear him correctly. Or at all. Or maybe he didn’t think Clint was serious. He decided to run with that. 

He put on his best goofball smile and scratched his head, trying to play it off as nothing more than a bad joke. 

“Ah, nothing. Just me being stupid. We should get to sleep. Early start tomorrow,” he said, putting the DVD away into his bag and heading to the bathroom.

He closed the door and just stood there, staring at the floor, trying to process what he had almost just done. He had almost outed himself to Bruce. In fact, he had outed himself but thankfully Bruce didn’t seem to have heard it. He wondered how Bruce would react if he did hear it. 

Sure he had been upset about the way the homophobic elderly couple treated them, but maybe that had nothing to do with the homophobia and everything to do with just being mistreated. Maybe Bruce was even annoyed that they thought he might be in a relationship with Clint. 

Clint laughed quietly, mockingly. He could think of plenty of reasons why Bruce wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with him and not being interested in men wasn’t even at the top of the list. 

On the one hand, Clint couldn’t quite bring himself to believe someone as kind-hearted as Bruce could harbor dislike for someone just because of who they loved but at the same time, small towns tended to produce narrow mindsets. His own hometown hadn’t been any different. 

Maybe he had finally found the unattractive thing about Bruce since literally nothing else was. 

By the time he came back out, Bruce had cleaned up the snacks, turned off the lights on his side, and was curled up in his own bed now, his back to Clint. 

Clint stared for a moment and then climbed into his bed. 

“Night, Bruce.” 

For the first time in a while, the air between Bruce and Clint was awkward and uncomfortable. Clint kept opening his mouth to try and fill the silence but nothing to say came. The few topics he could think of felt like he might ruin them if he introduced them into this unusually unsettling atmosphere, so his only option left was to survive the quiet. 

It wasn’t like it was the first time they had ever gone about their morning in total silence. It just didn’t usually last that long. Packing up, breakfast, the walk to the next town were all done without a single word exchanged between them. Clint was starting to get that awful nagging feeling in his stomach like he’d done something wrong and was going to be punished and that certainly wasn’t helping him. It reminded him too much of being back home and was sending him into a nonverbal mood. 

Bruce seemed upset, honestly. His facial features looked angry and the way he held his body too. But also kinda sad. Clint didn’t want to do the narcissistic thing and assume he was the cause of it because maybe Bruce had a nightmare or was just being bothered by particularly rude thoughts. 

And Clint wanted to ask. He wanted to see what he could do to improve Bruce’s mood again because dammit if he didn’t absolutely hate seeing him looking like that again, like that angry, hurt kid from the hostel. 

Clint turned to him, determined to say something, to talk about anything, even if all they did was discuss the weather but Bruce beat him to the punch. 

“I didn’t appreciate what you said.” 

Clint’s mouth hung open while his brain tried to connect the dots and find something to say. 

“What I said?” 

“Yeah about… about your ‘gay awakening.’” 

That sure seemed like an odd way to phrase ‘I don’t like gay people’ but Clint figured he’d wait and see exactly how he was going to be hate-crimed before he defended himself. 

Bruce looked away, down at his hands. They had found a park bench kept cool by the shade of large trees on either side. This town was another extra small one with not a lot to do and not far to go to reach their next stop so they decided to spend the day in the park. 

“The way you laughed about it and said it was just you being stupid.” Bruce clenched his fists, inhaling deeply as he said, “I didn’t appreciate that. It’s not stupid. Being gay isn’t stupid. I’m not stupid.” 

Clint’s brain was short-circuiting, little mental sparks shooting out as the few functioning synapses left tried to process the words coming out of Bruce’s mouth and turn them into something that made sense to Clint. 

“You—are you gay, Bruce?” 

Bruce’s cheeks went red and he looked away again. “No, but I like both and in any case, none of it is stupid so if you think that then I guess we just don’t need to be fr—”

“I’m gay, Bruce. Like very much so. Like, the only straight thing about me is that I like to watch sports. Jim Hawkins really was my gay awakening.” 

“I don’t—but you—then why did you say it was stupid?” 

Clint leaned back against the bench and dragged a hand down his face. “Because I never meant to come out to you and I was trying to pretend like it was just a joke.” 

“I… have so many questions but—” He stopped talking long enough that Clint turned to him. He was silently tearing a blade of grass into smaller pieces and throwing them to the ground. 

“Bruce?” 

“Why not? Why did you never want to come out to me? Did you think I’d judge you? Hate you? Hurt you?” 

“No, I just… well, maybe I thought you’d judge me. And hate me. But not hurt me.” 

“But… I don’t understand. What about me makes you think I’d be homophobic?” 

Clint sucked in a sharp breath and decided that the truth was the easiest place to start. He looked away, deciding to grab a blade of grass of his own to tear apart while he spoke. 

“You seemed too perfect. I figured you must be hiding one hell of a fault and I guess I decided it was that. Plus, like most things, apart from Nat this isn’t something I have ever talked to anyone about. I still get a little dizzy just thinking about how easily I said it to you.” 

Bruce was quiet for a while again and Clint managed to find a group of teens playing with a frisbee to watch so he wouldn’t rush Bruce to speak. He would love it if Bruce spoke up and addressed what Clint had just said because it was one hell of a confession when he really thought about it. And because Bruce seemed upset about something. 

“How long have you known?” 

Clint blinked a few times and then squinted as he thought back. “Oh, um, a while. Maybe since fifth grade. I just never liked girls the way the other boys did and then I watched Treasure Planet for the first time and didn’t understand what I felt until later when I realized I had a crush on Jack Sparrow, because who wouldn’t?” 

“Have you ever dated another guy?” 

Clint laughed miserably. “Uh, no. When you look up ‘homophobia’ in the dictionary, I’m sure my town is listed as a hotspot and beside it is just a picture of my father.” 

“Feels like this goes without saying but did he know?” 

“Definitely not. I never told anyone. One time I was washing dishes with my brother in the kitchen, our father was in the living room and there was a commercial that played with two married men doing their laundry or something. My dad said the worst things about them, came into the kitchen to get a beer, and told us we had better be glad we aren’t a couple of homos or he’d shoot us. All the rest of the abuse aside, my motivation to come out to him kinda went down after that.” 

“God, why are they such assholes? I’ll never understand it.” 

Clint just shook his head. “It’s a mystery. All these years of my father hounding into me the idea that there’s something wrong with me and yet the whole time something’s been wrong with him.” He huffed softly and turned to Bruce. “They may never learn but at least we’re safe now.” 

“We are,” Bruce agreed with a soft smile and then it turned slightly sad. “Were you upset when you realized?” 

Clint paused. “Yeah. I was.” 

“Afraid they were right? That something was wrong with us?” 

Clint nodded. 

It was amazing how Bruce knew exactly what he was thinking. Harold had drilled it into him that he was worthless and useless and just downright wrong for years. Realizing he was gay and especially in a town that was so openly homophobic didn’t really help Clint to reason that Harold was the wrong one. Though something else Bruce had said caught his attention. 

“Us? Wait,” Clint said, holding up a finger to pause the conversation.  How on earth did that only just now click in his mind? “Did you—did you say you like both?” 

 Bruce’s smile was incredibly sad. “You know, it’s one of those things I never let myself think about because I never thought it would be necessary. I know that I like girls, I think. But I also think I like guys. It was mostly the few celebrities or characters I know because my classmates were awful but I always knew I didn’t just like one. I just never put more thought towards it until lately.” 

“I—”

“B-b-but by ‘lately’ I don’t mean that I’ve been thinking inappropriately about you . I mean, we’re sharing a room and I should’ve told y—”

It was both sweet of Bruce to be so concerned about Clint’s comfort levels and a pretty painful blow to hear that Bruce was not referring to him at all. Clint wasn’t the one making Bruce question his sexuality and honestly, it’s not like Clint thought he would be the reason. It was more that he hoped he would be. 

But at least now he had his answer. Bruce was bisexual and not interested in him. Maybe his crush would fade now and he could stop feeling faint every time Bruce smiled at him. 

“You don’t need to apologize for anything. If anyone should, it’s me. I’m gay and I’m firmly decided on that label. I was the one who pitched the idea of sharing rooms, but I swear I didn’t do it for any gross reason, just the money and convenience. I promise.” 

Bruce waved away Clint’s worries that were suddenly bubbling up as the realization of how it might look dawned on him. 

Bruce shrugged and let out a soft, melodic laugh that did weird things to Clint’s stomach. So hopefully the crush would fade but he was just being stupid if he thought it would go away immediately. 

“I mean, I was totally sure you suggested it because you think I’m cute so that’s kind of a bummer,” Bruce said, teasing and turning to Clint with a grin. 

Well I didn’t but I do certainly think that 

Clint smiled back, opening his mouth to speak but deciding against it. 

“What?” Bruce prompted. 

“Nothin’. Well, no, it’s just that I wouldn’t wish what happened to us on anyone and if I could make it so that it never happened to you, I would but… it’s so nice having someone who understands. And who understands so much .” 

 Bruce’s answering smile was small but so sincere and warm. “Same here.” 

They sat quietly for a while, the silence between them restored to its usual feeling. It was comfortable and welcome and didn’t feel like a physical blockade between them. Clint leaned back, rested his arm along the back of the bench and exhaled, trying to work up the courage still to ask what he wanted to ask. 

“So… nothing to say about my confession?” 

Bruce pulled his legs up onto the bench and sat cross-legged, looking out at the park in front of them. “About me seeming perfect?” 

Clint nodded. 

“No.” 

“Can I ask why not?” 

Bruce let out a tired sigh. “You’re so wrong it doesn’t even bear thinking about but it’s sweet of you to think that.” 

“Well,” Clint said, suddenly angry and he wasn’t even sure why. Maybe because Bruce was being mean to himself. “I think you’re wrong.” 

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree then.” 

“Yep,” he said impudently, popping the ‘p’. 

Clint saw Bruce smile out of the corner of his eye. Another day, another goal met of making Bruce smile when he was sad. 

+

“Okay, but like, hypothetically speaking,” Bruce said, sounding exasperated. 

Good. He should sound tired because he was not going to sit there and convince Clint that he was wrong. Bruce was wrong and Clint refused to give in. 

“What if they don’t like me? Like, really.”

“Literally and hypothetically speaking, you’re just not the kind of guy people dislike,” Clint said, taking a bite of the taquito in his hand. 

It was later that evening and they had dropped their things off at their motel and then managed to find a Mexican restaurant in town and were grateful for another break from diner food. 

“Take it from me, the only local expert on all things Bruce,” Clint continued and was happy to see an eye roll and shy smile from him, “it’s really hard not to like you. You’ve got one mean bone in your body and after you’ve let it loose, you then use it to tell yourself off for using it! It’s just not possible, man.” 

Clint pretended not to see the blush creeping up Bruce’s neck and onto his cheeks only because he didn’t want Bruce to think he was just trying to get a reaction out of him. 

Bruce was talking about his aunt and cousin in New Rochelle. They hadn’t been in touch with one another in years. Bruce said that the last time he remembered seeing them, he couldn’t have been more than four or five. Bruce’s father never let Bruce and his mother go to New York to visit them and their first visit to Ohio was also their last after seeing how Bruce’s father treated his son. 

That was a long time to go without communication and Bruce was worried. He explained that he was worried they didn’t really want him and that they were just doing this as a favor to his mother. 

“I don’t want to be someone else’s burden,” he said quietly, folding and unfolding his napkin. 

“You’re no one’s burden, Bruce. Certainly not mine and I mean, if you were ever going to be a burden it would be on this trip but I’m just happy to have you here. You’ve made it so much better than it would have been if I’d done it alone.” 

“Thank you but you’re you. I mean… you’re so nice, Clint, and not that my family isn’t but you don’t have to feed me or put a roof over my head or share your space with me indefinitely. The way I’d be a burden to them is different.” 

“Well, if there’s no convincing you, let’s look at the bright side. You can leave soon. You’re sixteen, so you’ve got another two years of high school and then—”

“Oh, no I’m done with school.” 

“I totally get it. I only have one year left but I’m just gonna get my GED and call it quits. No force on earth could get me back into high school.” 

“Actually,” Bruce said, toying with a tortilla chip now, breaking off a small piece and putting it into his mouth, “I’m done. Like, I graduated already. Two years ago.” 

“What now?” Clint asked flatly. 

“I, uh… do you remember me saying I’m really smart?”

Clint squinted. “Vaguely. It was sprinkled in amongst you accusing me of being an axe murderer, right?” 

Bruce blushed but carried on. “Yeah, not my finest moment, but I was serious. A-and I’m not trying to brag, which is why I never brought it up again, I just… I finished high school at fourteen.” 

Bruce looked away like he was waiting for Clint to scold him or mock him. Possibly even just ignore him. Did his father taunt him for being smart? What the hell kind of backwards logic… 

“That’s cool as hell. So you’re like a genius?” 

Bruce wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never liked that word. It sounds so pretentious.” 

“But yes? You are?” 

Bruce sighed. “I mean… yeah.” 

“Why on earth have you been working in a library if you’re a genius?” 

Bruce seemed pleased with how completely unfazed Clint was with this admission. And honestly, Clint was freaking out internally. He had never met a genius, he had only seen them in movies or being interviewed, like Reed Richards. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but such a down-to-earth, anxiety ridden, adorable boy wasn’t it. 

“I, uh… I received a few scholarships,” he said, taking a sip from his drink, “but because of my age, I needed parental consent and, surprise surprise, my father wasn’t on board with it.” 

“For the most part, the things we’ve been through are self-explanatory but this one I don’t get. Why wouldn’t he be happy you’re smart and that he could, for lack of better phrasing, get rid of you? It just doesn’t make sense.” 

Bruce laughed sadly. “Yeah, well, that’s my father for you. I told you he’s a jealous man. I was being offered things he never had. I genuinely think he worried I was smarter than him too and he just wanted me to be… normal. I never was. I spoke earlier than other kids, walked earlier, I’ve never been sociable, I’ve never liked things most kids like and it’s a small town. When someone’s different…” He trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished because this was one of those understood things between them. 

Different was never a good thing to be in a small, backwards town. Different was always bad no matter what. 

They ate quietly for a few minutes, the waitress coming over to refill their drinks and ask if they needed anything else. Clint decided he would treat Bruce to some churros, hoping that this random Mexican restaurant in Pennsylvania would even have them. He himself had never tried them but he’d seen them on tv and always wanted to. 

Clint got up to go to the bathroom and placed the dessert order on the way, getting Bruce a large glass of milk as well. Bruce got a huge glass every morning when they had breakfast, so hopefully he’d want one now too with dessert. 

When he came back, the desert was just arriving. 

“Oh, we didn’t order this,” Bruce was saying as Clint slid into his seat. 

“No, I did. My treat.” 

“Oh, I—thank you,” Bruce said, both to Clint and the waitress. 

“Oh my god, I just realized I ordered you churros at a Mexican restaurant in the middle of nowhere. And on the way to the bathroom I saw into the kitchen and the cooks were all white. If they’re disgusting or not how your mom makes them, you don’t have to eat them, really.” 

Bruce was already laughing, covering his mouth with his hands. 

When he finally managed to catch his breath, he wiped his eyes and said, “I told you my mom isn’t a great cook. She made churros one time and nearly burned down the house so if these are bad, trust me, I won’t know.” He reached for one but he stopped and looked up at Clint, his smile still lingering on his lips. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Of course.” 

Bruce dipped his churro into the melted chocolate in the little bowl and took a bite, chewing slowly. 

“They’re not bad,” Bruce said around a mouthful of churro. “Try one.” 

Clint did as he was told and was surprised to find that they really were good. A little tougher than he expected but delicious nonetheless. They had nearly finished their plate of eight after a few minutes and Clint leaned back to take some of the pressure off of his overfilled stomach. Burgers, pizza, hot dogs and the like were all great but in moderation. It was nice to get away from that kind of food but he may have overdone it in his excitement. 

“Oh god, I think I’m dying. Do I look like I’m dying?” 

“Yep, already one foot in the grave by my diagnosis. If you slip into a food coma, can I have your slingshot?” 

“What are you gonna do with it, nerd boy? Solve world hunger?” 

“I was thinking about reversing global warming but yeah that works too,” Bruce shot back. 

It was so nice hearing him tease so freely. He was smiling and joking, and it came so naturally. Almost as if he hadn’t spent the last sixteen years of his life with no one to talk to. If Clint weren’t about to either throw up or pass out, he would make a comment about it but right now his mouth needed to stay closed while his stomach attempted to digest some of his meal. 

Despite its rocky start, today was an amazing day. Clint had never been allowed the easy way out in life. Few things had a happy ending for him. Run away with Barney? He got left. Fall in love? He was gay in a violently homophobic town and household. Runaway on his own? Not that he was complaining about Bruce but that still didn’t change the fact that a four day bus ride had turned into a three week trek. 

So Clint never would or could have guessed that coming out to Bruce would go quite like that. Even in his wildest dreams where he imagined Bruce responding positively or at the very least not hating him for it, he never thought Bruce would also be queer. He never thought it could be a topic that would disappear as quickly as it arrived. He imagined interrogations and Bruce setting new boundaries and rules for their sleeping arrangement. He never could have foreseen that the topic would pass along as though they’d been discussing the weather. 

It was so nice. Being with Bruce was so nice. He was such an unexpected gift. One that Clint didn’t ever want to lose even once they parted ways. He didn’t want their promises to text and call and watch movies together to be just lip service. He wanted it to be real. He wanted to talk to Bruce all the time, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was his crush and how much was just friendship but in any case, he could not lose Bruce. 

“Hey, Bruce?” 

“Mmhmm?” he hummed, staring out the window at the town and its few citizens out walking and driving around. 

“Are you gonna reapply when you get to New Rochelle? To the colleges, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around himself, his expression anxious now. “Gotta see how it is first.” 

“Like how far you’ll be from campus or…?” 

“No, what the home situation is like. If they don’t want me, I… I dunno. I’ll probably just get a job somewhere and try to move out on my own soon.” 

“Well, uh… this is kind of spur of the moment, I know, but, um, if you really don’t wanna go there, why not come… with... me?” 

Bruce turned, his eyebrows nearly merging with his hairline. “What? But aren’t you going to live with Natasha?” 

“Well, yeah, but you see it’s this weird arrangement. Okay, wait, I can do this better.”

Chapter Text

In the end, Bruce turned him down. Clint explained exactly what it was that Nat did in her free time with finding people like Steve and Tony. He explained who Nick really was and showed him pictures of the house to prove to him that there was more than enough room for him but he still said no. 

On some level, Clint knew he wasn’t going to sway Bruce but he still wanted to try. He wanted to try to bring Bruce with him so he’d never have to let him go but he also wanted Bruce to be somewhere with people who understood him and would like him and not see him as a burden. It was both selfish and selfless. 

Bruce wanted to honor his mom’s request for him to stay with his aunt. He knew she had gone through a lot of trouble to set everything up and get Bruce out of that house safely, so the least he could do was go where she planned for him. If it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out but he had to try. 

Clint still let him know that if the unthinkable were to happen and his cousin and aunt really didn’t want him there, well, he had Clint’s number and all he had to do was call. Bruce promised to visit, though, and Clint did too, both of them sharing their soon-to-be new home addresses with one another.  

It had been two days since then and now they were on their way to their motel for the night to drop their things and go exploring. They weren’t sure why they hadn’t thought to do that all along so they wouldn’t have to lug their stuff around but better late than never. 

The past couple days were nice and cool climate-wise. They walked a little slower enjoying the refreshing breeze and the sounds of the fields rustling in the wind. 

As they walked, the silence between them never lasted long. They discussed music, movies, types of foods they wanted to try one day, and places they wanted to go. Sometimes Bruce would point at something and teach Clint the Spanish word for it and then Clint would show him how to say it in ASL. And when they didn’t feel like talking about or doing any of those things, Clint plugged in his splitter and they listened to music together. 

They gave their latest motel a solid six-out-of-ten. The room was small, clean, and not decorated in any kind of nauseating or overly outdated way. The bathroom didn’t have anything in it that made them want to hurl and the bed was comfortable. 

That was the only reason it got a six instead of a seven. The bed. Singular. Just one. 

The cheapest room available only had one double bed in a room. The next room available with two twin beds was on the other side of the building and had a view to the town, so it was almost double the price and neither of them were willing to spend that much for one night. Especially not when the so-called ‘view’ was just a Red Lobster sign and a Home Depot. 

It wasn’t as awkward as Clint had expected it to be. They went about their usual routine of shopping in town, picking up dinner, and then taking turns showering. Bruce always went first because he showered so quickly and then Clint because Clint liked to stand under the water for a few minutes and let his brain shut down. The white noise of the water droplets beating down on his head was the best mind scrambler and the few minutes of not having to think about any What Nexts or What Ifs was wonderful. 

Clint came out to find Bruce sitting on his side of the bed, a book in his hands and when Bruce looked up, he startled. It took Clint a moment before he recognized the book, feeling the embarrassment spread. 

“Um, were you reading that?” 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized, leaning across the bed to put it onto Clint’s bedside table. “You said I could get out a crossword and I thought it was a crossword when I reached inside your bag and then curiosity got the best of me. Sorry but can I ask?” 

Pushing his embarrassment aside, Clint gave him that same ‘seriously?’ look and Bruce went straight into his question, no hesitation. 

“What is it exactly?” 

Clint walked over to his side of the bed and picked it up, his thumbs moving over the soft leather on the outside of it. It was one of those things Clint had splurged on. He went to a fancy stationary shop in town and spent almost an entire paycheck on it. He had bought it a few days after he and Nat had first begun planning his escape. 

He had taken it out a few times on the trip but normally while Bruce was showering. He had even added a few things to it recently as well, usually inspired by something he’d seen or Bruce had said. He felt a little embarrassed that Bruce had found it, if he was being honest. Some of the stuff was kind of cheesy. 

Clint sat down and looked up at Bruce. “My to-do list.” 

“But… some of the things would have already happened.” 

Clint shrugged. “It’s my list of all the things I’ve ever wanted to do and would one day like to do. And yeah, some things I won’t be able to experience as and when I should’ve but I still wanna try.” 

“How?” 

“I dunno. But I’ll think of something. Take prom, for example. I don’t need the decorations or any of that. I don’t even need the tuxes, I actually just really want the slow-dancing scene. I didn’t go to my own junior prom. I thought about it but there were many obvious reasons I chose not to but mainly… I didn’t want to dance with a girl.” He paused, looking down at his hands before fixing his face and looking up at Bruce with a smile. “But the movies I’ve seen… I’ve always loved the part where they just sway to the music and kind of forget about the rest of the world, some cheesy love song playing in the background.” 

Bruce laughed softly. “No offense, but I didn’t peg you as a romantic.” 

“No? What about me screams ‘hit it and quit it?’”  

“That’s not what I thought either,” Bruce groaned with an eye roll that made Clint snicker. “I just didn’t look at you and see a guy who wants to slow dance to 2000’s RnB while wearing a crappy rent-a-tux.” 

“Alright, what did you see then?” 

Clint pulled off his socks and got under the covers, leaning back against the headboard and looking at Bruce. He would do his best to keep to his side of the bed. He didn’t want this to be any more uncomfortable than it already was. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t shared a bed before but that was just to watch a movie. Sleeping was different. Or at least it felt different. 

Clint adjusted his blanket and looked up right into Bruce’s eyes. His eyebrows were pulled together and his lips were scrunched into an uncertain frown. 

“What I saw didn’t matter. It’s what I see now that matters.” 

Clint felt his heart speed up and he swallowed, breathing in slow and deep to try and calm his pulse. 

“Do I even want to ask?” 

“Why do you assume it’s bad?” 

“Experience.” 

“Well, it’s not bad.” 

“Then what is it?”

Bruce watched him for a long moment and then looked away, down at his hands. Still not making eye contact, he asked, “So what else is on that list of yours?” 

Clint understood and didn’t press. Honestly, as much as he wanted Bruce to tell him, he still worried that it might not be something he wanted to hear. Even if it was nice. 

“Uh, well, you read it. Or at least some of it. What else caught your eye?” 

“‘Go on a date.’” 

“Really? Why that one?” 

Clint put the notebook back down and made himself more comfortable, sliding down under the covers and folding his arms behind his head on the pillow. He turned to look up at Bruce. 

Despite Bruce being bisexual and quite clearly saying he wasn’t interested in Clint, Clint’s crush had pretty much planted itself firmly in his heart and refused to go anywhere. And now with them being out to each other, he felt even more aware of it than before. Had Bruce ever considered him in that way? Or was he never interested? What was Bruce’s type? Maybe he wanted someone smart like him. 

Clint let out a quiet sigh, still looking up at Bruce’s face. He knew there was a good chance he didn’t even properly understand his own feelings. Bruce was, after all, his first guy friend. Steve and Tony didn’t count because he didn’t know them yet, not really. They seemed nice but he’d only ever spoken to them for a few minutes at most whereas he’d spent every waking—and sleeping—moment of the last twelve days with Bruce. He had gotten to know Bruce in a way no one else had, he understood Bruce in a way few other people would and vice versa.  

Nat was left on the doorstep of an orphanage. She was abandoned but she hadn’t grown up in an abusive household. They could understand one another’s experiences only so much. But he and Bruce? They still had a lot to learn about each other but so far they had very few experiences the other did not. 

So did he like Bruce in the normal way? Did he like Bruce because he was funny? Because he was sweet and kind? Because he was attracted to him? Because Clint felt at ease in his presence? Understood? Comforted, even? 

Yes. All yes. 

But did he also like Bruce because he had gone so long without a guy friend, without a friend his own age that he could see in person and touch and interact with without the use of technology? 

Also yes. 

Did one negate the other? Did they complement one another? Was it genuine feelings he had for Bruce or was he mistaking relief and the excitement of having a friend for romantic feelings? 

“Because,” Bruce began and Clint had fallen so deeply into his own thoughts and questions for himself that he had all but forgotten he asked Bruce a question, “I was wondering what your ideal date looks like. What would you wanna do? Where would you wanna go? Who would you wanna be with?” 

“Oh,” Clint said, propping himself up on his elbow to think. “Hm, something corny probably. I don’t want the perfect date at the nice restaurant with candles and a moonlit walk. I wanna take him to, like, a toy store and run around making each other laugh. Or an arcade and get all competitive, throwing out flirty trash talk. Maybe get food from a street vendor afterwards and find somewhere to sit and just talk.” 

“About what?” 

“Anything. Everything. Just talk. Get to know him,” Clint said, feeling so much relief in being able to easily and openly use ‘he’ and ‘him’ that it hadn’t yet occurred to him that his ideal dates were all things he had done with Bruce. When the realization did hit, he felt his heart race and hoped Bruce wouldn’t think anything weird of that. He did his best not to focus on it. 

“Sounds really nice. And who would you want to be with?” 

“You mean like more specific than saying ‘another guy’?” 

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, what’s the guy like? What does he look like?” 

You , Clint wanted to say. He wanted to describe every detail about Bruce. He wanted to say he’d be wicked smart but shy, firm but kind, small and perfectly huggable but more than capable of standing on his own. He would have curly hair and big brown eyes and glasses that always slid down his nose. He’d wear oversized sweaters that swallowed up his hands and converse that had been through the trenches. He’d blush whenever he was complimented and have the driest, deadpan humor on earth. 

He wanted to say all of that but instead he said: “I dunno. Never really thought that far.” 

“You don’t have a type?” 

“Does ‘likes me back’ count?” he asked, laughing but honestly that little self-deprecating joke really hurt and he did it to himself like the idiot he was. 

Bruce laughed but it wasn’t quite wholehearted either. 

“I feel like that one’s a given,” he said quietly, covering his mouth to yawn. “But it’s nice, I suppose, that you don’t limit yourself. Means anyone can have the chance to love you.” 

Clint blinked. 

Suddenly his mind was blank, Bruce’s words having whooshed everything else away. How dare he just say something like that without giving anyone any kind of warning and yet he didn’t want to be one of those people. He didn’t want the chance to be loved by Clint who wanted to so badly. 

Loved? Loved ? 

No, it’s too early for that. That is just a mental word choice. Doesn’t mean anything 

“I—Thank you. For saying it like that,” Clint said when he could speak again, Bruce’s words still playing over and over in his head. 

Bruce brushed his hair behind his ear and gave Clint a smile so adorable it could probably end wars. 

“You said getting to know me was a privilege. Why should getting to love you be anything less?” 

It was rhetorical and Clint knew that, but he still opened his mouth to speak, to disagree, to make some disparaging joke about himself but before he could, Bruce carried on. 

“I wouldn’t want a traditional date either but probably still something kind of sappy. Maybe a museum date, a science museum, that is—”

“I’d be shocked if it weren’t.” 

Bruce laughed. “Or, um, well, like how some of the stuff we’ve done you’d want to do on a date?” So much for Bruce not noticing. “I’d love to find a rooftop somewhere and just stargaze, music in the background, and some snacks. And as for who… I don’t know either. I guess that’s why I was so curious about yours.” 

“Nothing specific you’d like them to have or be like?” 

“Kind. Really, really kind.” 

“You deserve someone really kind.” 

“Yeah?” Bruce said, looking down at Clint. 

Clint could feel his pulse all the way in his throat trying to choke him, but he maintained his calm expression and the eye contact even as Bruce reached over, hesitating and then confidently, and patted the top of Clint’s head. 

“Well, you too.” 

Could a head pat give someone a heart attack? 

They talked a little while longer about the ideal dates and funny things they could see happening to them. Bruce was still talking but Clint was nearly asleep, having forgotten to take his hearing aids out. 

His eyes were closed and he was a few more soothing words from Bruce’s gentle voice from being fully asleep when Bruce asked him something. 

“Hm?” 

“I said what song would you want to dance to at prom?” 

“Loneliness by Aaron Taos.” 

“That was quick. Why that one?” Bruce asked, rolling so that he and Clint were face to face, both of their heads rested on their pillows. 

He hadn’t looked at Bruce from so close up since that night on the coach when he’d fallen asleep on Clint’s shoulder but this was better. From this angle Clint could see his entire face and he looked sleepy and at peace like then but now he was also smiling at Clint. His glasses were on his bedside table and now Clint had full, unrestricted access to those gorgeous brown eyes and his insanely long eyelashes. 

Clint chewed the inside of his cheek as his heart thudded loudly, so desperate, it seemed, to want to tell Bruce how it felt. 

“A song called “Loneliness” doesn’t really seem like it fits the prom vibe,” Bruce added. 

“It’s not about being lonely so much as escaping it. It’s about finding someone who pulls you out of the darkness, you bring them out of it too and… I dunno. It’s got the perfect rhythm for an easy slow dance. You know, that kind of dance where you hold each other and just go in circles? No real dancing involved ‘cause it’s more about the moment and just being with your person and—ah, I’m gettin’ all sappy now. That’s not what you asked,” he laughed nervously, feeling a heavy ache in his chest threatening to choke him up at how badly he wanted to dance to that song with Bruce. 

Clint looked up at Bruce who had closed his eyes and was yawning. 

“Sappy or not,” he said, nuzzling his face against his pillow to get more comfortable, “you’re right, it sounds really nice.” 

+

They had only been awake for thirty minutes and already the day had gone to shit. This was a new record for them. Maybe not a new individual record but as a duo it certainly was. Usually the day waited a couple of hours to remind them that life sucked sometimes but today it was on a mission. 

Clint dragged his hands down his face, keeping them there as he breathed in and out steadily. Bruce was standing beside the bed, looking very much upset with himself and refusing to come any closer for fear he might make things worse. 

In Clint’s mind, this entire terrible morning was his fault. He’d woken up more well-rested than he could remember ever having done. He was warm, safe, and comfortable, what more could he ask for? 

And yet, despite not asking for more, he was given it. There was someone in his arms and he was waking up holding them, their back pressed flush against his chest, their soft hair brushing his chin. He had wrapped his arm more tightly around their middle and settled back in to sleep again with a happy sigh when suddenly things stopped making sense. 

Who was he in bed with? 

And then he remembered and he was trying to put as much space between himself and Bruce as possible, feeling downright lousy for pulling something like that, even if he was unconscious when it happened and even if Bruce still didn’t know about his feelings. It just didn’t feel right. Clint felt like he had overstepped and ignored boundaries and while he thought he was explaining all of this to a startled Bruce, in reality he was just rambling frantically.   

Bruce, in his own worry and panic, did the first thing he thought to do and that was grab Clint by his wrists—because his arms were flailing as he spoke—and tried to hold them to Clint’s side, seeming to be afraid that Clint might injure himself if he carried on. Unfortunately, Clint didn’t have the best relationship with being grabbed in that particular way and it sent him into a genuine panic. 

He yanked his arms away roughly, nearly knocking Bruce off the bed, and pushed his way into the corner on the other side of it, his chest heaving as images of his father grabbing him by his wrists and dragging him into another room to beat him played vividly in his mind. As a skinny little kid, Harold could easily wrap one hand around both of Clint’s wrists, making it impossible for him to get away, and he had done so often. 

When Bruce touched him, a flip was switched and Clint’s mind just couldn’t reconcile that what was happening now wasn’t going to end in a beating. Perhaps Clint was a little more damaged than he liked to think. 

Bruce approached slowly now, one hand extended, the other behind his back, and sitting in the palm of it were Clint’s hearing aids. 

Clint eyed the little devices and then Bruce, still in the process of calming himself. Finally he reached out and took them, putting them in. Bruce retreated after that, back to the other side of the bed, and Clint relaxed a little.  

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I’m sorry.” 

Clint took in one last deep breath and let it out slowly. He was sweaty and his body felt tingly and uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if he needed a nice hot shower or just to sit in silence for a moment but at least the flashbacks were gone. At least he could catch his breath and finally talk to Bruce. 

“You didn’t know, not your fault. I just—I don’t like to be grabbed that way. You know…” he said, trailing off and Bruce nodded, the understanding clear on his face. 

“I understand. Sorry.” 

“Bruce,” Clint groaned, definitely having less patience than he normally would with him. He felt like he had been sitting with all of his muscles tense for hours and had only just released it. He rolled his neck and shoulders. They felt stiff and sore. 

“Right, yeah,” he said, “no apologies. This all sucks. How can I help?” 

“No, no. I need to apologize.” 

“I grabbed you. That’s on me whether I knew or—”

“No, not that. I… the cuddling. I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—I overstep—”

“Oh.” Bruce looked uneasy and Clint felt another wave of nausea wash over him at how awful he felt. “It’s okay,” Bruce finally said after a stretch of silence but he wasn’t looking at Clint. “Really.” 

“Bruce—” 

“I’m not uncomfortable. It was just unexpected. Were you uncomfortable?” 

“I—no, I wasn’t.” 

“Then it’s fine all around.” Bruce sat back back down on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

Clint shrugged, looking up at Bruce. “Because you clearly have a worse relationship with uninvited touch than I do. Doing something like that without asking you first just feels wrong. I like being your friend and hope to one day have your trust. I don’t wanna ruin that.” 

Clint wasn’t sure what he was seeing on Bruce’s face but it was gone as quickly as it came and the younger boy was just standing there chewing his bottom lip, his hands clasped together in front of him. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“But…” Bruce shook his head lightly and then said, surprising Clint, “I like being your friend too. And you do have my trust.” 

Wow, that was quite the step for the two of them. 

Did he trust Bruce though? 

Yes. He trusted Bruce to sleep beside him at night. He trusted Bruce to watch his belongings for him. He trusted Bruce when it came to sharing food and drinks. And, yes, he had a crush on him but— 

No, he trusted Bruce in all the ways that mattered. If things had turned out differently, if Bruce had maybe been interested in more than perhaps Clint would have more to think about. But that wasn’t the case. 

One day Clint would have to think about that though. About trusting someone that much, enough to be in a relationship with them, because a romantic relationship—one that would grow and flourish and actually last—meant vulnerability, honesty, and trust even to the point of giving the other person the power to hurt you. Clint supposed that’s why it was called ‘falling in love’ and not ‘sitting down carefully into love.’ Trust was involved, personal risk, uncertainty even. 

Clint had never witnessed a healthy, loving relationship. He had nothing to go by but books and television and surely those weren’t the best sources either. Even if he could trust so fully and completely like that, he wouldn’t know where to start with showing emotions and all that in the right way. 

It was an irrelevant jumble of thoughts anyway because no matter how he felt for Bruce, Bruce wasn’t interested in that way. Bruce wanted to be friends but Clint still found himself thinking about it. About his feelings for Bruce and just the fact that he was having those feelings in the first place when the thought of trusting someone so completely terrified him anyway. It was still all so new to him. 

“Clint?” Bruce said, once again bringing Clint out of his thoughts and back to the present. 

“Huh?” 

“I said I trust you.” 

“Yeah, but… why?” 

Maybe it was the inner discussion he had just been having, but he couldn’t for the life of him imagine how Bruce had so easily admitted that. 

Bruce let out a quiet laugh that was equal parts disbelief and relief. “I know. Even I can’t really figure it out but you—you’re… you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before.” 

“No offense but that cheesy pick up line doesn’t really work here since everyone else you’ve met were basically monsters.” 

Bruce laughed again. “That’s not what I mean. Well, it is but—gosh. Hush and let me get my thoughts in order.”  

“Did you just tell me to ‘hush’?” Clint asked with a grin but Bruce ignored him, actually focusing on what it was he wanted to say and then turning back to face Clint. 

“You’re so genuine. You say what you mean exactly how you mean it, even if it might not make sense to someone else. You might crack a joke here or there to soften a blow or help yourself share something painful, but you don’t sugarcoat. You’re… real, in the nicest way.” 

Bruce was quiet again, wringing his hands. Clint knew there was more he wanted to say just by the look on his face—the furrowed brows and puckered lips, as if he was trying to get the gears in his mind to turn. 

Clint patiently waited, grateful because he wouldn’t have known what to say to that anyway. Clint had been complimented more times in the last couple days than he had been in all the collective years of his life prior to now. And what was more, Bruce was highlighting aspects of Clint’s personality that he didn’t even know about. 

“When I first met you,” Bruce began, “I thought you were going to be a kind of reality check; a reminder that humanity sucks and I shouldn’t get my hopes up that I’ll ever think differently. That’s what I thought of you when we first met. I thought you were loud and pushy and I was just waiting for you to finally reveal your ulterior motive for dragging me along with you.” 

Bruce scooted closer on the bed, facing Clint full on now. 

“I know it’s only been, what? Twelve—thirteen?—days since we officially met and there’s no logical explanation for why I feel the way that I do but, Clint, I trust you. I don’t know how much but I know that to some extent I do. I—I feel safe around you and I haven’t felt that way around anyone but my mom for as long as I can remember.” 

Bruce's big brown eyes were watching Clint carefully, seemingly analyzing Clint’s every expression change and movement. Clint understood what was going on in his mind. Putting yourself out there like that after years of being denied acceptance was terrifying.

‘I trust you. I feel safe around you.’  

Clint remembered the first time he said those words to Nat. It was randomly in the middle of a conversation and she had just made him laugh so hard he had tears in his eyes. They were chatting about nonsense after that, something about some food they wanted to try, and he just blurted it out. He didn’t say them exactly as Bruce had, instead he had said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered feeling horror wash over him until he saw her smile and then he was bathed in an overwhelming sense of security instead. Talking to her, looking into her eyes and at her smile, he didn’t feel the need to hold back or weigh his words before speaking. He could just talk. He could tell her anything that was on his mind. It had taken him and Nat a long time to get to that point but maybe it got easier with the next person because he didn’t feel too far off from feeling that way about Bruce. 

It had been long established that they were better off as friends and Clint had already come out to her, so Nat responded with a warm smile and the words, ‘I love you too.’ 

Clint smiled at Bruce now too and then said, “I’m really happy to hear that. I trust you too.” 

“Why?” Bruce asked and Clint should have been prepared for it. It only made sense that if he asked Bruce, he would get the question thrown back at him. And even so, it still caught him off guard. 

“Because… because…” He hadn’t actually put it into words yet. Not even for himself. He knew he trusted him and he even knew all the ways in which he trusted him but did he know why? No, not really. But he did know that feelings or not, he trusted him, so it wasn’t just because he may have potentially had some very strong feelings for Bruce. It was more than that. 

“Because you’re so you. I know that’s a shitty reason but bear with me. You’re not one person to strangers and another person to me. Of course you’re not as open to them but I mean… My father was the complete opposite. And I guess my brother was too. To me, they were one way and to other people completely different. But you’re you through and through. I don’t feel like I have to worry you’re suddenly gonna change up on me. But also because you’re just so good.” 

“Good?” 

“You’ve been to hell and back and you’re only sixteen but you’re still good despite the badness in your life that would have more than justified you hating everything and everyone. Nat’s like that too.” 

“Hm.” Bruce nodded his head slowly, processing what Clint had said and then smiled. “I’ll take it.” 

+

“Just so you know, I think that was some of the best sleep I’ve ever gotten,” Bruce said a few hours later as they walked along a pothole riddled road to their next town. Bruce was kicking a rock as he walked, staring down at the ground. 

“Huh?” Clint asked, confused. He’d been lost in his imagination, thinking about all of the things he and Nat would do during his first few days there. So, so much. 

“I, uh,” Bruce began, clearing his throat. He lifted his hands and slid them around his backpack straps, holding them there as he walked. He looked up at Clint. “I slept really well.” 

“Oh, uh, me too, I guess.” 

Clint frowned in confusion, not sure what it was he was supposed to be getting here. 

“I mean,” Bruce continued, kicking his rock again, careful not to kick it off the road into the fields, “just in case you’re still upset with yourself about the cuddling. I just wanted you to know that I slept really well. It was, um, really nice. Being cuddled. I’ve always wondered what it would be like.” 

“Your mom didn’t cuddle you? I’m genuinely shocked.” 

“No, she did. But you know… I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be cuddled by someone else. I thought maybe it would be uncomfortable and too warm, you know? But it, uh… it was really nice. If I had a to-do list, I guess I could go ahead and check that off.” 

“I’m really happy it turned out to be a nice experience for you.” All the drama aside, it was really nice for Clint too but he felt awful admitting that even to himself. “Oh, wait, did you say you don’t have a bucket list?” 

“Not yet anyway.” 

“Well, next town we go to, let’s go find you a really fancy notebook and get you started on one. Our lives are our own now, Brucie. We gotta do the stuff we’ve always wanted to do and as an incredibly unorganized person, I’m telling ya a to-do list is the way forward. Also, don’t let that experience be your bucket list experience with cuddling. I’m sure it will be much better when you can do it with someone you love.” 

There was a weird look on Bruce’s face but then it cleared and his expression brightened. 

“I’ll be shocked if that’s true,” he said, grinning up at Clint and Clint felt like he had been winded. 

The way the sunlight was hitting Bruce was just spectacular. His eyes were a warm, soft gold and his freckles stood out more. His smile was wide and happy and his hair shone in the sunlight, bouncing with each step. Clint let out a quiet sigh, his heart beating desperately fast. 

He turned away from Bruce and found a rock of his own to kick, grateful for the distraction. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, “do you think you could hit that road sign from here?” 

“With the rock?” Bruce nodded. “Definitely.” 

They stopped and Clint reached around into his duffel bag and pulled out his slingshot, picking up the rock. He positioned it, then pulled the rubber sling back and closed one eye. It went sailing through the air as he let go of the pouch. There was a loud metallic bang when it hit and Bruce raised his hands and slow-clapped.  

Clint launched off a few more and hit different parts of the sign and each time Bruce oohed and ahhed or clapped. 

“So maybe you are kinda good at that.” 

“Excuse me, ‘maybe’? Maybe?” 

Bruce laughed and it quickly turned into an entertained giggle. 

Clint felt his stomach do somersaults again. His mouth went dry and he sighed again, suddenly feeling almost overwhelmed with sadness at the thought of Bruce leaving. 

They weren’t far now. Just a little over a week of city-hopping left and then they would arrive in Rochester where they were supposed to have gone next if they had stayed on the coach. From there it was a straight shot to Manhattan, at which point their paths would diverge. Clint would be heading for the subway, end stop 5th Avenue & 59th Street. Bruce would be heading for the Metro North to New Rochelle. 

Clint only had a few more nights with Bruce and yet he knew that he not only wouldn’t tell him how he felt, but that he couldn’t. It felt unfair. It felt like some kind of cruel joke, honestly, but there wasn’t a world in existence where he would force his feelings upon Bruce or even admit to them at the risk of ruining their friendship. 

Besides, a part of Clint wondered what kind of shredded, damaged heart he would even have to offer Bruce. It had withstood years of abuse and insults, Harold’s words breaking it every other day, Barney’s departure shattering it, and then his mother’s self-imposed catatonia the final nail in the coffin that led to him putting up barbed-wire around the tattered remains of it. 

But again it didn’t matter. And again he wasn’t sure why he kept thinking about it or why he just couldn’t seem to take his mind off the idea of a world where Bruce liked him. Though he supposed he hadn’t ever had a crush on someone who wasn’t a celebrity, someone he could actually touch and talk to. 

“Let’s get to that dollar store. Hidden treasures await,” Clint said, looking down at Bruce. 

It took some digging but they finally found it. Nestled in amongst packages of men's underwear, Clint had found a beautiful, brown leather notebook with gold embellishments along the edges of the pages. The paper was lined and made to look like papyrus. It was perfect. It looked like something Milo Thatch would write his bucket list in and if that didn’t suit Bruce, he wasn’t sure what would. 

Bruce seemed pleased with it too, holding it carefully in his hands, as if Clint had just handed him a newborn, and turning it slowly. He inspected it, flipping the pages and moving his fingers along the smooth spine. Neither of them were really sure how something like that had made it to the dollar store but they had learned by now that that store worked in mysterious ways and it probably wasn’t the place of mere mortals to question it. 

“You like it?” Clint asked, unsure despite the near-reverential way Bruce was looking at the notebook. Maybe he thought it was beautiful but not for him? 

“I love it. I almost don’t wanna write in it.” 

“Oh, right. We gotta get you a nice pen too. A pen that writes smoothly is literally half of what makes the experience so enjoyable. Trust me,” Clint said, already walking away to try and sniff out a nice ballpoint pen when he heard Bruce speak. 

“I do.” 

He froze, swallowed, and continued on. Bruce was going to be the death of him with his disgustingly sweet comments and downright rude compliments. 

This was the best dollar store yet, hands down. It was like the bag from Mary Poppins; just when they thought they had found the best thing, something else would call out to them from where it was hidden in a cookie jar or a boot. 

“Bruce?” Clint called and after a moment he got a soft ‘Yes?’ in return. “I’m gonna sit outside. I think there was a bench. It’s a little cold in here.” 

It was a decent temperature outside, the kind where you could be comfortable in both the shade and the sun in just a t-shirt, but inside this air-conditioned store, he was definitely not dressed warmly enough. Bruce was still shopping though. Apparently he wanted to get some things for his aunt and cousin, so Clint wasn’t going to rush him out

“Oh, I can hurry.” 

“Nah, take your time. Not like we have anything else to do. I’m just kinda chilly. But get what you need, dude. I’ll be right outside, ‘kay?” 

“Okay!” Bruce called back from somewhere inside the store. Clint couldn’t even see his adorable little head of curls. He must have been digging for something good. 

Clint paid for his few items and then headed outside to the bench he’d seen on the way in. It was in the sun, there was a light breeze, and instantly he began to warm up. He hadn’t been sitting for a full minute before his phone rang. He jumped, still not used to the volume being on and no one yelling at him. 

He cautiously checked the caller ID despite knowing he still had his father blocked, and relaxed when he saw Nat’s name. 

“Hey,” he said, waiting for her video to load. She had FaceTimed him. “This isn’t our usual time. What, you miss me or something?” 

“Actually, yeah. I did.” 

“Aw, ya big softie,” he teased and she rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna be there so soon. Like so soon. Where are you gonna take me first?” 

“Aren’t you going to want to sit and sleep for three days first? You’ve been doing a lot.” 

“No time to waste, Tasha! I gotta make up for seventeen years of doing absolutely nothing and you’re gonna be my city guide.” 

“And if I object?” 

“I dunno. Hadn’t thought that far. Maybe I’ll cry and throw up?” 

“You’re so gross,” Nat said, with a sigh. “Are you at the dollar store again? What is your obsession with that place?” 

Clint smiled, shrugging his shoulders gently. 

“It’s fun.” 

“It’s fun with Bruce.” 

“I’m pretty sure you and I would have one hell of a time in there too but, yeah, maybe it is really fun with Bruce. Whatcha gonna do about it?” 

“Me? Oh, nothing.” 

Clint felt fear flash through him. “Natasha.” 

“Oh, come on. I may be cunning but I’m your best friend and you’ve made it very clear that I’m not supposed to meddle. No meddling from me, pinky-swear.” 

Clint groaned, not believing her for one second. 

“You sure know how to make a guy uncomfortable.” 

She grinned and it was wicked and beautiful. “Good, that’s my only goal in life.” 

“I thought it was—”

“Whew, finally. Okay, I’m done. You wanna grab a bite to—oh, hey, Nat,” Bruce said, coming out of the store with his purchases. 

Clint gasped in faux shock. “Brucie! Do my eyes deceive me or have you finally gotten a new backpack?” 

Clint didn’t need to look at his phone to know Nat was mouthing ‘Brucie’ back at him with a knowing smirk. 

Bruce had a few plastic dollar store bags hanging off one wrist and in his other hand was a new backpack. It was simple and dark green and seemingly already filled with things. 

Bruce blushed. “Yeah, I, uh—well, I mean I kept the old one,” he said, gesturing with his chin towards the straps that rested over his shoulder. “But I got so much that I figured it would probably be a good idea to get a sturdy bag to carry it in.” 

“Question,” Nat said, her hand raised on the screen. 

“Um, yes, Miss Romanoff,” Clint said. 

“How on earth did you manage to go on a shopping spree in the dollar store? What did you buy so much of?” 

Again Bruce blushed, pushing his glasses up further onto his nose. 

“Well, I saw some stuff for my family that I’m going to stay with. Just little stuff but I figured anything’s better than coming empty-handed. And then, um, just a restock on some essentials. You know… underwear,” he explained and by now his cheeks had warmed a soft red. 

“You’re adorable, Bruce. Isn’t he, Clint? Isn’t Bruce cute?” 

Clint ground his jaw as unnoticeably as possible, trying to keep himself from glaring down at the phone or just hanging up on her. He sighed softly and saw the way Nat rolled her lips inward in an attempt to not laugh. 

Clint looked up at Bruce who looked surprised and just a smidge uncomfortable. 

“I mean, yeah. Of course he is. Look at him,” Clint said honestly but he grinned and reached over to gently tap his fist to Bruce’s arm, making it all so very platonic. 

“Don’t worry, radnoy,” Natasha said, and Clint could hear the undertone of teasing in her voice, “you’re easy on the eyes too. Isn’t he, Bruce?” 

Why was Natasha like this? And why couldn’t she be stopped? 

“Oh,” Bruce gasped softly, the blush back in full force. “Yes, very.” 

Clint felt his eyebrows go up before he could control his expression because that sounded pretty sincere. But maybe he was just caught off guard and didn’t want to tell Natasha that he thought her best friend was uglier than sin. 

“What?” Bruce asked Clint who was still staring at him with that surprised expression. 

“What what?” 

“Use your words, boys. I’ve gotta go. My lunch break is over. Call you later, be safe!” Nat called out, blowing a kiss at the camera and then the call disconnected. 

Clint wasn’t sure how or when but he was going to get her back for this. He was. 

Bruce’s mouth was opening and closing as he searched for something to say. Clint's mind was running through the possibilities too, trying to come up with the least awkward option. 

“Don’t worry about Nat. She just says a lot of craziness,” he laughed, looking away and then standing. He dusted himself off and turned to Bruce who looked conflicted and then his expression cleared. “Let’s go eat?” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, grabbing his things. “What do you feel like?” 

It was only awkward for a short time, thankfully. Neither of them seemed too keen on talking about what Nat had all but forced them to admit and that was fine by Clint. He wasn’t sure what he would say if Bruce asked him anyway. 

They found a decent-looking burger place and decided to go there. It was packed—which was a good sign—but also made the experience ever so slightly uncomfortable. 

As they walked in, they could feel eyes on them, hushed voices talking about them, heads turning as they passed. They weren’t dirty. Nor were they poorly dressed. Sure they had a lot of luggage and sure they were strangers but was this town really so disconnected from reality that they forgot people from outside existed? 

The server sat them at a booth by the window and after storing their stuff under their seats, they buried their faces in the menus. Their motel for the night was actually going to be about a forty minute walk from the burger place, so they didn’t go there first this time before exploring. 

Even with the menus all but blocking their faces, Clint could still feel the stares. He hated it. He hated it so much. It reminded him of being back at school after a particularly bad beating, being bruised and cut and swollen. It reminded him of the way the other kids would stare and talk loudly to one another, assuming that Clint couldn’t hear them anyway because he was ‘the deaf kid.’ It made him want to tell everyone staring to fuck off.

He looked up, about to do just that, when Bruce spoke first. 

“It’s not worth it.” 

Clint balked in surprise. “Guy with anger management issues says what?” 

Bruce laughed softly, putting his menu down and folding his arms neatly on top of the table. 

“We tell them off for being whatever they’re being right now but they won’t change. And when we get to the next city, there will just be others who do the same. Might as well save your breath and energy.” 

“Sorry, Gandhi, have you seen my friend Bruce? He’s about yay high, great hair, freckles?” 

Bruce grinned and rolled his eyes, gently whacking Clint’s hands with the menu. 

“Maybe I’m learning to be more chill from you.” 

“Learn? From me? Thought you were smarter than that but I’m flattered nonetheless and will save my rage for another time.” 

They ordered and did their best to ignore all of the eyes on them. The server was especially kind and at least that made up a little for the rest of the discomfort. 

“Hey,” Clint said while they waited for their burgers, “let’s break in your notebook.” 

“Good idea.” 

Bruce dug around in his bag until he pulled it out along with the pen they had found. They both listened excitedly to the muffled sound of the spine cracking as it was opened for the first time. Inside Bruce wrote his name, the date and at the top of the first page, in large, neat letters, he wrote ‘My Bucket List.’ The pen moved down to the next line and he wrote ‘1’ but then nothing after it, just staring at the page. 

“I don’t know how to start it.” 

“It doesn’t have to be anything huge or really meaningful. How about ‘cuddle someone I love’ since we were talking about it already?” 

Bruce nodded and wrote it down, writing out number ‘2’ and then tapping the pen to his lips in thought. 

“How many things do you have on your list?” 

“Umm… I dunno actually. I think around thirty but it’s still growing. You don’t have to write down everything right now or in front of me. I get that it feels kinda personal.” 

Bruce nodded again and then closed the notebook. 

“I’ll think about it some more and maybe add some stuff later when we’re at the motel and it’s quieter. Here comes our food.”  

As per usual, Bruce showered and in the meantime, Clint FaceTimed Nat. He caught her up on the latest news with the two of them, telling her in detail how awkward she had made things for them to which she only smiled. And honestly Clint wasn’t even really angry. Maybe Bruce wasn’t attracted to him but at least he would always know that Bruce still thought he was nice-looking. Little joys in life, right? 

By the time Bruce was coming out of the bathroom, Clint was telling Nat goodbye. Apparently, she had a new project she was working on and wanted to head out to look for her since she was usually out around this time. She didn’t know her name yet but that was mainly because when she asked the girl, she couldn’t remember it either. 

“All done,” Bruce said, still drying his hair with a small towel as he walked back into the room and over to his bedside table. They had two beds again and Clint was grateful. That was one less thing to worry about. “I think I left you some hot water. Hopefully.” 

“Really? Gee, thanks, Bruce. What a pal,” Clint teased, grabbing his pajamas and heading for the bathroom. 

He let himself just stand under the spray of water, eyes closed, head tilted back, and mind blank. He tried his best not to think about anything at all, neither good nor bad. He just wanted a few moments of silence and nothingness. It was nice. It was like a reset before bed, making it that much easier to switch off and get some rest. 

He dried his ears and then slipped in his hearing aids, pulling on his pajama shirt next when he stopped and just listened. Was that music? Well, it wasn’t like it was all that odd to hear Bruce playing music but it was just a surprise. He normally listened with headphones or quiet enough that it didn’t register until Clint stepped out of the bathroom but this was loud. Like full volume loud. 

Clint put on the rest of his pajamas, grabbed his dirty laundry and headed out, not evening making it across the bathroom threshold before he froze again, his eyes lifting to see the decorations Bruce had put up. 

On two walls of the room hung banners that read ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ and ‘HAPPY RETIREMENT.’ On the tiny table near the door were a couple of capri suns and small bags of chips. Bruce was standing in front of him in a tee shirt made to look like a tuxedo with his phone in one hand blasting May I Have This Dance by Francis and the Lights and in the other hand holding up a piece of paper torn out of his notebook that read ‘PROM?’ in all caps. 

“Bruce… what?” Clint asked, laughing as he looked around. 

“Um,” Bruce began, the confidence in his expression wavering for a moment but then finding its footing and coming back in full force. “Prom? You and me? Here and now?” 

“Really?” Bruce nodded. “I… yeah, of course. It’s a shame I don’t have a nice shirt like—you didn't,” he gasped and then found himself laughing again as Bruce reached behind him and handed him a shirt to match his own. It was no doubt a dollar store find. Clint quickly swapped it for his pajama shirt, looking down to inspect himself. “Very fancy.” 

“And,” Bruce said, blushing, his phone on the table and his sign gone since Clint had accepted. He moved over and pinned a fake rose onto Clint’s shirt. “The cashier looked at me like I was crazy when I put this up there for her to ring up. I found it under a shelf. It was disgusting. She let me have it for free.” 

Clint was still laughing, smiling down at Bruce as he safety-pinned the rose to Clint’s shirt and then took a step back to admire his work. It was lopsided but it would do. 

“Okay, so, I’ve only ever seen this in movies too so bear with me,” Bruce said, combing his hair back with his fingers even though it immediately flopped back into place in its usual wonderful chaos. 

Bruce cleared his throat and then extended a hand to Clint as if they were at a ball in 1805. This was not at all how prom worked but that kind of made it all the more amazing. Clint took the hand he was offered and Bruce pulled him in slightly closer, leaning over to tap away at his phone and then the song changed. 

“I queued up a few good swaying songs,” Bruce said with a shy smile, holding one of Clint’s hands in his and the other hand went to Clint’s mid-back as he led them around the room in a slow circle. 

The first song to play was The Night We Met by Lord Huron. Clint smiled, thinking back to that time. Would he want to go back to that night? Sure, but only if he knew without a single doubt that they would end up right where they were now. 

“When did you buy all this stuff?” Clint asked, looking at the mismatched decorations and being unable to hold back his laugh when he landed on Bruce’s shirt again with its painted-on bow tie. 

Bruce looked up at him and Clint’s pulse raced as he smiled and blushed. “Some of it over the last few days, most of it today. You like the banners?” 

Yes, especially the one I’m dancing with 

“The retirement one is my favorite. No prom or party ones?” 

“Actually, yeah, there were,” Bruce began, about to explain more when they both started laughing. Clint tilted his head back and laughed until there were tears in his eyes and Bruce joined in, his head falling forward to rest against Clint’s chest. 

“I love it all,” Clint said, wiping his eyes. “You’ve outdone yourself, Brucie. I can’t wait to tell Nat. How am I gonna make this up to you?” 

“Make what up to me? Prom’s on my list too. Thanks for being my date.” 

“Anyone who wouldn’t want to be your prom date is a fool. A big dumb stupid fool.” 

“I think those might all be the same thing.” 

“I rest my case then, huh?” 

Bruce laughed and inched closer to Clint as they side-stepped in a slow circle in the middle of their crappy motel room. The music was blasting from a phone speaker, the awful fluorescent lights were on full brightness, and from the waist down they had on pajamas pants and socks. As if the waist up were really any better. 

As the songs changed, they never stopped dancing, slowly moving further away from the awkward middle school style of leaving space between them until Bruce rested comfortably against Clint and Clint’s arms were around him. 

Neither of them spoke, both seeming too scared of ruining the moment and disrupting whatever unspoken thing was happening. Clint didn’t want to let go or put space between them again and Bruce didn’t appear to want to move either. 

They were about four songs in when Clint spoke again, feeling an almost overwhelming appreciation for Bruce. 

“I know you said it’s on your list too but—” 

“But I did it for you, yeah.” 

“Really?” 

Bruce nodded. “I wanted to be able to say we checked one off together. This one seemed the most doable. It’s not like I could take you to Scotland or Disneyland,” he said with another soft chuckle. “And I didn’t think the date would be the best idea either since you’re not, well, you know, I’m not your type.” 

Clint wanted to grab his face, stare him in his eyes and tell him he was wrong. He wanted to laugh and admit to Bruce just how much his type he had been all this time. He wanted to kiss him until both of them were breathless, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed. 

“I would’ve loved anything you’d chosen to do off the list ‘cos it’s you, Brucie.” 

Bruce ducked his head so his face was out of Clint’s view. All he could see were those curls and when Bruce looked up he was blushing so bright red that Clint laughed. 

Clint grinned. “You know, it’s my job as your prom date to make you blush so I’m feeling pretty good right about no—” 

Two notes in, Clint recognized the song playing. It was Loneliness by Aaron Taos. 

“You remembered,” he said, his voice almost a whisper and the butterflies absolutely ravaging his stomach. It was something so simple but it meant so much to Clint. 

He took over, leading Bruce who had previously been moving them around the room. The song was slow but who said they had to dance a certain way? 

Clint took Bruce’s hand and twirled him away from him and Bruce smiled. He pulled him back in quickly and then dipped him. He was by no means a Dancing With the Stars finalist but he had always been good at watching and imitating. Bruce gasped when Clint dipped him, laughing at himself as he was pulled back up. All the while Clint quietly sang along to the song, his eyes never straying from Bruce’s wide, happy grin. 

When they reached the chorus, Clint pulled him in again, moving back into the simple sway, their bodies close and Bruce’s head against his chest. 

Clint wanted to sing but the words felt too intimate. He worried he might act impulsively if he sang them aloud and do something stupid like confess his feelings. Instead, he hummed along to the chorus as they swayed in that tiny room, in the middle of nowhere, just over two weeks after they had first met. 

Somewhere around the one hour mark, they sat down at the table and enjoyed their makeshift punch and bag of chips. 

“You really thought everything out,” Clint said, tossing a chip into his mouth. 

“Well, I’m nothing if not thorough. Besides, I knew it wouldn’t be perfect but I wanted it to be close.” 

“It is perfect, Bruce. Perfectly us . It’s very chaotic and mismatched but still good. Great, even.” 

“You still wanna dance?” 

“To be honest, I’m kinda beat,” Clint said, punctuating his sentence with a deep yawn to support his claim. “But I’ll gladly push out one more if you still wanna?” 

“No, no, I’m good. I think I’ve done enough swaying and slow circles for a lifetime. I’m a little dizzy.” 

“Me too. Maybe prom’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Clint said with a laugh. 

They chatted a while longer about nothing important and then began to clean up, not wanting to have to face this mess in the morning instead. Clint thanked Bruce again and then helped him take down the decorations and take it out to the recycling bin they’d seen at the end of the hallway. 

The music was still playing from Bruce’s phone, having moved on to a song by X Ambassadors, Everything Sounds Like a Love Song. And wasn’t that the truth? Clint could barely even listen to his music these days without finding at least one lyric that applied in some way to how he felt about Bruce. He shook his head lightly to clear the thought. 

They got everything taken down, brushed their teeth, and crawled into bed a few minutes later. Clint was about to remove his hearing aids and wish Bruce a goodnight when the younger boy spoke. 

“Hey, uh… aren’t we forgetting a prom tradition?” His voice sounded a little shaky and unsure. 

“Yeah? What’s that?” He sat up and looked over at Bruce who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wringing his hands. Bruce cleared his throat and looked over at Clint, swallowing. 

“Uh, it’s… well, don’t people usually kiss at the end of prom?” 

Clint had no idea if that was true or not. Should he say yes? Or no? Of course his feelings for Bruce complicated this. He couldn’t say yes, could he? It would be lying because he had no clue but more importantly he couldn’t say yes because he refused to use Bruce like that. But if he said no… would Bruce feel like Clint was so uninterested in him that he couldn’t even imagine kissing him? Would it hurt Bruce’s feelings, especially seeing how much courage he had worked up to ask this in the first place? 

Which was more selfish? Kissing him or not? 

Clint sighed softly and then said, “Honestly, I have no idea.” 

“Me neither but… would you be opposed to it? Y-you know, then I can cross two things off my to-do list and you can too.” 

“Are you sure you want me to be your first kiss, Bruce?” Clint couldn’t understand it. Why not kiss someone he loved or at the very least liked? 

“Yeah, I… I just want my first kiss with someone I trust, someone I feel safe with. Who knows when the next person like that will come along in my life,” Bruce said with a small shrug. “I’d like it to be you, if you don’t mind me being yours.” 

Clint debated with himself for a few more seconds and then got up and sat on Bruce’s bed right in front of him. He was frowning, still shuffling through his options. Bruce was watching him closely, likely waiting for the rejection that Clint couldn’t bear to give him even if he did feel it was the right thing to do. 

“I’m honored that you’d want me to be your first kiss,” Clint told him after a moment of silence. He leaned in and Bruce closed his eyes and tilted his face up towards him, still wringing his hands anxiously. 

Clint placed one hand on top of Bruce’s to still them, the other he used to cradle Bruce’s face, angling it better. Bruce kept his eyes closed and Clint was grateful for that. 

No matter how bad of a person Clint felt, the last thing he would allow was for anyone to make Bruce feel unwanted ever again. He inhaled deeply and then leaned forward. Bruce moved forward too, trembling. He was so nervous. 

His thumb stroked over Bruce’s cheekbone, just under his eye, his fingers sliding into those silky soft curls. He guided Bruce up towards him, his eyes falling to those soft, pink lips he had caught himself staring at too many times to count. He swallowed and then— 

“Wait.” Two small hands pressed against Clint’s chest without much strength behind them, still trembling. Clint sat back, dropping his hand from Bruce’s face. Bruce wouldn’t meet his eyes. Clint waited. “I-I changed my mind. I, uh… I’m sorry.” 

Clint honestly felt… relieved. Even if Bruce asked, he knew he would never be able to shake the feeling that he had somehow taken advantage of him. 

“Don’t even worry about it. I don’t want you to have any more regrets, Bruce. And when you find that guy or girl or person who makes your heart race and your thoughts stop, I don’t want you to be sad that you couldn’t give them your first kiss. Your first kiss should be everything you want it to be with who you want it to be. Don’t settle.”

Bruce looked up, his eyes wide and sad and Clint couldn’t understand. Bruce looked miserable and as much as he wanted to ask, he wasn’t even sure he knew how to phrase the question. Maybe Bruce felt bad about changing his mind. 

Slowly, so as to give Bruce time to react if he was opposed, Clint grabbed Bruce’s face again and then pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering and closing his eyes. Bruce’s skin was warm and soft under his lips. After a second, Bruce’s nervous trembling stopped and Clint felt him relax. 

Finally, Clint pulled away, still absentmindedly holding Bruce’s face as he met his eyes and said, “How’s that for a compromise?” 

Clint wasn’t sure if he had always just been terrible at reading emotions or if Bruce just continually displayed ones he’d never seen but the way Bruce was looking up at him was not a look he’d come across before. At first it seemed like surprise and then maybe even a little bit of hurt but now it was something else entirely. 

The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned up into a small smile and then he reached forward and grabbed Clint’s face, coaxing him forward gently until he could press a kiss to Clint’s forehead as well. 

“I hope your first kiss is everything you want it to be, too,” Bruce said gently. 

Clint stood before he did something he would regret and went back to his bed. They wished each other goodnight and Clint laid down with his back to Bruce, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

It might not have been a first kiss or even a kiss at all but it was certainly more than he had experienced. To kiss Bruce was wonderful all on its own but to be kissed back by him? The way his hands felt holding Clint’s face! The way his lips felt against his forehead! The way his words felt as Bruce whispered them against his skin. Clint was having a heart attack. 

Okay, maybe not a heart attack but something pretty damn close. He clutched at his chest and wished he could scream or run or throw something. Anything to relieve some of the pressure building up inside of him. It was like chains crushing his heart because it was wonderful and new and involved Bruce but at the same time this was the most he would ever get. He didn’t regret not kissing him on the lips but he did still wish Bruce wanted to kiss him. And not just to cross off a checklist or because he trusted him but because he loved Clint too. 

There it was again. That stupid word. That word that crept into Clint’s mind so often lately. The same word he was constantly chastising himself for using, even if only in his head. He couldn’t be in love! It had only been two weeks. He was being stupid and he knew it. But… 

As a kid, he had at times thought that he was in love with his current celebrity crush but the more time he spent with Bruce, the more he realized just how wrong he had been. He had never felt anything like this for any of those people. He had never felt this for anyone .

This was such an all-encompassing feeling. He felt it in his toes and his fingers. He felt it in his stomach and chest. He felt the way a look from Bruce could make his throat dry up like a puddle in the sun and his heart race like he was running a marathon. He felt it in the sheer happiness he felt at seeing Bruce smile or hearing him laugh. 

His lips still tingled from the sensation of Bruce’s skin against them and his forehead felt hot where Bruce had reciprocated. In those few short seconds, there hadn’t been a thought left in Clint’s mind apart from Bruce. Bruce’s warmth, his smell, his arms around Clint, the slight pressure of his lips. A forehead kiss from Bruce did for Clint what his showers normally did—shut down his brain and relax his body. He felt amazing.

Rationally, he knew it had only been thirteen days. He knew people didn’t fall in love that quickly, right? Right? 

Or maybe he didn’t know anything. He wasn’t even sure whether he wanted to be right or not, whether or not he wanted it to be true. Being in love was going to be a lot harder to get over than a simple crush but as much as it might hurt, he was glad it was Bruce who first stole his heart. He would always be grateful that it was Bruce. He had standards now.

Chapter Text

They never spoke about the kisses. Not in the morning or that evening in their next hotel. At the same time it wasn’t awkward between them. If anything, they were even closer than before. They had spent a long time in each other’s arms dancing around the room. Then they laughed and teased as they cleaned, playfully shoving or tossing balled up pieces of paper at each other. And though they didn’t talk about the kisses, barely a moment had passed without Clint thinking about them. He was well and truly screwed and he knew it. 

Every time he looked at Bruce he wanted to do it again. Who knew something as simple and innocent as a forehead kiss could be addictive? And he didn’t even necessarily mean he wanted to receive more—though that would undoubtedly be nice—he would be happy to just sit and pepper Bruce’s face with kisses. He knew that whatever he had felt for Bruce prior to that kiss paled in comparison to what he felt now. 

“Nat—oh, um, hey, Steve,” Clint said, trying to make himself look more presentable and less like the huge emotional mess that he was right now. “Can I talk to just Nat for a moment?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, standing. Half his hair was in a braid, the other half not yet done by Nat and Clint wondered whose idea this had been. He was letting it grow out and even had a little facial hair. It suited him. Steve left and closed the door behind him. 

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked immediately, bringing the phone closer so she could examine him better. 

“I don’t know what to do, Nat,” Clint said, the phone propped up on the ground in front of him, one hand in his hair gripping it tightly while trying to settle his emotions. He was so frustrated.

It had only been one night since their makeshift prom and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to survive any more days after that. He had told Bruce he needed a little air and had gone to a random floor in their motel, found a corner with no doors, and sank to the floor. 

“What’s happening? Talk to me.” 

“Nat, we—I—he— ugh,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. He leaned back onto his palms and stared up at the ceiling. “Nat, I think I… I think I love him. Is that possible? Can that happen? It’s only been a handful of days. I don’t—I don’t know if I’m just so incredibly starved for affection or if this is something real. I need your help.” 

Nat was speechless for the first time in all the years Clint had known her, absolute silence on the other end of the line. Clint could see the shock on her face. She hadn’t expected this. A crush, sure, but real, deep feelings? 

After a moment, Nat composed herself and leaned in closer to the phone. 

“Why do you think you’re in love?” 

Clint stuttered out the beginnings to a few sentences before gathering his thoughts into one, somewhat coherent string of words. 

“Because when I see him, my heart races and my palms feel clammy and my stomach flips. And when he smiles at me—god, Nat, that smile—it’s like… it’s like I forget about everything for a second. Like, my brain goes totally blank. A-and last night! Oh, man, Nat, last night—”

“ What happened last night?” she asked, leaning even closer to the phone and Clint paused to stare at her in confusion until he remembered. 

“Right, yeah, I forgot. Okay, so last night Bruce threw me a prom,” he began, telling her in detail about their night and by the end of his retelling, she looked as baffled as she had moments ago. 

“Clint, he likes you,” she said firmly. “He likes you. And you like him back so I don’t see what the—”

“He doesn’t! He says all the time that he’s not attracted to me, that I’m not his type. One time he even used the word ‘obviously.’ He’s just… he’s just sweet and considerate and shy. And he didn’t want to kiss me after all. He decided to wait. He wanted to wait to kiss whoever he actually does like. I think it’s just my end of this that’s gotten all screwy.” 

Nat sighed heavily, massaging her temples with her fingertips. “Fine, fine. For argument’s sake, let’s say he doesn’t like you that way. But you’re in love, Clint. You’re so in love.” 

“But it’s been fourteen days, Nat. That’s nothing! I…” he trailed off, anxiously chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“I personally don’t believe in there being a certain amount of time to fall in love with someone. Everybody’s different. You two spend day in and day out with each other, he makes you laugh, he soothes you when you have nightmares, he’s being such a good friend to you and vice versa. You’ve got a solid foundation and common interests and all the good stuff, Clint. It’s not just some silly little crush. I think you might be feeling the real deal.” 

Clint sighed. He wasn’t sure if her words relieved him or not. He just felt kind of tingly, like when he sat on his foot for too long and it fell asleep except that staticy feeling was all over his body. 

“So what do I do, Nat?” 

“Well, you’re adamant that he doesn’t feel the same and you don’t wanna ruin the friendship, so you’re gonna have to suck it up and get over it.” Her words were firm but not harsh. Clint knew he needed to hear it that way or else he would try to reason his way out of it and she knew it too. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” 

He sighed again and nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah. Really. I just… wow. I get why people in movies go crazy now. This is how they feel? And shit, what must it be like when the other person loves them back? How do they not just explode?” 

Nat laughed. “I don’t know. I’ll ask Steve and Tony when I get the chance.” 

“Honestly, please do. Maybe I should’ve let him stay in the room. Get his advice.” 

She laughed and Clint tilted his head to the side, confused as he waited for her to explain. “Yeah, no. Steve and Tony are great now but as far as getting together is concerned, they should not be anyone’s role models.” 

“You okay?” Bruce asked Clint the moment he came back into the room. 

He stopped in the doorway staring at Bruce who sat cross-legged on his bed, one of Clint’s crosswords in his lap. He fought against every single cell in his body that was telling him to just go over and kiss Bruce for real. He couldn’t kiss him, he couldn’t ruin this friendship. He couldn’t lose Bruce. 

He walked over and tossed his phone on the bed beside Bruce, wrapping his arms around him and not minding his damp curls that left wet stains on Clint’s t-shirt. He was too happy to hug Bruce whose arms had raised to wrap around Clint, his chin slotting perfectly into the space between Clint’s shoulder and neck. 

“Everything okay?” Bruce asked again, sounding more worried now. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just tired and… I dunno. I guess I needed a hug. It’s okay, right?”

“Of course it is,” Bruce told him, his arms tightening around Clint. “I told you, I feel safe with you. Hug me all you like.” 

“You’re gonna regret giving me all these freebies, you know. You should start charging because I’ll definitely exploit this offer.” 

Bruce laughed. “Eh, it’s a win-win, don’t you think? You get a hug and I get a hug.” 

No, he couldn’t risk losing sweet, wonderful, pure Bruce, no matter how his heart ached. 

+

“Just two more nights, huh?” Bruce said quietly, wringing his hands as they walked down the street to find breakfast the next morning. 

Only two nights in a motel left and then the last day would be spent on the bus to Manhattan according to the schedule they had planned. Clint couldn’t believe it was over. Sometimes it felt like they had met in Cleveland only a day or two ago. Sometimes it felt as if they had been journeying across the Midwest for months. He was conflicted—there was the almost uncontrollable excitement he felt at soon getting to see Nat in person and then there was the near-suffocating pain of parting ways with Bruce. 

“Yeah, it’s flown by, hasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Bruce mumbled. 

“Hey,” Clint said, bumping Bruce with his shoulder. “What’s up? Talk to me. Thanks,” he added, speaking to the woman who held the door open to the iHOP they were headed into. 

Bruce didn’t speak until they were seated and looking over the menus. It was almost empty since they had gotten up extra early to make the most of their last two days together. 

“I’m really going to miss you,” Bruce finally said, still looking down at his menu. He let out a sad little laugh.“I just… I don’t even know what to do about how sad I am.” 

“Me neither.” 

Bruce’s eyes moved away from the menu to Clint’s face. 

“But I’m gonna come visit you once you’re settled and I’m settled. And you have to come visit me and we can get lost in New York City together and have Nat come save us,” Clint said, smiling and teasing but he meant it. “Promise me right now that you’re gonna come visit. Wait, okay, here, a legally binding promise.” 

Clint held his pinky out across the table and Bruce laughed and then hooked his own around it. 

“Repeat after me: I, Brucie, hereby promise to visit Clint as soon as possible in New York City.” 

It wasn’t as if they had never talked about this before or even that they had never made this promise before but it seemed they both just needed that extra reassurance. They just wanted to hear again that the other would come and they wouldn’t be losing each other. 

“I, Brucie,” he repeated and they both grinned as he continued on and repeated it. “And now you. You promise to come visit me.” 

Clint did and then after a moment they let go of one another and went back to their menus. 

“I don’t even know why I’m looking at the menu. I know I want the All You Can Eat pancakes and a coffee. Maybe I’ll even treat myself to some bacon today.” 

“You know what,” Bruce said, putting his menu down, his expression determined all of a sudden. He pushed his glasses up with his index finger, sat up straighter, and tried to make himself seem bigger than he was. 

“What’s going on here?” Clint asked, already grinning in amusement. 

“I’m challenging you. I’m getting unlimited pancakes too. Let’s see who can eat more.” 

“Oh, Bruce. Sweet, sweet Bruce. I admire your courage but don’t wage wars you can’t win, my dude.” 

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. “Though I be little I am but fierce.” 

“What?” Clint laughed. 

“It’s Shakespeare. Misquoted Shakespeare.” 

“Of course it is. Listen, if you wanna take on the reigning champion, so be it. But when Nat calls later, you make sure she knows I didn’t put you up to this.” 

Bruce scoffed competitively. “She’ll know once I win.” 

“How do you feel?” Clint asked, sucking syrup off his fingers and then washing that down with the last bit of his coffee. 

Bruce didn’t speak, he only groaned. His head was on the table, his eyes closed and glasses tucked haphazardly into his curls. There were two pancakes still on his plate with a bite out of them and his cutlery was resting on the table beside his head. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?” the waitress asked. 

“No, ma’am, thank you. Just the bill,” Clint said, his eyes quickly going back to Bruce who sat up now and leaned back, his head dropping onto the booth cushion. He rested a hand on his stomach and frowned. 

“I never want to see another pancake for as long as I live.” 

“That sure does sound an awful lot like ‘I lost’ but maybe my hearing aids are on the fritz.” 

“Shut your entire face.” 

Clint started laughing and couldn’t stop. Bruce managed a small chuckle followed almost immediately by a miserable groan that only made Clint laugh harder. 

“I can’t believe you let me do that,” Bruce complained, leaning against Clint as they walked through the city, their bags deposited at their motel for the night. Bruce’s arm was wrapped around Clint’s for support and his eyes were barely open as they explored, 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Clint said, laughing, “no way. You did this to yourself and I warned you. Now you must face the consequences.” 

“Why didn’t you warn me more strongly?” Bruce’s head plopped down against Clint’s upper arm as he continued to whine but all Clint could think about was hoping Bruce would never let go. Even despite the unusually warm day, Clint wanted to keep Bruce right where he was. The contact made him feel so at ease. 

“Alright, next time I’ll warn you more strongly just so you can fight me harder,” he said with a chuckle. “You shoulda seen the look in your eyes, man. There was no talking you out of it and you know it.” 

Bruce let out a dramatic sigh and then looked up at Clint, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Where did you even put everything you ate? You don’t”—he poked a finger into Clint’s stomach—“even have a food belly.” 

“Oh believe me, it’s there. I wish I was in sweats instead of jeans right now,” he admitted. “I was a little worried about you though. I mean, you literally ate your weight in pancakes. At least twenty pounds.” 

“Shut up,” Bruce laughed, smacking Clint’s arm who was laughing too. 

“What? I mean, where did all of yours go?” he asked, poking Bruce’s side and watching the smaller boy dance away from his touch, giggling. “So you’re ticklish.” 

“Clint, no.” 

“Clint, yes.” Bruce’s eyes widened in terror and he moved even further away but Clint just laughed and waved away his fear. “Don’t worry. We’re in public, I won’t do anything. For now,” he tacked on with a wide grin that made Bruce narrow his eyes suspiciously. 

“I’m watching you, Barton.”

“Oh, yeah? I’ll get you a step-stool so you can actually see me then.” 

Bruce gasped in fake offense, shaking his head. “I always knew you’d betray me but I didn’t think it would be so soon.” 

“I’ve been planning it this whole time. You just couldn’t hear it from down there,” Clint said. 

“That’s okay. I tied your shoelaces together, big man.” 

“You did wha—”

“Made you look,” Bruce said, reaching over to flick Clint’s nose and laughing. 

It wasn’t what had happened that caught Clint so off guard, it wasn’t like he had to stop and plan his next attack—it was that big, happy grin on Bruce’s face and his delighted cackle that had frozen Clint in his steps. 

Clint’s expression softened and he chuckled. “You win this round, Bruce, but I’ll tickle you when you least expect it. Better sleep with one eye open.” 

“Mastered that years ago actually.” 

“Oh, right, me too.” 

Though it was directly related to the trauma they had faced and the situation they had left behind, the joke didn’t leave them sitting in silence or shaking with fear. They laughed. Clint couldn’t joke about most of it just yet but it felt good to know that a time might exist when he wouldn’t feel constantly weighed down by it. 

He looked over at Bruce and then slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into his side for a hug and they stayed like that as they walked through the town exploring. 

+

Bruce was right in front of the bathroom door the moment Clint opened it later that night. Clint startled, his eyes going to Bruce’s lips as he realized he was speaking. His hearing aids were still out, though, and he wasn’t sure what he’d said but his heart started to race and he felt cold all the same because he could tell by Bruce’s expression that something had happened. Something bad. 

He fumbled trying to put in his hearing aids in a rush, turning them on and whirling around to face Bruce, immediately asking what was wrong. 

“Clint, I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, clutching a phone in his hands and it took a moment for Clint to realize that Bruce was holding his phone. 

“Please tell me you’re just apologizing for reading my texts,” Clint pleaded, somewhat breathless. 

“I, uh…” Bruce swallowed roughly. “Your phone was ringing and I saw that it was Natasha, s-so I thought it would be alright to answer and take a message and sh-she wants you to call her back before I show you.” 

“Show me? Show me what?” Clint asked, hearing his own volume increase involuntarily. Bruce flinched and Clint took a deep breath, trying for Bruce’s sake to keep his voice down and calm himself. He had to remind himself of his own no-panic policy. 

“She wants you to call her back first. FaceTime.” 

“Bruce, is Nat—”

“She’s fine. They’re all fine. But you need to call her. Right now. Here.” He pushed Clint’s phone into his hands and took a step back, continuing backwards until his knees hit his bed and he sat down on it, wringing his hands together. 

He swallowed again and just watched Clint, never looking away. What on earth had shaken him so badly? 

With trembling hands, Clint lifted the phone and selected Nat’s name. It barely rang once before she picked up, her eyes full to the brim with concern. 

“Nat, what the he—”

“I’m so sorry, Clint.” 

“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on before I have a heart attack?” 

“Bruce, you there?” 

“I’m here, Nat.” 

“Show him.” 

Clint’s heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear the conversation going on between them and then suddenly Bruce was bringing over his phone, an internet tab opened up to a news site that Clint recognized. It was from his hometown. 

Oh shit, he found me  

The no-panicking policy went out the window and Clint felt lightheaded, swaying on his feet. He was vaguely aware of Bruce’s hand on his elbow, steadying him, and then Nat’s voice was bringing him back to the present. 

“Bruce, is he reading it?” 

“He’s… I don’t really think he’s with us at the moment.” 

“Clint? Clint?” she asked, her voice softer, more worried the second time. 

Clint’s eyes focused and he turned them to Nat, too scared to scroll down and see the actual news headline. 

“Did he find me?” Clint asked in a small voice, not even sure he had spoken at an audible volume. 

“No, he didn’t. Clint, just read it. You have to read it. I’m sorry.” 

He reached forward and grabbed Bruce’s phone with his free hand, Nat in the other, and scrolled down the page to read, BELOVED TOWN MECHANIC WRAPS CAR AROUND TREE IN DRUNKEN-ACCIDENT, NO SURVIVORS. 

Clint almost felt a wave of relief wash over him until his brain chimed in: survivors ? Plural? God, who had he hit? 

Clint’s eyes moved down the page to read the first line.

“Well-known and beloved mechanic of Waverly, Harold Barton, 45, crashed his car into a tree tonight while driving in an inebriated state, taking the lives of both himself and his wife, preschool teacher Edith Barton, 43, who was in the passenger se—”

Clint dropped both phones, dots dancing on his vision, his head spinning and eyes stinging. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. He knew it was there and he was pretty sure he was still standing but he felt like he was floating above his body, unable to move. 

After a moment, he felt something underneath him and realized he was on his bed. He wasn’t sure if he had sat down himself or if Bruce had helped him. 

His eyes slid over to the postcard collection sitting on his bedside table that he had planned to start filling out tonight. He had picked one up in each town they had stopped in, addressing them to his mother but he wanted to wait until he was somewhere safe before he sent them to her. 

He still wanted to thank her. He still wanted to talk to her again one day. Maybe call her, send her something. Maybe even earn enough money to buy her a ticket to come out and see him, to get her away from his father. Sure she had her faults but she was his mother. He still loved her and he knew that she loved him. He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to feel the most—the intense, near-euphoric relief that came from knowing his father could never lay a hand on him again or the equally strong, painfully sharp realization that his mother could never hug him again. 

“Clint?” 

He heard his name but he couldn’t tell if it was Bruce or Nat that had said it. He reached up, his hands covering his face, and he realized that he was crying, his cheeks hot and damp. 

“Clint, sweetheart,” he heard Nat say and then he felt Bruce’s hand on his arm but he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t talk to either of them right now. 

He stood and made his way to the door, putting on his shoes and jacket.  

“Clint, wait, where are you going?” 

“I just—I just need to be alone.” 

“Take your phone. It’s dark out and you’re by yourself,” Bruce said, worriedly. 

Clint looked down at it, Nat still on his screen looking just as concerned. 

“I’ll hang up but call me soon. Please?” 

Clint simply nodded and then Nat was gone and the room was silent. Clint stared at his own reflection in the blackened screen and frowned, feeling his mouth tug down and tremble. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce repeated. Clint managed a nod and left the room. 

“Hey.” 

Clint rubbed his wet eyes with his sleeve and sniffled, wiping his nose as well. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Bruce the sorriest excuse for a smile ever. 

“How’d you find me?” Clint asked, pulling his knees in closer to his chest as he gazed out over the rooftop. Bruce had thankfully allowed him an hour to himself before coming to find him. 

“Not to be rude but this is the only cool spot in this entire town,” Bruce joked weakly. Clint chuckled but it was quiet and his smile quickly faded. He dropped his head to stare at the ground in front of him. “Mind if I sit?” 

Clint scooted over and Bruce understood the gesture, dropping down beside him and crossing his legs beneath him. They both stared out at the dead town in silence, nothing but the faint sounds of their breathing to let them know there was any life at all in this place. 

For five straight minutes, Bruce didn’t say a word. Nothing, not even a heavy sigh. He didn’t even look at Clint, he just kept staring forward, absently picking at the edges of his sleeves. It was comforting but it also made Clint want to fill the silence. He wasn’t sure if this was Bruce’s intention or not but dammit if he wasn’t starting to understand Clint a little too well.  

“It shouldn’t bother me this much, you know?” Clint said suddenly, feeling another hot, salty tear roll down his face. He wiped it away. “He was a piece of shit, she never really fought for me. I should be relieved to know that neither of them can ever hurt me again.” 

He fell quiet again and turned to face Bruce. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find there but he stared at him until Bruce met his eyes. The younger boy never said anything and Clint felt compelled to go on, to explain. Whether to himself or to Bruce, he didn’t know but the words had to come out. 

“I’m not even angry. Not really. I’m… I’m—” He dragged his hands down his face and tried to keep it together but a sob broke forth. It was such a wet, pained sound that he couldn’t even believe it had come from him. He kept his hands on his face, trying to calm himself and slow his breathing. 

He heard Bruce move and in an instant there were arms around him. Bruce was on his knees beside Clint, both arms wrapped around him and his chin resting on Clint’s shoulder. Clint wasn’t sure which of the many emotions he suddenly felt was to blame but he broke down. He hugged Bruce back tightly, burying his face into the crook of the shorter boy’s neck and sobbing. 

Bruce never spoke, never scolded him, never even told him to quiet down or that everything would be alright. All he did was hold Clint and that was all he needed. He didn’t need to be distracted, he didn’t need tough love, he didn’t even need reassurances. He just needed this. 

It was a while before he finally stopped. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling away from Bruce to rub his damp, tired eyes. 

“What for?” 

“For starters, the snot stain on your shirt.” 

“Don’t worry. This shirt came in a pack of five from the dollar store. I’m set if you need to cry on me exactly three more times.” 

A laugh bubbled up out of Clint that dulled the pain slightly. He yawned, having exhausted himself, and said, “I would never in a million years go back to that house. Nothing could make me go back, but it’s weird now thinking that I can’t. That no one will be there. That this time next year a stranger might be living there. I don’t understand it. I don’t get why I’m so sad.” 

“You loved your mom, though.” 

“I know, I just—I didn’t—I don’t know,” he finally settled on with a heavy sigh. He stared down at his hands in his lap. “I’m an orphan now. That’s weird.” 

“Just like Stuart Little,” Bruce said. They had watched that movie the other night after finding it at their favorite store. 

The words were spoken so casually and were so unexpected that Clint laughed and once more the razor sharp pain was molded into something tolerable. He wiped his eyes and then reached out to rest his hand on top of Bruce’s. He wrapped his fingers around it and gave it a squeeze. 

“Thank you.” 

“I didn’t really do anything but you’re welcome anyway,” Bruce told him, offering one of his soft smiles. 

+

When Clint woke up, there was a warmth pressed against his back and arms around him. Bruce’s arms. Instead of freaking out like he did the last time, he reached for his hearing aids and as soon as the world once again had sound, Bruce was speaking. 

“I, uh… you were crying in your sleep.” 

Oh  

“I hope this is okay. It seemed to calm you after a while, so I thought I’d just stay here.” Bruce removed his arm and Clint almost whined at the loss of its comforting weight. 

“Thanks.” 

“My pleasure,” Bruce said, sitting up and now Clint’s back felt cold as Bruce slid out of the bed and over into his own. 

“What time is it?” Clint asked, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, sighing softly because life . 

“Almost six. Did you wanna have an early start after all?” 

They had decided wordlessly last night to sleep in this morning. They had one more night together before they would be boarding the coach to New York, meaning they had less than a three hour walk to their final city. They were free to spend today as they pleased so long as they made it before it got too dark. Tomorrow morning they would catch the bus. 

“No,” Clint said, rubbing his eyes and they felt puffy and terrible, stinging no matter how much he blinked. He decided to just close them. “Let’s sleep a while longer?” 

He heard Bruce’s sheets rustle and then, “Don't have to ask me twice. I’ll set an alarm for 10?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get themselves into a good mood. It was actually only a little bit due to the events of last night. 

Clint, of course, still missed his mother—and he had the suspicion that a pain this sharp might never fully go away—but for now it was overshadowed by the relief of Harold Barton being gone from this world. Clint could live his life now without ever having to be in fear of being found. He wouldn’t have to constantly be looking over his shoulder or avoiding things he wanted to do or try just so he could stay hidden from his father. He could put his name on his instagram account. He could post his locations on his stories. He could, he could, he could and Harold was never going to be able to stop him. 

Though as relieved as he was about that, it was being overshadowed as well by a sadness that outranked them all: the realization that he and Bruce were going to be saying goodbye soon. It was like a single black, storm cloud hovering over an otherwise beautiful day. They should have been enjoying every last minute together and cracking jokes about the things they would do once they reached their new homes but they simply could not. 

Once upon a time, this had been the end goal. Clint had even promised to leave Bruce alone once they reached New York but now it felt like a punishment. It felt as if life was handing them one last slap to the face before allowing them to truly enjoy the new lives they had seized for themselves. Rationally, they knew they would see each other again. If not in person, then over FaceTime. Irrationally, however, Clint wanted to duct tape Bruce to him and never have to let him go. 

And a small part of Clint at the very back of his mind kept going over one thought again and again. What if Bruce’s new home had neighbors? Nice neighbors, good-looking neighbors. Kind neighbors. What if Bruce met someone? Someone who was his type unlike Clint. Clint wanted to think he’d be happy for him if that happened but realistically he knew it would kill him just a little bit. What if Bruce met someone new and forgot about him?

They headed out to find breakfast in silence, walking close enough to one another that they occasionally brushed hands or bumped into each other. It was yet another silent communication: I’m not ready to leave you.

“You didn’t get pancakes?” Bruce asked, genuinely shocked when Clint’s plate came out with eggs, bacon, and hash browns but none of his usual sickly sweet goodness. 

Clint chewed his lip for a moment before answering. 

“I, uh… pancakes are for celebrating. They’re a happy food. I just didn’t feel—”

“Oh, because of last night,” Bruce interrupted but Clint didn’t hear it and kept explaining. 

“—like our last day together was something to celebrate,” Clint finished, looking up. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, looking down at his bowl of oatmeal. Bruce normally got eggs and toast but today he’d opted for edible concrete. “Yeah.” He sighed deeply. “Same.” 

The day went by much too fast. Clint felt like he had blinked and gone instantly from breakfast to now, eight o’clock at night in their motel. Their last motel. This was the last time Clint was going to share a crappy, suspiciously stained room with the cutest boy on earth. This was the last time he and Bruce would take turns showering, the last time they’d wish each other goodnight in person. It was so many lasts and not nearly enough firsts. 

Of course, the closer he got to Natasha, the more excited he felt about that but he hated that it felt bittersweet, tainted now by the news of his mother as well as the impending separation from Bruce. 

“What should we do tonight?” Bruce asked, sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed twiddling his thumbs. He was staring directly at Clint for once instead of down at his hands or off into some vague distance. 

Bruce didn’t need to add on our last night together because those words had been hanging in the air between them ever since they’d walked into the motel room. 

Clint met his eyes, sitting on his own bed toweling off his damp hair. 

“I… I don’t know.” Clint was at that stage where he was just too sad to think. 

The corners of Bruce’s lips tugged down but then he inhaled deeply and got up, going over to grab the remote to the tiny, mounted television and turn it on. He climbed back onto his bed and scooted over, patting the spot beside him without looking away from the television. Clint smiled and got up, crawling onto the bed beside him. 

Bruce continued channel surfing and after a moment dropped his head onto Clint’s shoulder. 

“Is this okay?” Bruce asked, still flipping through channels. 

“Very okay. Found anything good?” 

“I’m really hoping for a movie. Something I haven’t seen. Even better if neither of us have seen it.” 

Clint looked down at the head of curls resting on his shoulder. It was such a comforting weight. Bruce was so warm. He was like Clint’s own personal balm, soothing him and helping him contain the emotions that wanted to bubble over. 

“I’m really going to miss you, Bruce,” Clint said softly, watching Bruce press the channel button and seeing the moment when his words must have registered because his thumb faltered for a second before he continue pressing. 

“I… can we talk about anything else?” Bruce’s voice, which was always soft, was barely audible now and Clint heard the faintest crack on the last word. He couldn’t see Bruce’s face and he was grateful. If Bruce was on the verge of tears, it was the last thing Clint needed to see. 

“Sorry,” Bruce apologized before Clint could think of a new topic, “tomorrow. I’m not ready for parting words yet.” 

“Yeah, uh, yeah, of course.” Clint cleared his throat, glancing up at the television in hopes of finding a topic of conversation there. “Hey, wait, go back. I think I saw something.” 

 Bruce went back two channels and stopped. “This?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said with a smile that grew wider as he realized they had only missed about five minutes of the movie so far. “This is a good one. I think you’ll like this one.” 

“What’s it called?” 

“Lilo and Stitch.” 

Maybe Clint had never realized how close to home that movie hit before. Maybe it was just the build up and suppression of emotions he had been doing for the last few days. Maybe it was the harsh reality that by the end of the movie, they were another two hours closer to saying goodbye. Clint wasn’t sure and if he had to guess it was a combination of all three. 

The last two he had expected but he had almost forgotten about Lilo’s life before Stitch came along. She was an outcast, bullied and shunned by the other kids her age. She did things on her own, found ways to have fun by herself. Her parents died in a car accident and it was just her and Nani, her older sister (though in a competition of Barney vs Nani it was clear who the better older sibling was). 

All Lilo wanted was a friend. She hoped and prayed for someone to be her friend, someone who wouldn’t run away, someone kind. 

And, of course, she got Stitch. It was rough in the beginning with a lot of redos and unexpected twists and turns involved. Though what she received in the end was better than any generic friend or normal situation could have been. 

Clint was the Lilo of his own story, which made Bruce… 

“Hey, you know,” Clint began, nudging Bruce gently with the shoulder the smaller boy was still leaning against, the movie credits rolling, “I think you’re my—Bruce?” 

Bruce’s shoulders were shaking and only now did Clint realize that his arm felt damp. He leaned forward to get a better look only to find Bruce fighting back tears that were clearly winning, his face soaked and shiny. He was biting down on his lip hard and when he met Clint’s eyes he lost the fight. 

He wrapped his arms around Clint and buried his face against Clint’s shoulder. His tears remained silent as they always had been, his small frame shaking with the effort he was still making to try and control himself.

Clint turned so he could hold Bruce as well, not sure which of the many possible reasons Bruce was crying. He had just as many reasons to cry as Clint did. Or maybe it was really just the movie. It was a very unexpectedly emotional and touching movie. 

“Bruce?” Clint asked again after a few minutes of silent tears and jagged breathing. 

Bruce pushed his face harder against Clint’s shoulder and whined, a sob finally breaking forth. Clint had seen Bruce cry a few times already, usually after nightmares. But this was the first time he had ever heard him cry. He had always just let silent tears fall, perhaps the occasional sniffle but this was full-on wailing like what Clint had done just last night. Clint wasn’t sure why it surprised him to think that Bruce might have been holding onto a lot of feelings as well. 

“Bru—”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he sobbed, his words muffled and a little breathless. “You’re my Stitch. I don’t want to.” He took a few deep breaths, still holding tight to Clint. 

Clint never let go either. He wouldn’t lie and say a part of him wasn’t a little bit relieved that Bruce was as broken up over them parting as he was, but he also couldn’t pretend like this didn’t absolutely break his heart. 

“Well, my offer still stands. Come with—”

Bruce didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, the way he tightened his grip on Clint was all he needed to do. 

“I know. Sorry. I had to try.” Clint rested his chin on top of Bruce’s head. “I’m going to visit you though, okay? Like at least twice—no, three times a month, alright? And the other times you come see me.” 

“I’m so scared you’ll forget about me.” 

“That’s just downright impossible, Brucie. And bordering on rude of you to say. How do I know you won’t forget about me ?” 

Bruce let out a soft, sad chuckle and said, “How do I know you’re normal?” 

Clint laughed too. That felt like years ago that he had asked Bruce that. 

“Well, you found out, didn’t you?” 

Bruce pulled back, wiping his damp face with his pajama sleeve. “Yeah,” he said, sniffling, “that you lied. You’re very much not normal.” 

“Ah, no, no. I said I was weird in a good way. I never said I was normal.” 

Bruce smiled but his lips trembled and Clint knew that feeling of trying to fight off a second wave. Bruce touched Clint’s shirt-sleeve. “I guess we’re even. Sorry.” 

“You said I could cry on you three more times. You better not be changing your mind now.” 

Bruce laughed, pushing his glasses up as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. They were so red and tired-looking when he finally pulled them away, his glasses sliding back into place. 

Bruce’s expression turned serious and he sat up properly to face Clint in the bed, extending a hand and then lowering all his fingers but his pinky. 

“Pinky promise me again.” 

“Okay,” Clint said without hesitation, linking his pinky with Bruce’s. “What are we promising? The same thing?” 

Bruce shook his head gently. “Promise me you’ll always be my friend? No matter what happens. No matter what either of us does or doesn’t do, always friends.” 

Again Clint didn’t hesitate. “I promise you.” 

+

When Clint finally woke up in the morning, his heart was so full of sadness he could barely stand. He felt heavy and wrong. The only right was waking up beside Bruce in bed. Lovely, lovely Bruce who was curled into a loose ball beside him, still sleeping peacefully. 

They had talked for only a few more minutes before Bruce could barely keep his eyes open, having worn himself out with that crying session. The last thing he had said to Clint before wishing him a goodnight was asking him to bring his pillow over and share his bed. Bruce had said that it was their last night, he didn’t want either of them to have nightmares and the only solution he knew for that right now was sleeping close to one another. 

And it worked. Clint slept peacefully, deeply. He just woke up and ruined it for himself by thinking. He wished he could have basked in that moment for a few more minutes; to continue being blissfully unaware that by this time tomorrow, Bruce will have been gone from his side for almost twelve hours. 

It was nearing eight in the morning. They needed to leave soon if they wanted to have breakfast or at the very least pick up a coffee and something to eat on the bus. They were in Rochester now and it was much more of a city than anywhere else they’d been save for Cleveland. There were coffee and convenience shops other than 7-11 and gas stations, so they planned to make the most of that. 

They had to catch their bus at 11:15am and then it was a roughly five hour and forty minute journey but the man at the ticket counter had informed them that Manhattan traffic was ‘something else’, so they better tack on at least another hour and a half to their journey time. That worked out fine. Clint would be taking the subway once they arrived and Bruce had assured him that he could do the same if they didn’t make it in time for the faster train from Grand Central. 

Now checked out of their final motel, they roamed the busy streets looking for somewhere to find breakfast and hopefully something they could snack on along the way as well. 

“Donuts?” Bruce asked, pointing at the Dunkin’ Donuts across the road. 

“Feels kinda… joyful, though, doesn't it?”

Bruce nodded but grabbed Clint’s hand and, after looking both ways twice, pulled him across the road with him to the breakfast chain. 

“Yeah, it does but I realize now that instead of moping I want to enjoy every last minute we have together,” Bruce said honestly, looking straight ahead as he spoke and Clint felt that was a conscious choice. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to look Bruce in the eyes and say that without tearing up.

Clint had never been to a Dunkin’ before. They didn’t have them in his hometown and even though they had seen one—yes, just one—on their trip here, they didn’t serve pancakes so Clint had never been interested in wasting a breakfast there and neither had Bruce. 

Inside, it smelled heavenly. The comforting smell of fresh coffee paired with the sweet and savory aromas of bagels and donuts made Clint’s stomach growl audibly. 

“Oh no,” Bruce said softly, eyeing the racks of donuts and other pastries on display behind the woman at the cash register. “Too much choice. Clint, help.”

Clint, who had been worried for zero-point-two seconds relaxed and smiled, reaching up to pat Bruce’s head in a gentle ‘there, there’ motion. “Well, you love chocolate.”

“But there are so many chocolate ones.”

“And I thought we were celebrating our final moments? Get more than one, Brucie. Simple. Here: how about that Boston kreme and the double chocolate one? Sound good? And a milk. And don’t forget to get something for lunch on the bus. They do bagels and croissants here with eggs and—what?”

Bruce was staring up at Clint in the weirdest way. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the type of look he was seeing. After a moment, whatever was there cleared and morphed into such a gentle expression that Clint nearly had to look away. There was so much… affection on Bruce’s face. 

They moved up in line and the conversation was interrupted whilst they ordered. They waited until they were outside and walking towards the bus station before either of them started talking again. 

“You gonna tell me or do I have to guess?”

“You’re my best friend,” Bruce blurted out. “Well, you’re my only friend. Or, well, I guess Natasha is my friend now too—oh, but she’s your best friend so—” He was talking himself in circles and beginning to wring his hands, so Clint rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze to snap him out of his rambling. 

“She is definitely your friend and you’re my best friend too.”

“Oh, no, that’s not fair to Natasha. She’s your—”

Clint shrugged. “I dunno. I just don’t see the point in restricting myself based on popular belief, you know?” 

“What?” 

“The popular belief that you can only have one best friend. I dunno. That just feels bogus and as someone who has gone way too long having no friends at all, why would I want to restrict myself like that? I just think there is room for more than one best friend. At least for me there is. You guys are different and we talk about different things and share different experiences. You’re both the best to me but in different ways. It’s like how pancakes are the best breakfast food but pizza is the best dinner food. They’re both the best but totally different and I think that’s fine.” 

Bruce laughed and then seemed to relax, smiling. 

“Anyway, what made you realize we’re besties?”

Bruce stared up at him in gentle amazement for a few moments and then said, “You’re the only person who knows me so well. It might seem like a simple thing, you know—helping me order breakfast—but you knew what I’d like. When I asked you to help it was partly a joke but before I could even laugh you were giving me answers based on the fact that you know me.” 

Bruce scratched his head and continued, “It sounds really dumb now that I’ve said it out loud, you know. That’s not the only thing that made me realize it but it just kind of… dawned on me just now.” 

“I dunno why you think it’s dumb ‘cos it’s definitely not. You got best friend status in my mind when I realized I trusted you,” Clint admitted, as they joined the line to board the bus. He took a sip of his coffee and winked at Bruce who seemed a little dumbfounded by his confession. 

“You… really?” Clint nodded and Bruce sipped his milk—given to him in a coffee cup—in silence as they stood, thinking. 

They decided to actually deposit their luggage in the storage area this time so they could free up their leg room. 

“It feels weird, doesn’t it?” Bruce asked, clutching his cup with both hands, his thumbs anxiously rubbing along the sides of it. Clint bummed in agreement. “There’s nothing anyone could have done to convince me that we would end up here after the first bus left us in that field.” 

“I would have hoped we’d go our separate ways as something close to friends but yeah, past me would be shocked too.” 

They handed over their bags and then searched for two seats together towards the back. Finally finding them, Bruce slid in first and then Clint took the aisle seat. 

“Hey,” Clint said, a question popping up into his mind that he couldn’t believe he had never thought to ask before, “what did your cousin and aunt say when you told them you got stranded in the middle of nowhere?” 

Bruce let out a soft exhale of air instead of a laugh. “They were worried but I assured them I’d be fine and make my way to them soon.” He explained a little more about his aunt and cousin and then added with another laugh, “They were more worried when I told them I’d made a friend.” 

“You referred to me as a friend so early on?” 

“No, I said ‘a kind stranger my age’ and then later I said you were my friend and that’s when the worrying really began. It was kind of… sweet. Is that weird?” 

Clint chuckled softly. “Definitely not. That’s what family is supposed to do. Worry about you and all that good stuff. Have you spoken to them lately? Do they know you’re arriving today?” 

“Yeah. My cousin Jennifer texts me every now and then. She seems really nice. I remembered her being nice to me that time they visited but, you know, we were children. I wasn’t sure… maybe she’s cool now, you know?” 

“She might be cool,” Clint said easily and he saw the way Bruce dropped his gaze to stare anxiously at the floor, “but you’re the coolest, so you’ll be fine.” 

Bruce’s mood came back up and he rolled his eyes, bumping Clint with his shoulder at the same time that the bus doors shut and the engine started up. Both of them listened to the driver announce their estimated arrival time and then they watched silently out the window as they left Rochester. 

There was a fresh wave of sadness washing over them as the city began to shrink in the distance. It wasn’t sadness at leaving Rochester but rather that they were leaving their journey behind. During the last twenty-one days, they had done and experienced so much: motel-hopping, sifting through the dollar stores as if panning for gold, having both truly delicious and downright disgusting meals, laughing till their stomachs ached, crying until their faces hurt, building a friendship that they knew—despite all their worries—would last until the very end of time. 

Clint was not the same person now that he had been at the start of this all. Bruce’s unexpected yet amazing friendship felt as if it had altered Clint but positively so. Having Bruce and Nat as friends was a blessing he wasn’t sure how to repay and the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how perfect they were for him. Nat’s friendship helped Clint see that life was worth living at all. Bruce’s friendship helped him to see more clearly why that was the case. 

The biggest reason being, of course, falling in love. It was something he had always quietly desired for himself but was convinced would never happen, whether he got away or not. The platonic, unimaginably strong connection he felt to Natasha had already seemed like a miracle and but this?

He looked down at Bruce who was editing a picture he had taken earlier this morning. He was pinching and zooming in on the photo, changing the saturation. He really had gotten into this and Clint was overjoyed to get to see Bruce develop a new hobby. Deep in concentration, Bruce’s eyebrows knitted together and he was chewing the inside of his cheek. His glasses had slid down to the very end of his nose and his hair was falling in his eyes but he didn’t seem to care. 

As quietly as he could, Clint sighed, trying his best to send out the flurry of butterflies in his stomach as he exhaled. He was quite content now in the knowledge that he loved Bruce. Whether Bruce was setting up a cheesy, knock-off prom for him or just existing cutely in a chair, Clint’s heart raced all the same.

It was such an exhilarating feeling. Clint remembered clearly times when the strongest emotions he felt were hatred and fear, when he went days—sometimes weeks—without so much as a smile. Love, he realized, was both the antithesis and neighbor of hatred. They were both deep, intoxicating, near-overwhelming feelings that could flow out all the way to his extremities and cloud his judgment. 

A flare up of hatred, though, left Clint feeling drained mentally, physically, and emotionally once it had petered out. It exacted a heavy toll and offered nothing in return. Love, on the other hand, was like a drink of water after a walk through a dessert. It was a warm bowl of soup after hours of shoveling snow in the dead of winter. It was a comforting and safe embrace after a nasty nightmare. 

He’d said it before and he’d say it again: Clint would never regret loving Bruce. 

He did, though, wonder how long it would take him to get over it. He supposed it would depend on when someone else would come into his life. Someone he could have, someone who wanted him back. Would he just long for Bruce until then? Or would the feelings fade once he hadn’t seen him for a few days? How different would their friendship be once Clint got over his feelings? 

He didn’t have an answer to any of these questions but that didn’t stop him from thinking about them. 

“Does this look okay?” Bruce asked, moving the phone more into Clint’s line of sight. Clint leaned in and then took the phone, examining the picture closely. 

“It looks really good to me,” Clint told him. 

“Hm,” Bruce hummed, not convinced. “I forgot you’re kind of an amateur.” 

Clint’s laugh bubbled up unexpectedly and Bruce grinned, apparently pleased with himself and the reaction he got. 

After Bruce finished editing a few of his more recent pictures and showing each to Clint for approval and praise—which he happily gave—Clint pulled out a new crossword he had bought at the convenience store that morning and shook it, asking a silent question. Bruce nodded and they opened it to a random page and began working on a geography-themed one. 

It was a familiar activity and seemed to put both of their growing nerves at ease. Clint left Bruce to finish one while he texted Nat. 

Nat: today’s the day! 

Clint: the sun is shining, the tank is clean and we are getting out of—THE TANK IS CLEAN

Nat: -.- 

Clint: you know you love finding nemo. Remember how much fun we had watching it over ft?? 

Nat: hmmm I think I forgot and will need an in-person reminder. Clint honestly I can’t wait to see you 

Clint: same Tasha same. I’m probably gonna hug you for about an hour so be prepared 

Nat: you want it, you got it. How’s Bruce? 

Clint: sad. We both are 

Nat: aww sorry :/ we will visit him soon 

Clint: we? 

Nat: pfft ofc WE, do you really think I’m gonna miss out on a chance to meet him in person? 

Clint: I mean… if you wanna meet him sooner you could always pick me up from the bus station 

Nat: omg

Nat: send me your exact arrival time and gate 

Clint: sir yes sir 

As Clint began to type out the information to Natasha, his mind wandered into a zone he normally kept closed off but he was so focused on sending her the information correctly that he didn’t notice.

It was irrational, sure, but Clint couldn’t help but wonder about things he should have considered earlier. What if Nick didn’t like him? Or Tony? Or Steve? What if Natasha and he got along better at a distance but seeing each other every day simply would not work? 

“What’s the matter?” Bruce asked, holding the pencil as he filled in ‘U-G-A-N-D-A’ to nine down. 

“I… how’d you know?” 

Bruce lifted the pencil and pointed the eraser end at Clint’s leg, which was bouncing at a hundred miles per hour. The fingers of his right hand resting on his thigh and tapping in time with his leg’s bouncing. 

“You do that whenever you’re worried or upset about something.” 

Clint stared down at his hand and leg. He didn’t know. He had never noticed. He had never had someone point it out before. Nat normally couldn’t see his lower body over FaceTime and of course no one else in his life had bothered to tell him. 

“So… wanna tell me?” Bruce looked up now, adjusting his glasses. “Oh, wait, actually let me guess.” 

Clint opened and closed his mouth and then gestured for Bruce to speak. 

“You’re afraid that somehow they won’t like you. Or will get sick of you?” 

“Alright, that’s it. You’re obviously a mind reader and have been keeping it to yourself all this time because what the actual hell, Bruce?” 

Bruce shrugged and turned his attention back to the crossword. “We are kinda similar. I’ve had that fear before, remember? Plus, you’re texting Natasha.” 

“I…” He didn’t know what to say so he simply agreed. “Yeah. Huh. Well, I, uh, I am. I dunno why. I mean, it’s crazy, right?” 

“It’s really crazy. You’re very loveable. And Nat’s way too good of a person to pull something like that. You said it yourself and I have my own experience to back it up,” Bruce said calmly, looking up at Clint again. “Don’t make me write you a thoroughly researched and supported essay on why your worries are unfounded.” 

“‘Unfounded?’” Clint repeated, a grin spreading on his face that Bruce copied. “Oh, but, Brucie, now I really wanna read that essay.” 

“One day I’ll write it for you. When you least expect it, it’ll arrive in the mail.” 

“Mail? Not even e-mail? Wow, professional.” 

“Am I ever anything less?” he teased, poking Clint’s side with the pencil and then turning his attention back to the crossword. Clint was still smiling, his worries, for the time being, defeated by all five-foot-four-inches that was Bruce… Banner. “Hey,” Clint asked, suddenly curious, “do you have a middle name?” 

“Yes,” Bruce said warily, looking up at Clint and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Why?” 

“Just curious. Though I’d love to hear what evil uses have crossed your mind.” 

Bruce laughed softly and said, “Well, actually, Bruce is my middle name.” 

“Your name’s Bruce Bruce Banner? No offense but that’s basically ‘Duck, Duck, Goose.’” 

A hand came up to cover Bruce’s mouth as he laughed and Clint felt his usual swell of pride at being the cause for such a sight. Bruce’s slight shoulders continued to shake for a moment before he said, “My first name is Robert, my middle name is Bruce. But I prefer Bruce.” 

Clint scrunched his nose in distaste. “No, no… definitely not a Robert. Not even a Bob or Bobby. Rob?” He tilted his head to the side, squinting at Bruce in consideration. “Nah, Bruce is best. Hm but good to know. I really don’t have any ulterior motives, I was just wondering.” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes again. “Hmm, sure. Like I believe that. Anyway, what’s yours? I need some ammo too.” 

Clint snorted and then grinned wide. “Francis.” 

“No, stop. What is it?” 

“Francis. Clinton Francis Barton.” 

“Did your parents want you to become a playwright or something?” 

Clint laughed and even though it hurt just the tiniest bit to be reminded of his mother, he was glad it was in such a positive setting. He could focus more on the brief laughter and Bruce’s wide, surprised eyes instead. 

“You’d think, wouldn’t ya? Still better than Charles Bernard Barton—Barney’s full name—in my opinion.” 

There was a flash of something like anger on Bruce’s face and Clint wondered if it was a reaction to hearing Barney’s name. Did Bruce really hate him that much on Clint’s behalf? If so, he had most certainly just fallen a bit deeper in love. 

“Oh, definitely. You could be Frank or even Frankie if you decide to join the Italian mafia or something once you get to New York. It’s a much more flexible name.” 

“You know I was actually thinking about doing just that and the name thing was the last issue to solve, so thanks. Can’t wait to start my criminal career.” 

“You’re so welcome. Remember me when you’re a millionaire,” Bruce said, tapping the pencil to his cheek in thought. 

“Mm, I’ll think about it. I mean I think you said I would have to wait in line with everyone else when you went on your world tour. So…” 

“Damn. I was hoping you forgot about that.”

Chapter Text

As they crossed the Hudson River via the George Washington Bridge, everything that Clint had held near and dear in his heart for the last few years was suddenly so real and so close. He was in New York City. He was mere minutes from seeing Natasha in the flesh, from hugging her, from starting his new life with her here. 

Neither Bruce nor Clint had said much since the skyline had come into view. He wasn’t sure if it was because they both knew that much too soon they would be going their separate ways or because neither of them had realized buildings could be this tall or this plentiful. There were scatterings of green spaces and they knew Central Park existed somewhere even though they couldn’t see it but for the most part they had now entered into a new kind of place: one made primarily of concrete and glass. It felt almost dystopian. 

“I feel like a bumpkin,” Bruce mumbled quietly and Clint let out a soft laugh but nodded. 

“You can say that again. It’s kind of overwhelming.” 

“There’s so many people on the streets.” 

By now they had reached midtown and they could barely see the sidewalks. People swarmed on either side, some in suits, some in ‘I ❤️ NYC’ shirts, construction workers, people in uniforms, the eccentrically dressed and everything and everyone else. Not only had Clint never seen this many people in one place before unless it was the town fair—and even then he doubted that—but he had never seen so many different types of people. 

“I can’t see the sidewalk or the street,” Bruce observed and sure enough the street was as busy as the pavement. Those iconic yellow taxis—that Clint had kind of thought were just for the movies—were chaotically sandwiched between every other type of car. Clint was sure the streets here had lines and markings to dictate where cars should be just like every other place but if they did, no one was paying them any attention. Least of all the cabs. 

“This is going to take some getting used to.” 

“When I visit, I hope you’ll have found a nice, quiet hangout spot by then,” Bruce told him, turning to look up at him. Clint met his eyes and smiled softly, instantly forgetting all his worries about navigating this larger than life city and only focusing on Bruce. 

“I’ll find you every quiet spot I can.” 

Bruce’s eyes widened ever so slightly and he turned away quickly to look out the window again. A rush of heat washed over Clint as he realized what and how he had said those words. Had that sounded way too much like ‘I’m in love with you?’ Yes? No? Maybe? 

They stayed quiet for a few moments, gridlocked anyway in that infamous Manhattan traffic the bus driver had talked about. They were coming down 9th Avenue now and the bus driver had announced that they were only a few streets away from Port Authority station. Suddenly remembering, Clint turned to Bruce. 

“Um, by the way,” he began, realizing belatedly that he should have told him sooner just in case, “Nat’s meeting us at the bus station. She really wanted to meet you.” 

Bruce’s expression brightened. “Really? Oh, I can’t wait.” 

Clint smiled and relaxed all at once. “Me too, Brucie, me too.” 

The bus rolled to a stop and immediately people began to stand, their things gathered in hand as they waited impatiently to disembark. Everyone was in such a hurry and then there was Clint and Bruce, both conflicted, neither sure how to feel, both still sitting in their seats. 

Clint turned to Bruce who was already looking at him, his eyes glossy with the threat of tears that hadn’t yet overflowed. 

“Aw, Brucie, come on. If you cry, I’ll cry, then Nat might cry and we’ll all be a big ol’ mess.” 

Bruce sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his glasses falling back into place when he moved his arm. He readjusted them and then let out a long, deep sigh. “Okay, I’m better. I won’t cry. Right now.” 

“Aw, Bruce, that doesn’t help. Don’t cry at all, okay? You’re gonna see me again in no time. I’m gonna call you tonight even. We’ll FaceTime. This isn’t goodbye… it’s just see ya later.” 

Bruce inhaled deeply again and repeated, “Just see ya later.” 

Finally having gathered their things, they stood and joined the rest of the passengers waiting as they slowly got off. 

“Here,” Clint said, holding out the crossword book from their first ever bus ride. “Keep this one. I started it, you finish it. You’ve still got a bit of a ride left, right?” 

Bruce stared at the book and that glossy, tearful look came back. He looked away and then took it, sliding it into his backpack side pocket. “Yeah,” he breathed, his voice a little wet and Clint was struggling now not to cry as well. 

They remained silent until they stepped off the bus and then it wasn’t them that spoke but a tiny, red-headed girl with bright green eyes and a grin wide and happy enough for all three of them. Before either of them even knew what was happening, she had launched herself at them, a slender yet strong arm hooked around both of them. 

“Hi, boys,” Natasha greeted enthusiastically. 

“Oh my god, Nat!” Clint exclaimed, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss into her hair. “You’re itty bitty!” 

She just laughed, still holding tight to them both. 

“I can’t believe you’re smaller than me,” Bruce said, equally shocked at the petite Natasha. 

Finally she pulled away but only so she could hug them individually. She jumped up and wrapped her arms tightly around Clint’s neck and he supported her easily with one arm pressed to her back. She buried her face in the space between his neck and shoulder and let out a deep sigh. 

“I’ll get our bags,” Bruce said, letting them have a moment. 

“You okay?” he asked her quietly, turning his head to speak against her hair. She just nodded and then let out another sigh. 

“I’m just really happy you’re here and relieved you made it in one piece. And I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened and been happening. He’s even cuter in person,” she told him. Clint just hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t speak. 

They stayed like that for a moment, swaying gently left and right. When Bruce returned with both of their bags, Nat loosened her hold on Clint and slid back down to the ground. 

“Honestly though,” Clint began, taking his duffel from Bruce who Nat was now turning towards, “how tall are you? How did we never discuss this?” 

Nat chuckled, holding her arms out for Bruce and waiting for him to accept or reject the rest of the way. Bruce dropped his backpacks onto the ground beside Clint and stepped into Nat’s embrace. She rested her head on Bruce’s shoulder, looking at Clint. 

“I’m four-eleven.” 

Clint snorted. “You give off such tall girl energy.” 

Nat grinned and then turned her face towards Bruce. He didn’t speak. He had closed his eyes and was just standing there with his arms wrapped around Natasha, enjoying the hug. Clint watched her say something to him and Bruce’s eyes widened and then his expression went back to normal. He’d ask later but he was sure she wouldn’t tell him that, right? 

Nat pulled away and her wide smile returned, her hands on her hips as she looked them both over from head to toe.

“I still can’t believe it,” Clint said, doing the same. “I can’t believe we’re all together. Like I knew you two would meet eventually but it feels like two different worlds are colliding right now.” 

Nat kept grinning, turning to Bruce and offering him a wink that resulted in a light dusting of rosiness on his cheeks. After another moment of them all standing there with varying levels of disbelief and excitement, the spell was broken. Bruce reached over and tugged on Clint’s shirt sleeve. 

“I have to go,” he said softly, and Clint looked down at him to find that he was staring down at the ground, his other hand clenched into a tight fist at his side. 

Fuck 

“Oh… right. Um, you know the way?” 

Nat nodded and turned, her smile still there but it was sad now. “Follow me, boys.” 

She led them out of the station and down the busy, bustling street. Maneuvering through the crowds seemed to be second nature for Natasha who deftly weaved in and out of even the largest of groups—mostly tourists, she explained. Bruce and Clint were almost too fascinated by the ease with which Nat simultaneously walked, talked, and navigated without even looking to even remember to be sad about going their separate ways soon. 

“Oh, wow,” Clint said, tilting his head back to look up at the intricately painted ceiling. 

“What he said,” Bruce added, doing the same as they followed Natasha towards the ticket counter for the train Bruce needed to New Rochelle. 

“I’ve only ever seen this place in movies. Well, movie. Singular. And it was animated,” Clint admitted, still staring up at the ceiling of Grand Central Station. 

“Madagascar barely counts as having ‘seen’ Grand Central, Clint,” Nat teased, talking to the man behind the plexiglass and getting Bruce’s ticket. He handed her the money when prompted and she led them along to his platform. 

So much was happening all at once that Clint barely had any time to process any of it. Nat was standing in front of him. He and Bruce were in New York City. He was safe. They were safe. He was going to start his new life. 

Bruce was about to leave. 

Clint cleared his throat as he was hit with a wave of absolute devastation. His chest ached and he had an awful sinking feeling in his stomach. He blinked a few times to fight back the tears suddenly threatening to spill over, clenching his fists at his sides as they walked down the corridor. 

“Hey, um, so remember I was making you a playlist?” Bruce said, his small fingers gently prying Clint’s fist open as he spoke. He wrapped his hand around two of Clint’s fingers in what Clint assumed was an attempt to get his attention but even once he turned to Bruce, the smaller boy didn’t let go. 

“Yeah… yeah, I remember.” His brain had only slightly stopped working due to the prolonged hand-holding and also just the unimaginable levels or adorableness that was Bruce only holding onto two of his fingers. 

“Well, I finished it. And I’m gonna send you the link now but you have to promise me you won’t listen to it until you miss me.” 

Clint scoffed. “Well, then I guess I’ll listen to it as soon as you get on your train.” 

Bruce gave him a small smile but it fell quickly. “Really. Promise me you won’t listen until you really miss me.” 

Clint wanted to ask why the playlist came with this rule but he didn’t think Bruce would want to answer so he decided against it. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t do so, although weird, he would wait. 

“I promise. How’s tonight sound?” 

Bruce chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously, also doing his signature hand-wringing but then he nodded. “Yeah, that’s, um, that’s good.” Bruce took out his phone and opened his music app. He tilted his phone slightly away from Clint as he sent the link and Clint felt his phone ding. He wouldn’t even check it now. He’d wait. 

“I can’t wait to listen to it. But I will wait. Thank you.” 

The train rolled into the station and was slowly coming to a halt. It was too soon. This couldn’t already be time to say goodbye, could it? 

At some point, Nat had stepped a few feet away and was giving the boys some privacy. The train wasn’t departing for a few minutes but Clint still wished he had a few more days instead. 

“Text me when you arrive, okay? And once your aunt picks you up? And when you get to your new—”

Bruce threw himself at Clint, wrapping his arms tightly around him, his face buried in Clint’s hoodie. Clint hugged him back, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. God, why did this have to hurt so much? 

“I will. If you’re not too busy, will you call me tonight?” 

“Of course I will. I’ll call you every night if you want me to.” Clint was caring less about how his wording came across or the tone of his voice. He didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to keep his interaction with Bruce purely platonic, he was in too much pain for that. 

“I do,” Bruce said quietly, finally pulling away from Clint. He dragged a sleeve over his eyes again and offered Bruce a smile that trembled. 

“We will see each other soon, okay? Nothing’s gonna keep me from one of my best friends.” He pulled Bruce into one more hug and then walked him over to the train doors. Nat joined them, standing just slightly behind Clint. 

“There’s always space for you at our house. You’re welcome anytime for as long as you want,” Nat told him. 

Bruce thanked her and then stepped back onto the train, waving as the doors shut. Clint couldn’t move and he could barely even bring himself to smile. It felt foolish now to think he would get over Bruce quickly or that distance would be able to dull his feelings for him. 

He watched the train pull away and Bruce’s waving figure grow smaller and smaller until he disappeared. Clint felt like that train had been attached to his heart and the further it went, the harder it pulled until it was ripped right from his chest. 

He gasped and clutched his chest, wondering for a very brief moment if it really had been pulled out only to realize that he was crying and his gasp was a sob bursting forth. He wiped at his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. 

“I can’t make them stop,” he said weakly, the tears flowing relentlessly down his face as his heart continued to pound painfully in his chest. He was too familiar with the sensation of broken ribs for that to be what was happening. Was this heartbreak? He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand this feeling. 

He brought his hand up to his face, dropping his duffel in the process and it landed with a thud as Clint nearly dropped to his knees but was caught at the last second by Natasha. 

She wrapped her arms around him securely, her face pressed against his chest, and after a moment Clint wrapped his arms around her as well and cried into her shoulder. It was a different shoulder to the one he was used to. It was firmer, daintier and for a moment this almost made the pain of missing Bruce even stronger. 

Until she spoke. 

When she spoke, he felt himself relax because no matter what was happening, this was still Nat. This was still the person he trusted more than anyone else in the world. 

Much like Bruce had, she didn’t offer empty condolences or assurances, she didn’t try to quiet him or seem embarrassed by him, she just hugged him and told him she was there. 

By the time they were leaving the station, Clint had stopped crying even though his eyes were still glossy and his face was red and puffy. Nat reached up and touched his cheek as they walked along a less crowded street. She stroked her thumb over his face and then guided him down so she could kiss his cheek. 

“Ready to go home?” 

He sniffed and then nodded, rubbing his tired eyes. 

Nat led them out of the station and onto the street, taking a few turns here and there until they were on a somewhat empty street. They walked in silence for almost ten minutes and then it was Clint who finally spoke. 

“I’m so sorry, Nat.” The guilt was eating at him like acid. At first he had thought it was just more heartache over Bruce leaving but when he looked down at Natasha he felt disgusted with himself. 

“What for?” she asked, not even looking up at him but glancing into a coffee shop they were passing. 

“I—well, you know, we’ve been planning this out for years and it’s finally happening. It was delayed already because of my own stupidity with missing the bus and I was enjoying these last few weeks with Bruce while you worried about me and waited so patiently for me and now I’m finally here and I’ve ruined everything.” 

“I don’t follow,” she said simply, still turned away from him as she window-shopped while they walked. It was so very Nat-like of her to act confused so Clint would have to express himself and despite knowing this, he still took the bait every single time. “‘Ruined’ how?” 

Clint sighed. “This should be one of the happiest days of our lives and yet here I am, Captain Crybaby, because I had to go and fall in love with someone who doesn’t want me back and now I’m ruining this reunion that we’ve been planning for the last five years and I just feel like shit.” 

Nat finally turned to him. She stopped walking and they moved to the side out of the flow of pedestrian-traffic. 

“Seriously?” she asked, her tone indecipherable. 

“Yeah, seriously.” 

Nat scoffed. “Seriously, seriously, Clint?” 

“I… do you just wanna go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking because I don’t think it’s the same thing.” 

She sighed this time, reaching out to take his free hand and she held it tightly. “I care deeply for Steve and Tony, I do. They’re my friends. You and Nick? You’re my family. Did you hear me? You’re family, Clint. The big brother I never wanted… though maybe secretly always wanted,” she added in a stage-whisper and Clint chuckled. “Clint, when it comes right down to it, I’m just happy you’re safe. It’s a bonus that you’re here with me right now. So you being sad over being separated from the boy you’re in love with? I’m sad for you, my heart aches for you because I love you but nothing is going to diminish the happiness I feel at just being able to touch you, so you have nothing to apologize for. You got yourself here and in one piece like you promised me you would.” 

Clint shook his head slowly, a smile spreading on his face. “I really lucked out when it comes to you, didn’t I? Come on, little sis, let’s go home.” He intertwined their fingers and tugged her in the direction they had been walking. 

“No, you’re not calling me that.” 

“Small sibling?” 

“No.” 

“Baby relative?” 

“Weird and also no.” 

Clint knew Nick Fury was a very wealthy man. Nat had told him and he had had video tours of some parts of the house that would have brought him to the same conclusion had he not known. But knowing it, seeing it over a phone camera, and seeing it in person were all hugely different things. 

Clint’s house in Waverly had been pretty big but that wasn’t much of a brag seeing as they lived in the countryside and their next neighbors were almost a mile away in any direction. It wasn’t like real estate was exactly expensive in his old area but Clint’s old house could fit inside easily inside this one with room to spare and it was located on Fifth Avenue with a less than thirty second walk to Central Park. What the hell did Nick do for a living? 

“So… welcome. What do you think?” 

“I think I must look like a rat who’s just waltzed into a five star hotel,” Clint said, looking around at the decorations and artwork on the walls. It wasn’t a super modern, minimalist type of home but it didn’t feel like some haunted Victorian thing either. It was a little dated but clean and not filled with junk. The colors were pleasant to look at and it didn’t smell like mothballs either, all of which were things Clint expected from a mansion. 

Nat wrinkled her nose. “I mean… you could use a shower. And a haircut. We could go tomorrow.” 

“To where Nick usually goes?” 

Nat laughed. 

“What?” 

“She’s laughing because I don’t usually go to get my hair cut. Or ever, really,” Nick said, appearing from what Clint could only describe as the shadows. Clint turned to him and found himself having to tilt his head back to look up at Nick, which wasn’t something he had really done since his last growth spurt. 

The bald-headed—oh, right—Nick Fury stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing black from head to toe, including his eyepatch which did nothing to make him less menacing. He hadn’t really given off this vibe over FaceTime. 

Nick’s eye narrowed as he looked Clint up and down slowly, a frown forming when he reached his face again. He extended a hand and Clint took it, receiving a much stronger handshake than he had imagined. It wasn’t threatening, just firmer than he expected for a man of Nick’s age. 

“Nicholas J Fury, pleasure to finally meet you in person, Clint.” 

“Clint Barton, the pleasure’s mine. Thank you for letting me live here, sir.” 

“No ‘sirs’, thanks. Reminds me too much of my old line of work. Nick or Fury will do just fine. And of course. Anything this one wants, she gets. Besides, ain’t nothing in this damn world that makes her smile as much as you do. I’d be a fool to keep you two apart. That being said, there ain’t anything in this goddamn world that makes me smile as much as she does, certainly not Stark or Rogers, so don’t hurt her, young man, or you’ll be homeless.” 

Clint smiled and by Nick’s expression he wasn’t expecting that reaction. “Wouldn’t dream of it. She means the world to me too.” 

Nick’s expression warmed. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Well, I’m off to cheat at poker with some buddies. Nice meeting you and I’ll see you when I see you.” He offered Clint a nod and headed out the front door, locking it behind him and the sound echoed in the large entranceway. 

“He’s so much more interesting than he seems on the phone.” 

Nat laughed. “You can say that again. Come on, let me show you to your room.” 

As she led him through the house, she pointed out where important rooms were like the kitchen, various bathrooms, and a few bedrooms that had been converted into game or art rooms. Apparently Steve made use of the art rooms the most and was something of a successful artist. 

“Where are they, by the way? And, you know, I never really asked because before I hadn’t grasped the gigantic-ness of this place but does Nick have servants?” 

“They might be out. I hope not because I told them you were arriving today but in any case you’ll meet them eventually,” she said, taking Clint upstairs. “No. It’s always been a ‘big house that’s never quite full’ according to him but he likes it this way. Or so he says. I think the reason he so easily lets me invite people to live here is because he and his late husband always intended to fill it but never got the chance.” 

She stopped and turned to him. 

“I know you know this because I’ve said it before but Nick may seem gruff and distant on the outside but he’s a really, really kind man.” 

Clint nodded. “I know. It’ll just take some time to learn to trust him.” 

“That’s fine. You know how long it took me to get there. Here’s your room,” she said, pushing open a door to reveal a huge bedroom. 

Clint’s mouth fell open as he walked in slowly, turning as he did so he could take everything in. The walls were purple and so were the bedsheets. There was a dart board hanging on the wall and a huge stereo system in one corner. A brand new pair of headphones hung on a stand on a desk. His desk. 

“Nat, I… this is way too much,” he said, going over to the closet. He opened it to find some items already in there—jeans, t-shirts, jackets. “When did you—and how did you…?” 

Nat shrugged. “Educated guesses mostly. I thought it might be nice to have some things ready to wear since everything in your bags probably needs washing.” 

“Aw, Nat,” Clint said, turning to her with a soft smile that quickly turned mischievous. “Such a big heart in that tiny body.” 

She rolled her eyes but was smiling as well as she came over to show him around the rest of his room that she had designed all by herself based on what she knew about him and honestly? There really wasn’t anything Clint would change. It warmed his heart to know that she knew him this well. 

Clint’s phone dinged and he grabbed it so quickly he worried he had crushed it. 

Bruce: arrived! 

Bruce: I’m in the car with my aunt. She’s really nice 

Bruce: thanks for everything. I’ll text you again once I’m all settled in [green heart] 

Clint: happy to hear it brucie !! talk later [purple heart] 

Clint stared at the messages and at the playlist link just above it. He was tempted to click it now but something told him it would be better if he listened alone. He clutched the phone to his chest for a few more seconds before putting it down and turning to Nat who was already putting him to work to get his mind off Bruce. 

They spent a few minutes unpacking, sitting on the floor with music playing in the background. Nat had grabbed a laundry basket and was helping Clint sort his different colored items when they heard the front door slam followed by what sounded like an argument. 

There were footsteps coming up the stairs and the talking grew louder and the words clearer. It was more like bickering. It actually reminded Clint of elderly couples he saw on tv who bickered and teased and he chuckled to himself, wondering what they would think of that description. 

“Hey, boys, come meet Clint,” Nat called out. The footsteps stopped, as did the talking. There was a moment of complete silence and then Clint heard them change direction and head for his room. They must have been down the other end of the hallway. 

The first head to poke around the doorframe belonged to none other than Steve Rogers. He grinned and Clint was a little taken aback at just how handsome he was. The FaceTime camera had not done him justice. 

He was also smaller than Clint had expected. Taller than Nat—though not like that was hard—and slim. His sky blue eyes, golden hair, and kind expression made him look like the most trustworthy person Clint had ever seen. 

Clint stood and Steve’s smile dropped ever so slightly as he tilted his head back to look up at Clint. 

“Whoa,” Steve said and, as if curious, another head popped out of the hallway and a pair of big, dark brown eyes peered in at Clint. 

Tony came all the way around the corner and into the room, standing closely beside Steve. Not quite protectively but possessively, Clint thought as he watched him. Where Steve’s eyes were bright and welcoming, Tony’s were guarded and distrustful. Honestly, they reminded him of Bruce and once again he was hit with a wave of pain. 

“Geez, are you sure you’re only seventeen?” Steve asked with a grin, reaching up to feel Clint’s bicep. He wasn’t ripped but pleased to say he had a little bit of definition. They lived in the countryside and his mother had a small garden of crops. He helped out often with the farm work and it showed. 

“Pretty sure. It’s nice to meet you both properly,” Clint said, extending his hand and Steve shook it. He wasn’t sure if he should do the same with Tony who had narrowed his eyes even more. What was the best option here? Just offer a smile? A handshake? Ignore him? 

Well, probably not that last option. Clint knew vaguely about Tony’s life before coming here and it wasn’t all that different from his own. Though Clint supposed everyone handled things differently. He had learned that lesson with Bruce. 

Aw, dammit. Stop thinking about Bruce 

“You too. And this little mute beside me is Tony,” Steve said, letting out a soft ow when Tony poked his side. He laughed and slung an arm around the slightly shorter boy’s neck, pulling him in to kiss his cheek. 

For the first time, Tony smiled, his suspicious brown eyes meeting Steve’s happy blue ones. They were like night and day but they were a very cute couple. After a moment of what looked like a silent conversation, Tony turned his attention to Clint and stuck out his hand. Clint shook it. 

“Nice to meet you. Natasha talks about you nonstop. I kinda feel like we’ve already met,” Tony said, and his voice was different to Steve’s but just as kind. He continued to cling to Steve who never let him go. 

“Same here. This all still feels surreal. I can’t believe I’m actually here meeting you all.” Clint plopped back down on the floor beside Nat who stood up and they all turned to look at her, patiently waiting for whatever she would say or do. It occured to Clint in that moment how much respect everyone in the room had for her. 

“I’ll go grab some snacks. You guys chat and I’ll be right back.” She dashed gracefully out of the room, reaching up to pat Tony’s head as she went. 

She disappeared out of the bedroom and, after a moment, Steve and Tony sat down too, still close to one another as if joined at the hip. Tony grabbed Steve’s hand and absently played with his fingers while they all chatted, asking Clint about his trip but not delving into anything too deep just yet. 

“So where’s the other guy?” Tony asked, just as Nat came back in with a few bottles of various drinks and bags of snacks, all junk food but hey, Clint wasn’t complaining. 

“Huh?” 

“Nat told us you were with another guy our age. Something with a B, right?” Steve added. 

“Oh. Yeah. Bruce.” There was a pause between each word because Clint was trying to buy himself as much time as possible so he could keep his composure. Nat put the snacks tray down and then sat again, moving close to Clint and resting a hand on his knee. She offered him a soft, apologetic smile. 

Clint met her eyes and inhaled deeply as he said, “He, uh… he’s going to stay with family upstate.” 

“Oh, I thought he was coming here. Shame. Nat said he’s into science and so is this one,” Steve said, indicating to Tony with the thumb of the hand Tony still held. “Would’ve been nice.” 

“Yeah. It would’ve.” Clint swallowed dryly and changed the subject. “So what about you two? What were you out doing?” 

Steve positively beamed. “We were on a date.” 

Nat snorted softly. “And it’s over already? At—” She paused to check the time on her phone. “—7:30pm?” 

“Steve didn’t want to be out late on a Friday night. Can you believe that? It’s like I’m dating an old man,” Tony said with a huff and an eye roll that did not at all match the soft smile or dreamy look in his eyes. 

“We went out for an early dinner and then it started getting crowded. You don’t like crowds anyway, drama queen,” Steve protested and then the bickering started up again. It was clear by the way they were both looking at each other that this meant nothing. At least, nothing bad. If anything, they were falling more in love. 

Clint wanted to smile, he wanted to comment on what a cute couple they were out loud, he wanted to laugh along with them, or tease them gently like Nat was but he couldn’t. He was already using everything in his power not to cry because they were everything he wanted but didn’t have. They were what he wanted with Bruce. 

The carefree touches and open affection, the warm, happy smiles and that sparkling look about their eyes that could only come from being in love. 

He sighed. He’d been right on the money when he called himself a crybaby because all he wanted to do right now was curl up in bed and sob. He could start his new life properly tomorrow but right now he was too drained for all this socializing and thank god for Natasha Romanoff because she knew it. 

“You know, maybe Steve had a point about calling it early. I’m beat. Clint’s probably wiped too from all the traveling. Let’s give him some space and pick this up where we left off tomorrow,” Nat said, stretching. Clint couldn’t see her face but judging by the way the other two were looking at her he knew she was gently letting them know that she wasn’t asking, it was time to leave. 

The two boys stood hand in hand and wished them both a goodnight and then off they went down the hallway and Clint heard one door shut. It shouldn’t have surprised him that they shared a room but for some reason it did and his stupid, crybaby heart ached anew. 

“You okay?” Nat asked now that it was just the two of them. She shut his door and rejoined him on the floor, sitting down cross-legged in front of him and taking his hands. She gave them a squeeze and he let out a heavy sigh. 

“Not really but I don’t know what to do about it. Any advice?” 

She wrinkled her nose. “Sadly, no. I’ve never been in love.” 

“Would you ever want to be?” He had asked her this before but he found that her answer tended to change based on her most recent feelings and experiences. 

She tilted her head to the side, seriously thinking about it for a moment and then said, “I’m not sure. It’s a little frightening. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if the right person comes along.” 

Clint nodded. Last time he asked she said no without even a second of hesitation. He wondered what was different but he’d leave that question for tomorrow. He really was tired. 

“You want me to leave you alone?” 

He was conflicted. A part of him had gotten quite used to sharing a room with someone. Another part of him wanted to be alone to miss Bruce. A third part had been longing to be near Nat for years and now didn’t want to be even an inch away from her but before he could say anything, she decided for him. 

“I’ll go get this laundry started,” she told him knowingly, gathering up the pile of dark clothing they had sorted and standing. “If the door’s closed when I come back up, I’ll see you in the morning.” She bent to press a kiss to his forehead and he closed his eyes, letting the warmth spread throughout him. “Oh and about the postcards, did you decide what you want to do with them?” 

Clint nodded. He and Nat had texted about what to do with them. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to just throw them away even if his mother would never be able to read them now but he also didn’t want to keep them forever. Nat had proposed a few ideas and he’d finally settled on one. 

“Burn them.” 

“Alright. Just let me know when you’re ready.” 

“Thanks, Nat. Love you.” 

“Love you too, Clint.” 

Clint closed his door and left it closed and Nat didn’t come in again. He felt a little bad but at the same time, no matter how much she said it was fine, he didn’t want to dump all his sadness on her. He just needed some time to wallow in it alone and then tomorrow he’d do his best to give Nat a much better welcome. 

The bedroom had an ensuite—something he had never had before except for in the various motels he and Bruce had stayed at—so he took a nice, long shower and let the water beat down on his head providing that oh so welcome white noise he needed to get his thoughts in order. 

Dry and changed into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that was already in his new chest of drawers, he climbed into bed and nearly let out a moan at how comfortable it was. The motel beds had been adequate, his own bed at home wasn’t terrible but this? It was like the tension in his body was being absorbed by the mattress and his neck massaged by the pillow. Even the blanket was softer than any he’d ever touched. 

He almost fell asleep but jolted awake as his brain reminded him of the existence of the playlist. He blindly reached for his phone and sighed a little as he put his hearing aids back in, sliding on his headphones and rolling onto his back. He held the phone up above his face and opened his chat with Bruce. He still hadn’t texted since being picked up but Clint was sure he was just having more fun than he had expected with his family. He smiled imagining it. 

He scrolled up and clicked on the link and was taken to Spotify and to a playlist entitled ‘How You Sound To Me.’ He smiled and without evening lookin through the songs, he clicked the first one, turned the volume up, and closed his eyes. 

After the first two songs, Clint’s heart began to pound and he stared up at the ceiling, listening carefully to the next. It was just a coincidence that the first two were love songs. Bruce was just sappy like that when it came to music and a lot of songs about lovers could also work for friends, especially ones as close as them, right? 

After the fourth song, Clint unlocked his phone and scrolled through the song titles, checking for ones he knew. Honestly, he didn’t even need to know them to confirm his suspicions, the titles did that just fine. As they continued to play, lyrics jumped out at him and he didn’t know how to process what he was feeling and thinking. 

“But if you make a plan to love and let me in

My only promise is to not let go again

I won’t need a plan I’ll just plan on you

I'll just plan on you.” 

(Plan On You - Adam Melchor) 

“I may not say it outwardly

So all I have are memories

Those looks at the start, the words in the dark

But never a flame, we just wanted the spark

Awkward hearts beating faster and faster

Faster and faster

We'll cut through the park

Stick to the path

I can't stick to the path

'Cause I dream about nothing but you.” 

(Eat, Sleep, Wake (Nothing But You) - Bombay Bicycle Club) 

“You are the best thing, 

You are the best thing, 

That ever happened to me.” 

(You Are The Best Thing - Ray LaMontagne)

“Oh, the way I feel for you

My love forever true

The way I feel for you

You have burned through my defenses.”

(Forest Fire - Wintersleep) 

Every song Clint played had the same theme. Every single one felt like a confession. The same confession Clint had wanted to make to Bruce a thousand times. He could feel his pulse in his ears, so loud and insistent on being heard that the music seemed to drown out under its thudding. 

Clint swallowed, his throat dry and hands shaking. He stopped the music and went back to Bruce’s chat, tapping the phone icon. It rang once and then twice and halfway through the third ring he picked up. They were both silent at first. Clint felt out of breath. 

“Bruce?” he asked, his voice shaky. 

“I’m here. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I… I listened to the playlist.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

There was a long pause before Bruce spoke and when he finally did his voice sounded as ragged as Clint’s. “And?” 

Chapter Text

BRUCE: 

Why did he say it like that? Why would anyone say something like that and in that tone of voice and not mean more? How was his heart supposed to cope? 

He had heard about the different ways people said ‘I love you’: 

‘Put on your seatbelt.’ 

‘Call me when you get home.’

‘Of course I remembered.’

‘ I’ll find you every quiet spot I can.’

Those were the words Clint had said to Bruce, his voice soft and warm like a sliver of morning sunshine peeking through the curtains and shining on Bruce’s face. He wanted to lean into it, to bask in it for as long as he could. Clint was a welcoming, roaring fireplace after a long day out in the snow. He was a blanket fresh from the dryer ready to wrap Bruce up and make him feel safe. He was the reason why Bruce’s face and stomach ached from smiling and laughing so much. 

And he was the reason why Bruce’s heart felt like it had been stabbed and now someone was twisting the knife as the little image of Clint standing on the platform grew smaller and smaller until they entered the tunnel and he was gone. 

Bruce turned and leaned against the doors, taking in slow, deep breaths because crying alone on the train wasn’t really what he wanted to do right now. Once he was in his new home and in his new room, he’d cry until he passed out. For now, he had to hold it in. 

He found an empty pair of seats and took the one nearest the window, dropping his backpacks into the other to hopefully deter anyone from trying to sit beside him. He stared out the window at nothing in particular, his mind replaying a compilation of his favorite memories with Clint. 

From the moment he met him at the hostel, Bruce had known something was different about him. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing to start with but he still knew it was there. Normally bullies didn’t try to introduce themselves or smile so sincerely at him. They also didn’t usually go away so easily, although Clint had been quite persistent but not in the way he was used to. 

By the time it came to getting the bus, he was fully intrigued even if it didn’t show. He had given up on humanity a long time ago despite being only sixteen. From his classmates who tormented and bullied him relentlessly to his teachers who turned a blind eye to the bruises and scrapes Bruce normally sported, he doubted good people really existed. And if they did—like his mother—there was no real benefit to it. His father’s very existence was all the proof he needed of that. 

Then there was this golden-haired, sky-eyed boy with his wide, toothy grins and kind tone as if he had never known any hardship at all. Though Bruce knew that couldn’t be the case. If not for the fact that he, too, was a teenage runaway, the excruciating-looking injuries all over him would’ve been proof enough. And yet, he smiled. 

And it wasn’t just with Bruce. A few times he had caught sight of Clint out and about whilst they were still in Cleveland. He’d be talking to a food vendor or a store employee with that same kind expression on his face. The people to whom he spoke looked refreshed by him, not exhausted or irritated. 

Bruce wanted to talk to him but he had no idea how. He hadn’t tried to initiate a conversation for weeks prior to arriving at the hostel. And his last attempt to make a friend? Honestly, he couldn’t remember. But of course Clint did all the work. Sharing his crossword, introducing himself, not even forcing information out of Bruce, and in the middle of a panic-worthy situation? After Bruce had finished yelling at him and calling him names? What did he do? 

Kindly, he reassured Bruce, promised to help him, and then even promised to leave him alone. 

“I owe you that much,” he had said. As if he really owed Bruce anything. As if Bruce wasn’t completely out of line. As if Clint hadn’t just given Bruce the most enjoyable and least painful night of his life. Bruce should have been thanking him. 

And then Clint just kept getting better—drawing out a sense of humor and laughter that Bruce had forgotten he was even capable of, validating his feelings, comforting him after his nightmares, teasing him in ways that made him smile and not hurt. 

Bruce knew he had quickly started developing feelings beyond the platonic for Clint and he had no idea what to do about them other than suppress them. He absolutely could not and would not lose Clint as a friend. It didn’t take much for him to realize that there was nothing he valued more.

Bruce smiled as he reminisced, scenery passing by but he paid it no mind. People got on and off the train and while he did keep an eye on the stops, his mind was fully involved in his playback. 

It wasn’t when Clint shared his music as they walked down the road or when he comforted Bruce that night that he wanted to call his mom. It wasn’t when Clint volunteered to be Bruce’s Nat, to look after him as she did Clint. Nor was it when Clint kissed him on his forehead and wished him every happiness. None of those were the moment that Bruce fell in love with him. 

It was one of the nights when Clint had had a nightmare and Bruce woke him and they chatted. It wasn’t the first time he had hugged him but it was the first time he remembered thinking I have to . I have to hug him, I have to make him smile, I have to, I have to, I have to . And when Clint did finally relax and looked like his usual self again, Bruce remembered smiling at him and thinking about how much he enjoyed that. 

Never before had the thought ‘ I have to’ been followed by anything positive. It was always ‘ I have to get away’ or ‘I have to hide.’ But now it was ‘ I have to make him smile’ because making Clint smile made Bruce smile. He remembered thinking to himself ‘I could do this forever.’ 

Clint must’ve noticed too, because he asked why Bruce was looking at him like that and Bruce just smiled and shook his head. He couldn’t very well tell him ‘I’m in love with you’ now could he? 

At first he hadn’t been sure he even knew what love was. His best example was his mother but no, this was a different type of love. There were similar elements—the desire to protect and comfort—but there was more. 

He wanted to crawl into Clint’s lap, rest his head against his chest, and just be held by him. He wanted to press more kisses to Clint’s face—to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. He wanted Clint to kiss him back. He wanted to sleep in the same bed as him every night and wake up in his arms every morning. 

He wanted so much but even so, even now, even with those words repeating themselves over and over in his head, he wasn’t sure he could just take what he wanted. He had grown accustomed to not acting on his desires, so it actually wasn’t hard to deny himself from having Clint at first. 

However when he began to realize how painful parting would be, how terrifying the thought of Clint finding someone else was, how horrible it would be to wake up and not see him? Well, that was around the time that he deleted all the fun, cool songs from the original playlist he had made and switched it to what it was now. He used the times when Clint was showering or late at night when Clint was deeply asleep but Bruce’s mind wouldn’t let him join him to find and add the songs he wanted. 

Clint was very bright and very attentive when it came to music. Song lyrics, the key, the meanings behind the lyrics—none of these things would slip by him easily. Bruce could be as obvious or as abstract as he wanted to be, in the end if Clint listened, he’d understand. 

It was a risk, which was why he had asked Clint to wait. He wasn’t ready to be rejected just yet. He wanted a few more hours to foolishly live in an imaginary reality where Clint might want him back. Clint had made it all too clear that he wasn’t interested but maybe it was a lie just like all of Bruce’s comments had been. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were a lot of maybes involved at the moment, a lot of unknowns. It was the thing Bruce disliked more than anything yet for Clint he had dived headfirst into it. It was out there now and eventually Clint would listen to it. As Clint would tell him, there was no point worrying about what you already knew was going to happen. He might as well just make the most of the time he had until then. 

Besides, it wasn’t like his secret wasn’t already out. At least to one person: Natasha. 

He didn’t know how or when she had figured it out but her words to him at Grand Central— “thank you for taking such good care of him. I expected nothing less given how you feel about him”— couldn’t have been any more straightforward. But Nat didn’t seem like the type to go around telling other people’s business and the nod she gave him as he boarded the train felt like a promise to keep what she knew to herself. Well, he’d—

He startled when he heard the name of his destination and looked out the window to see the train was stopped. Quickly he gathered his things and got off the train with mere seconds to spare before it was heading off to its next stop. 

The station was small and a lot less busy than Grand Central had been. It also felt older. It was painted brightly on the inside but the outside was made of brick with a gabled roof. The surrounding area was also a lot quieter. He had honestly hoped that he might like Manhattan more just in case he did end up taking Natasha and Clint up on their offer but he quickly realized that was not the case. 

He checked his phone and saw a reply to the message he had sent after boarding. 

Bruce: I just got on the train. I should be there in 30 minutes. 

Aunt Elaine: I’ll be there soon Bruce! Got stuck in traffic, give me 10 minutes 

Bruce: No worries. I’ll be on the bench out front. 

He headed over to said place and sat, his bags beside him. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the notebook Clint had found for him, his bucket list book. 

He opened it and quickly crossed off a few things. He had decided to put small milestones as well as big ones because then he could always have something to cross off. He drew a neat line through the words 'Arrive In New Rochelle.’ 

Then he opened it in the middle. There he had started a second list, one that Clint wouldn’t see when he opened the notebook. He scanned over the few things he had there and crossed one off: ‘send Clint the playlist.’ As for the other things on that list… he’d just have to wait. 

He put the notebook away, his fingers brushing against another book and it took him a moment to realize what it was before he pulled it out and flipped through its pages. He knew it wouldn’t but still he tried to see if it smelled like Clint. Sadly the crossword only smelled like paper and ink. 

He felt the familiar stinging threat of tears and blinked a few times hoping to hold them off. How he had managed to keep himself together all this time he didn’t know. Right now he just wanted to scream. The best thing to happen to him in his entire life and he’d only gotten to enjoy it for a mere few weeks. 

He jumped when a car horn honked right in front of him and looked up to see his Aunt. Despite the years not having been particularly kind to her, there was no doubt in his mind that it was her. Not only because she was waving at him but he had always remembered her face. The eyes were different—green, not brown—but other than that not much difference. She and his mother were sisters after all and they looked very, very similar. 

“Oh my goodness, Bruce! Is that you? Oh my god, you’ve gotten so big! Look at you!” she said, parking and getting out of the car to come to him. Without hesitating she grabbed him and closed him up in a tight, warm embrace. 

Bruce froze for half a second before relaxing and lifting his arms to wrap around her soft figure. After another second, his head landed on her shoulder, then his eyes closed, and then he was crying. Her arms tightened around him, one hand coming up to stroke his hair. 

“Oh, baby, it’s okay. I know it’s been hard. I know, Brucito. You’re safe now,” she told him, pressing several kisses into his hair as she held him. 

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to break down like this or to be consoled so gently, so warmly. He had been prepared for the worse because that way he can’t get hurt anymore, right? So he wasn’t prepared to feel this much love. 

“Come on, let’s head home. You can relax and I’ll make us some comfort food. Jenny’s so excited to see you,” she said, grabbing one of his bags and Bruce carried the other. He dragged his sleeve across his damp face and sniffled, getting into the car. 

He fastened his seatbelt and when he looked over, Elaine was just staring at him. 

“What?” Bruce asked, his voice wavering in fear as all his worries suddenly came flooding back. Had she changed her mind? Was she starting to realize how much work he was going to be? How much of a toll his trauma might take on them? 

She reached over and cupped his cheek in one hand and Bruce flinched. She frowned slightly, clicking her tongue quietly in disapproval and when Bruce met her eyes it was clear it was not directed at him. She smiled softly. 

“You look so much like her,” Elaine said, her tone even gentler than before. “I’m so glad.” 

“Me too.” The only thing he got from his father was his last name and bad vision. Other than that, he was his mother’s son. 

Halfway home he had remembered to text Clint that he arrived safely and also included that he really did like his aunt. Now they were five minutes away, she told him. Her and Jennifer didn’t live in a single house but rather an apartment. They had moved there a few years back when Jennifer’s father passed away but still had an extra bedroom they often used for guests, which was now going to be Bruce’s. 

As they pulled up, Bruce leaned forward, squinting to figure out what he was seeing. A young girl about his height with long black hair was standing out front in the little grassy area, a sign in her hands. Elaine parked and Bruce got out, the words finally becoming clear: WELCOME HOME, BRUCE ♥️

The girl came over, the sign tucked under her arm at her side. She walked all the way to Bruce and stopped just short of bumping into him. She narrowed her eyes and brought her hand up to her face in contemplation. 

“You’re shorter than I remember,” she said, still eyeing him. “I like your hair.” 

Bruce didn’t know what to do with any of this information or any part of this interaction. He wrung his hands nervously and looked over his shoulder at his aunt who held his backpack over one shoulder. 

“Stop doing your ‘attorney intimidation’ thing on him and greet your cousin, Jenny.” 

All at once she relaxed, a smile spreading on her face that made her look like her mother. She opened her arms and the sign fell to the ground. Bruce hesitated, unsure, and then he was being grabbed yet again and pulled into her arms. She hugged him even tighter. Almost painfully tight and then let go only to grab his hand. 

She bent to pick the sign up with her other hand and then said, “Come on. I’ll show you to your room. It’s gonna be so cool having you here.” 

She pulled him along before he could even say anything but he didn’t actually know what he would’ve said if given the chance anyway. His cousin was a little odd but she seemed to mean what she said. There was an easy but non-intimidating confidence about her that actually reminded him of Natasha. 

She led him inside, his aunt right behind them, and down the hallway to a partially closed door, pushing it open with her foot. 

“This is yours,” she told him and he walked inside the room and stopped, turning slowly. It was modest and simple but there was a bed, a desk, a closet and— 

“Is that a chemistry set?” 

Jennifer scratched her head, smiling somewhat sheepishly. “Yeah, well, Aunt Rebecca said you were really into science and I know it’s for kids but I saw it at the store and we just—”

“I love it. Thank you,” Bruce said, going over to inspect it closer. 

“We can paint the walls if you want. And get different colored bed sheets and a rug and, well, you know, this is your home now too so it should feel like it,” Jennifer said warmly. Elaine stood behind them, leaning against the doorframe and Jennifer backed up to lean against her mother. 

Bruce turned slowly and swallowed before he met their eyes again. “I just… I don’t want to be a burden for you two. I’ll get a job and pay for whatever changes I want to make and I won’t be noisy or messy or—”

“Aw, Brucito,” Elaine said, coming over to rest a hand on either of his shoulders. She looked down at him, her expression soft but he could see the slightest bits of pity in her eyes. What had he said? 

She slowly shook her head and then explained, “You’re not a burden. I’ve been asking Rebecca to send you here for a while now. She was afraid and she didn’t tell me what changed but—” She cut herself off, brushing back a piece of Bruce’s hair to show a cut across his forehead. It wasn’t fully healed yet, still a nasty-looking scar with equally painful bruising around it. 

Bruce almost forgot that all of his injuries had yet to fully heal. He had grown so used to his and Clint’s unspoken agreement not to discuss them that it took him a moment to realize what she was even looking at. And when she touched it, it stung a little. 

“But I can put together a decent explanation on my own.” Her hand dropped back to his shoulder. ”Listen, Bruce, you’re not a burden to us. To anyone. I’m sorry he made you feel that way. We’re happy to have you here and we want you to be happy living here. You’re sixteen. If you want a job, get one. If you don’t, dont. If you wanna go to school or just stay here at home for a while or whatever, you do it. You deserve a chance to do what you want to do.” 

Bruce was shaking her head before she could finish talking. “I-I can’t. I couldn’t. I’ll get a job.” 

“Alright, if you want but if you try to pay me rent or for meals or anything else, I’ll just put it into the savings account your mother opened for you.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to protest again. He hated the way he and his obvious home problems had been outright ignored in his hometown but he didn’t like the other extreme either. He wasn’t a charity case. 

Jennifer stepped closer and tentatively took Bruce’s hand. He looked down at their intertwined fingers and then back up at his cousin who was almost eye-level with him anyway. 

“You’re family, Bruce. Family aren’t supposed to be paid to take care of each other.” 

“We know it’ll take some time, Brucito, but this is your home now too,” Elaine stressed again. “And we are happy to have you.” She bent to press a quick kiss to his forehead and then started heading out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll go get dinner started. Jen, show him how the shower works. It’s a little temperamental at times.” 

She disappeared down the hall and after a moment Bruce heard pots and pans being taken out. He turned to his cousin who was still holding his hand. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes on the scar her mother had touched. Bruce wondered what she would do if he removed his sweater and she saw all of the ones that littered his torso and arms. 

“Getting there,” he said honestly. “It’s gonna… it’s gonna take some time.” 

“Well, you’ve got all the time in the world. We are very patient people,” she told him with a contagious grin that had Bruce smiling back. 

She led him to the bathroom to show him how everything worked—you had to twist the knob all the way to the left slowly and then you could adjust the temperature after that—and where he could put his things as well as the ones already there that he could use. She brought him a towel and after the whole house tour was finished, he showered and then they ended up back in his room. Elaine said dinner would be done in another twenty minutes so they sat on his bed and chatted. 

“So what about that other guy you were traveling with? Did he make it to his friends’ house?” 

Bruce felt his pulse race and his stomach twist into knots. He swallowed but his throat was dry. He had been able to blissfully forget about this pain for the last two hours and now it was back in full force demanding his attention. 

They had talked about school—Jennifer was fifteen and just starting high school this fall—and then they discussed Bruce’s unusual trip here. Jennifer had a million and one questions about it all. She wanted to know where they spent the night and how they figured out the route, how they spent their days, what they talked about, and finally she asked about Clint directly. 

“I, uh… yeah, he did.” 

“Are you guys gonna keep in touch? It would be awesome to have a friend in Manhattan to go visit. Maybe I could even come with you?” 

“Yeah, we’re staying in touch. Sure, I’d love for you to meet them. So long as Aunt Elaine okays it.” 

Jennifer pouted at that but was honestly too excited about the idea of going to the city to be too upset. 

“What is he like? Clint?” 

Wonderful. Perfect. The best. 

“He is…  really, really cool. A great friend. He even told me to text him once I arrived safely. Most of all, he’s really kind.” 

“He sounds nice. Was he cute?” 

Bruce started stuttering and couldn’t bring himself to stop or form a coherent sentence. With each bit of gibberish his face grew redder and the stammering got worse until he finally just shut his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth. 

“I… I—what?” 

Jennifer just smiled softly. “It’s 2022. You shouldn’t get so upset talking about whether or not another guy is attractive, Bruce.” 

“Is… is your mom okay with this kind of conversation?” 

“What kind?” Elaine asked from the doorway, drying her hands off with a kitchen towel, small specks of food splattered across the front of the apron she wore. 

Bruce’s heart began to race again but for an entirely different reason than it had a few moments ago. Maybe this was it. This would be their flaw just like he had assumed it might be Clint’s. What if they didn’t accept him fully as he was? It would make sense since his mom hadn’t even known about his sexuality so how could she tell them about it in advance? They had no warning. And perhaps it was just Elaine but still. It was Elaine’s house. 

“Oh, I asked Bruce if the boy he was traveling with was cute,” Jennifer said so casually. 

Maybe it was just because Bruce knew if he had so much as hinted at bisexuality to his father, he might have very well been beaten to death. Maybe it was just that deeply ingrained, mortifying fear but he was trembling and he couldn’t make it stop. 

“Brucito? What’s wrong?” Elaine asked. She came into the room and squatted down, reaching a hand out to him and he flinched away from it instinctively. His body continued to tremble and he wrapped his arms around himself and scooted back away from them, terrified and unable to get a grip on it. 

He made no sound, though. He didn’t cry, didn’t gasp, he just… withdrew into himself and felt trapped. His lungs felt heavy and his body felt cold. Well, if they didn’t kick him out for being queer then they would definitely see how much trouble he was now. More than he was worth. 

“Brucito.” Elaine’s soft voice briefly pulled him out of his distressing thoughts and he met her eyes though only for a second. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Can you do something for me?” She asked that question twice before Bruce could nod. “I want you to count to ten but out of order and out loud please.” 

Bruce struggled at first to get his jaw to relax and when he finally did, he said, “Seven.” He exhaled sharply and said, “One.” 

By the time he had only two numbers left, he had stopped shaking and his heart rate was slowly decreasing. He had to focus to make sure he didn’t say the same number twice or miss out on any. It really helped. He would have to try and remember this the next time he had an anxiety attack on his own. 

Calmed, he looked up at Elaine. Jennifer had moved back away from him and he tried to focus on his aunt so his mind couldn’t supply him with all the negative reasons why she might have done that. 

“Hi, baby. Feel better?” 

Bruce nodded weakly, exhausted all of a sudden. 

“What happened? What did we do? Or say? It’s good if you can tell us so that way we can avoid it next time.” She was sitting cross-legged in front of him, her palms turned upward and extended out towards him but she was leaving it up to him whether or not he took her hands. 

He never did but she didn’t seem to take offense to it. He just did not want to be touched right now. He wrung his hands nervously, digging his thumbs into his own palms. He didn’t know how to tell— 

“Do you like boys?” Jennifer asked. 

Bruce blinked at her, stunned. After a moment, his brain came back online and he blinked again and met eyes with Elaine. He felt another tremor run down his spine but Elaine was talking before he panic could set in properly again. 

“It’s alright if you do, you know? More than alright,” Elaine reassured him. 

“Mom dated a woman last year,” Jennifer threw in for good measure. 

Bruce couldn’t help the shocked expression on his face or that his mouth actually dropped open. Elaine grinned and then chuckled. 

“That I did.” 

“So do you?” 

Bruce hesitated a second longer just to be sure this was all real and happening and not a dream. When he was as sure as he felt he could be, he nodded. “Y-yes. Girls too, though.” 

“I knew you were gonna be awesome,” Jennifer said, grinning. 

Over dinner they talked about what things New Rochelle had to offer as well as the type of travel card Bruce needed if he wanted to make frequent trips to Manhattan. They asked a few questions about Clint and where he was staying and with whom, which Bruce answered but he was grateful that there weren’t any questions about whether or not he liked him. 

They laughed and shared stories and got to know each other a little bit better and Bruce ate until he was full at which point Elaine let them know she had made cookies. He and Jennifer each took a few on a napkin and made their way to his room. Elaine said she would clean up tonight but let Bruce know that they did share chores in the house and that was the only thing she’d ask him to help out with. He was more than happy to agree and honestly it was a relief to know that he could be helpful in some way. 

“Soooo… I don’t know if I should ask or not but I really wanna,” Jennifer said, sitting on Bruce’s carpet, her plate of cookies resting on her thigh. Bruce was in his desk chair, too weary of spilling crumbs to join her. 

“Ask what?” he wondered, taking a bite and letting out a little happy sound at how good they were. Classic peanut butter. Clint would love these. Maybe Bruce would take him some. 

“Did you like him? Clint? I mean, like, as more than a friend?” 

This would be the first time he had ever admitted it out loud. He thought he would struggle but the words came out so easily, so naturally, as if they had been waiting for this moment. 

“So much more than a friend.” 

Later that night, Bruce was lying on his stomach in bed, the crossword from Clint laid out in front of him as he worked on the last one they had started together. He was stumped on a pop culture question when his phone rang. 

Five people had his phone number—his mom, aunt, cousin, Nat, and Clint—and yet he knew who it was without even having to check. He grabbed it off his nightstand, and laid it beside the crossword, checking that the door was completely closed before hitting accept and then the speaker button with a grin. His stomach was doing somersaults and his heart was steadily racing but it wasn’t in the fear-inducing way he had grown so used to over the years. The way it made him feel now was freeing. 

The call connected and for some reason the silence felt heavy, not the carefree atmosphere he had been expecting. Had something happened? Was this more than just Clint calling because he promised to? 

“Bruce?” The sound of his name coming out of Clint’s mouth was usually music to his ears but not this time. Not when he said it like that, all raspy and terrified. 

Bruce grabbed the phone and turned off the speaker setting, putting it to his ear so he could hear better. “I’m here. Are you okay?” 

His mind was already twenty steps ahead, planning for worst case scenarios. Did Clint need him to come to Manhattan? Did he need to come here? Was Natasha alright? Had Barney, that sonuvabitch , made contact somehow? 

“Yeah,” he finally said and Bruce’s thoughts shut up just long enough to hear whatever he had to say. He shouldn’t have been surprised but it still amazed him just how much power Clint had over him and even his stupid, anxious thoughts. “I… I listened to the playlist.” 

Oh  

“Oh,” he also said out loud without his brain giving his mouth permission to do so. 

This was so much worse than anything he could’ve imagined. He couldn’t even bring himself to be giddy over the fact that Clint already missed him because now the secret was out. He had to know. He knew . He knew Bruce liked him. 

“Yeah.” 

Dammit, Clint, speak! 

Bruce swallowed but his throat felt dry. He closed his eyes and scrunched his face up as if in pain, wishing with all his might that he wouldn’t lose Clint. 

“And?” 

Clint’s pause was longer than Bruce’s had been. That couldn’t possibly be a good sign. 

“It’s okay if you—” Bruce began, only to be interrupted. 

“I—sorry—can we video call? I need to see your face.” 

With trembling hands, Bruce simply tapped the video icon instead of answering. He wasn’t sure he would be able to. He was so worried. He sat up and turned on his bedside lamp, holding the phone up to his face. A moment later Clint's camera came on but it was pitch black. 

“One second, Brucie,” Clint said, some shuffling noises in the background and then there was light. Clint leaned over the camera and then picked it up and sat again, positioning himself so that his whole face was clearly visible. He was frowning. 

Oh no, oh no, oh n— 

“Bruce,” Clint said, and Bruce focused again just in time to see Clint’s expression softened into a look he had become familiar with. Clint had turned that expression on him a number of times during their journey. He wondered if it meant the same thing then as it was about to now. “All these songs are about love.” 

“Yes, they are.” 

“Mm,” he hummed, chewing the inside of his cheek. “And you said that’s how I sound to you.” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“So… do you love me?” 

Tears welled up in his eyes. “I… I don’t want to lose your friendship.” He couldn’t hold them back and they began to stream down his cheeks silently. “Please don’t push me away. Please, please, please.” 

“Oh, shit. Brucie, no. I’m sorry, I was trying to be cute. No, don’t cry. I’m so sorry.” 

“What?” Bruce asked, wiping his face with his pajama sleeve. 

“I won’t push you away if you don’t push me away.” 

Bruce’s mouth hung open as he stared at the camera, tears still rolling down his cheek. “I don’t—what?” 

“I’m in love with you, Bruce.”  

“You… you are?” he asked, his voice barely audible as the disbelief sapped the power out of it. 

Clint nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Very in love.” 

“With me?” 

“Yes. With Bruce Banner. You’re him, right?” 

“Clint… please don’t mess with me right now. I really mean it. I really love you. As more than a friend,” Bruce said, the knot of worry and fear in his stomach growing with every second. Clint wouldn’t tease him about something like this, would he? 

“Yeah, no, I’m not messing with you, Bruce.” 

Bruce stared off into the distance just above the phone for a few seconds, his brain trying desperately to make sense of what was happening. Was this real? This wasn’t just one of his daydreams that he had gotten too caught up in? Or maybe even one of the countless real dreams he had had about this exact scenario? This was real? 

“You mean—like, you’d want to kiss me?” he finally asked, that question being the best he could come up with to determine the validity of Clint’s words. 

Clint laughed. “Yes. I really, really wanna kiss you. But to be honest, I’ve wanted to kiss you since we first met, so that’s not really a good test. I also want to take you on dates and hold your hand and cuddle you and call you pet names so sweet they’ll give you cavities. How about that? And hey, how come you get all the interrogation! How do I know you really love me ?” 

Bruce chuckled and then he laughed. And then he was clutching at his sides as more laughter bubbled up out of him. He wasn’t even sure what he was laughing at but after a moment he wiped his eyes and looked at Clint's sleepy face in front of him. As well as he could over a video call, he stared into those deep blue eyes he had grown so fond of and he watched those soft lips pull into an even softer smile. 

“I love you so much, Clint.” 

“You love me so much?” Clint repeated happily. He let out the shrillest, happiest, and most carefree giggle Bruce had ever heard. “Well, that’s not really proof, now is it?” 

“Clint,” Bruce groaned, smiling into the camera. 

Clint dragged a hand down his face, letting out a heavy but relieved sigh. “Oh my god , Bruce! Do you even know how long I’ve wanted to say this to you? I feel like I could fly right now. Speaking of, I’m coming to see you tomorrow. I just decided.” 

“No, I wanna come to you.” 

“But it’s quieter up there, isn’t it?” 

“How do you know?” 

“Google.” 

“Well, you’re right but… I wanna go on one of those chaotic dates you talked about. Wait a minute. If you’ve felt this way for so long, why didn’t you tell me? You were always saying you didn’t find me attractive and that you didn’t know what type of guy you liked.” 

“Yeah, that’s called lying, genius. I lied to your cute face because I didn’t wanna lose you as a friend either because—I don’t know if you remember but—you weren’t acting like you thought I was anything special either!” 

Bruce blushed. “That may be true but I…” The blush intensified. 

“What?” Clint asked, already smiling as he awaited Bruce’s no doubt embarrassing admission.  

“I was so obvious sometimes.” 

“Like when? Name all the times in minute detail.” 

Bruce laughed. “The cuddling.” 

“Oh, god,” Clint groaned, letting his head loll back against the wall he was leaning against. “I was so ashamed. I knew then that I liked you and I felt like a predator.” 

“You’re literally only one year older than me but that aside, I, um… I wasn’t as respectful of your boundaries as I should’ve been. I initiated that.” 

“No.” 

“Yes,” Bruce confessed, burying his face in his hand. “You were sleeping peacefully and just happened to roll and your hand landed on my back and it woke me and then I just… kinda… crawled into your arms and stayed there.” 

“I’ve been violated.” 

“ Stop ,” Bruce half-groaned, half-laughed. “I felt terrible and then worse because you made such a big deal out of it. I wanted to tell you then that I did it but I couldn’t bring myself to because of your reaction.” 

“So that’s why you were trying so hard to let me know it was a nice experience for you.” 

“I mean, that was true but also.. yeah. Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize. I freaked out, yeah, but waking up with you in my arms added ten years to my life I’m sure.” 

Bruce chuckled and Clint did too and then silence. They stared at each other, soft smiles on both their lips, the love so obvious in their gazes now that they knew it was there. 

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t this be weirder?” Bruce asked after a moment. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know, some awkwardness maybe? Why am I so comfortable?” 

“I can make it awkward if you want me to but I’d rather not,” Clint said with a laugh. “I get what you’re trying to say though but I don’t think it needs to be weird. The whole situation is weird, we are weird, it’s nice to have one easy thing.”

“Easy,” Bruce repeated quietly, processing that word. 

“Yeah, easy. It’s easy to talk to you. It’s easy to be with you. It’s easy to love you.” 

Bruce’s entire face burned under the strength of his blush. He covered his face with one hand again and sighed before lifting his head to look at Clint again. “I love you so much it feels like I’m going to explode sometimes.” 

“‘Me too.” 

“That’s ‘easy’?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said with a shrug. “I felt that way too until about five minutes ago when you said you love me.” 

“What changed?” 

He smiled softly. “I took the lid off. I have all this love for you and I was bottling it up and trying to keep it under wraps so we could go on being friends and now it’s free to just overflow. Now it’s like a… like a calm river.” 

Had Clint always had such a way with words? Had Bruce just not noticed? And how was he so right? What normally felt like someone trying to squeeze his heart has become a warmth that flowed out from his chest all the way to his extremities. 

“Was there ever a time when you thought about confessing?” Bruce asked, curious. He wondered if he had just missed it like Clint had missed all his attempts at making his feelings known. 

“No.” 

Bruce’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Why not?”

“You really didn’t seem interested in me and my priority was keeping you as a friend. I was just happy that you were the first person I got to fall in love with. Did you?” 

“Also no. I kinda felt like everything was already too good to be true. I didn’t want to push my luck and lose everything.” 

“We are two very selfless, sappy dudes, you know that? Also sad. We need to go out and have some selfish fun.”

“We do. What exactly is ‘selfish fun’, though?” 

“Don’t you worry. I’m gonna plan the most chaotic, selfish, fun date you’ve never been on,” Clint promised him. 

Bruce laughed and agreed. “I’ll try to get a train in the morning. I’ll just have to explain everything to my aunt first. That might take a little bit.” 

“That’s okay. I’m gonna stay up for a bit and plan everything and then whenever you arrive we can work from there. By the way, how are they? You seem happy but I can’t tell if that’s also them or just me.” 

“It’s mostly you, to tell the truth but… they’re really wonderful, Clint. My cousin guessed I liked guys with one look so at least that won’t be a big part of the conversation in the morning.” 

“Wow. Can’t wait to meet her. Bring her next time when we aren’t going on our first ever real date.” 

“Real date? When did we go on fake dates?” 

“Dinners. Star-gazing. Movie nights. Dollar store hunts. The list goes on. In my mind, they’re all undercover dates as of right now.” Clint laid down on his side, his head propped up on one hand and the other holding the phone. “I can’t wait to kiss you.” 

Bruce deadpanned. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“What! No, it’s not!” he argued playfully but there was actually a blush creeping up his neck. 

“You like me so much. Wow.” 

“Yes,” he said, confidently. “And I also love you so much and I don’t care who knows it. I don’t care if I’m cheesy or if people call me a simp because I am. I’m a simp for you, Bruce Banner.” 

“What’s a ‘simp’?” 

“I’m going to educate you on slang and internet culture if it’s the last thing I do.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes but smiled, getting more comfortable as well. He propped the phone up against the wall, imitating Clint’s posture. 

“I wish you were here right now.” 

“In your bed? At night? You’re moving a little too fast for me there, Bruce. You’re not getting into these moose-themed pajama pants anytime soon.” 

“ Clint!” Bruce whined, hiding his face inside his shirt. He had never known embarrassment like this and yet at the same time he still felt comfortable. How odd. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“I know,” Clint said, laughing. “But it was worth it for the face you made. For what it’s worth, I wish I was there too. Or you here. This bed is pretty spacious. We could even sleep without the threat of accidental cuddling.” 

“Sounds awful. My bed it is.” 

Clint yawned and Bruce checked the time. It was nearly 1am. He should probably let Clint sleep. Out of the two of them, he was the one who did worse on less sleep. 

“I should let you go.” 

“Nah.” 

“Clint. You need to sleep.”

“And I just told you I was gonna research stuff for our date, so I’ve got stuff to do. Why don’t you go to sleep?” 

“I’m not sleepy.” 

“Terrible excuse. You need to be fully rested so you can tell your aunt with enthusiasm about your plans for the day.” 

Bruce thought about it. Actually it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to be rested for that. As accepting and kind as she had been, there was still that lingering uneasiness that came with being around new people. 

“Okay,” he finally said, “but… will you stay on the phone? Until I fall asleep? I'm not ready to hang up yet.” 

“Bruce, I’m not going anywhere. I'm not hanging up this phone until I fall asleep.” 

Bruce smiled at that and then laid down on his pillow, the phone still propped up. A wave of sleepiness washed over him as soon as he did and he yawned. 

“Cute,” he heard Clint say softly and he smiled. 

+

CLINT: 

“So you do this every morning for what? Fun?” Clint asked, jogging behind Nat who had woken him up and asked if he wanted to join her for a run in the park. Still buzzing with adrenaline from last night’s call, he stupidly said yes and was now sweating and wheezing at 8am. 

“No, I hate it.” 

“What? For real?” 

“Yep.” 

“Why do you do it then?” 

“To stay in shape. Gotta always be able to outrun my enemies,” she said with a smile but there was a quick flash of something in her eyes that let him know there was a little bit of truth to it. Their trauma would be a part of them always but he liked to think that somewhere along the line they’d be able to go a while without remembering it. 

“Good point. Guess I’ll just have to join you more often. Except maybe weekends. I might sleep in.” 

“That’s alright, so do I. You were up late last night. I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just got up to pee and heard you talking. Bruce?” 

Clint rolled his lips inward, trying not to give himself away just yet. He had been thinking about how he was going to tell Nat and he hadn't come up with any fantastical and dramatic way so he was just going to have to go for a shock factor. 

“Yeah, it was him.” 

“Is he okay? Are they treating him well?” 

“Yeah. He loves it there actually. His aunt and cousin are great.”

“Aw, I’m so glad,” she said, leading them over a bridge and Clint slowed just slightly to take in the sights. Nat matched his pace. “Is he going to visit soon? Or do you wanna go there?” 

“Actually, he’s coming down today.” 

“Today? That was fast. Are you sure he likes it there?” 

“No, really. He loves it. And guess what else he loves? Me.” 

Nat tripped and Clint had to catch her or else she would’ve landed on her face in the dirt. He lifted her up and she just stared at him, her eyes wide and mouth open. 

“He said that?” 

Clint nodded. 

“And you said it back?” 

Clint nodded again, more vigorously this time. She grabbed him by his arms. 

“And he’s coming here for… what?” 

“Our first official date.” 

“Clint!” 

“I know!” 

“Oh my god!” she said, jumping up and down with excitement and Clint joined her. “Oh my—I’m so happy for you!” She yanked him into a hug. “Awww, you deserve it, Clint. You really do.” 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

“But,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He pulled back from the hug to look at her. “I totally told you so.” 

“Aww! Dammit! Nat ! Why didn’t you wake me up?” Clint said, scrambling around his room. He fell into his chest of drawers as he hopped around on one foot trying to put socks on as fast as possible. 

After their run, Nat had made them both a protein shake and then Clint had said he was going to take a nap. Bruce was supposed to be arriving at Grand Central at 11am and Clint was going to pick him up and bring him back to the house to hang out for a bit. 

Clint being Clint, however, had forgotten to set his alarm and it was already 11:30am. 

“Dammit. I can’t believe I left him waiting. He’s probably so stressed and—”

Clint fell to the ground as his plan to put his jeans on both feet at the same time surprisingly failed. 

“Ow,” he groaned, lying there a moment before shrugging into his jeans while still on the floor. He got up and stopped, movement having caught his eye. 

“Not doing too well without me, huh?” 

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing,” Natasha added.

“When I called your phone twice and you didn’t pick up, I called Nat and she told me you were out cold. I wanted you to sleep. I asked her to just send me the directions here but she came to pick me up instead, which I appreciate,” Bruce said, standing in Clint’s doorway and smiling sheepishly, “because after walking here I realized I definitely would’ve gotten lost.” 

“Bruce…” Clint said softly, on his knees on the floor, his ‘Don’t Moose With Me’ pajama t-shirt still on and hair an absolute mess. He just stared up at Bruce in silence, mouth agape. Things hadn’t felt different last night after their confession but now they kind of did. 

“And also her leading the way gave me time to focus on other things. Like psyching myself up to do this.” 

Bruce walked into the room and cradled Clint’s face between his hands, tilting his head up farther. He inhaled sharply, bracing himself and it made Clint grin to see him look so focused and determined. 

Before Clint could open his mouth to tell him exactly how cute he looked, Bruce closed the distance between them, soft, warm lips meeting his. Clint’s eyes closed of their own accord and his arms raised to wrap softly around Bruce. 

There was the sound of a phone camera somewhere in the distance but Clint couldn’t focus on that for more than a nanosecond before all his thoughts and feelings and cells were devoted to concentrating on Bruce and Bruce alone. 

Bruce dropped to his knees after a moment and Clint followed his lips, never breaking the kiss even as the height difference changed back to one they were more accustomed to. Clint’s hands climbed, one finding its home in Bruce’s silky soft curls and the other pressing between his shoulder blade and pulling him even closer. Bruce shifted too, his arms wrapping loosely around Clint’s neck now, one lightly caressing the back of his neck. 

It was Bruce who pulled away first, his breathing jagged and quick. Clint was in no better condition and he let out a small, happy laugh, pressing their foreheads together. When Bruce laughed too, he felt the soft puff of air blow against his face and it made him tilt his face to kiss him again. 

“This was much better than making out on the subway platform,” Clint told him. 

“I thought so too. Good thing you’re so lazy.” 

“I went for a run this morning, I’ll have you know. That’s why I’m tired. That and planning your amazing date.” 

“Oh… um, about the date.” 

“You can only stay for a few hours?” Clint guessed, having considered this as a possibility. He could see Bruce’s aunt rightly being worried about him being in Manhattan on his own even if it was with friends but he had hoped— 

“Oh. No,” he laughed. “Not that. I brought an overnight bag with enough to last me at least a few days but I was thinking maybe today we could just… hang out, you know? Relax here, maybe take a walk in the park, dinner for sure but I’d also be fine with ordering pizza or something I just want to… be with you.” 

Clint smiled, pulling Bruce into a hug and burying his face into the space between his neck and shoulder. He inhaled deeply and then pressed a kiss to his neck, feeling the way Bruce’s pulse jumped under his lips. 

“Whatever you want, we’ll do it.” 

“Are you sure? The date’s not… all arranged and booked?” 

“It’s really not. I promise. And even if it was, to hell with it,” Clint said, nuzzling his face more against Bruce’s neck. To be such a big ball of anxiety, Bruce was pure comfort to Clint. 

Bruce’s fingers played an invisible piano on Clint’s back for a few seconds and then they stopped moving and Clint could practically feel Bruce overthinking whatever question he wanted to ask. 

“Hm?” 

“Can I have one of your hoodies?”

Cuddled up in Clint’s bed—Bruce in one of Clint’s hoodies that effectively swallowed up both his hands and the majority of his body to mid thigh and Clint back in his moose pajamas after Bruce had demanded to see the whole matching set (they were a gift from Nat), Clint let out a contented sigh, his face buried in Bruce’s hair and arms wrapped around his waist. 

They had been curled up together for about an hour now, Clint drifting in and out of consciousness and Bruce having completely fallen asleep for a while. Now he shifted, waking Clint completely. 

“Why do you like me?” Bruce asked, rolling in Clint’s arms so that they were face to face. He pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose and Clint smiled. “Hm?” 

Clint stared into those dark brown eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. He wondered if looking at Bruce would always make him giddy like that. He thought for a moment about his question. There were two many answers, honestly. He needed to narrow it down. 

“You understand me in ways no one ever will. I don’t have to explain why I avoid certain things or am weary of others, you understand immediately. And even if you don’t, all it ever takes is just a word or a look. I like talking to you and I know that you appreciate when I explain myself so you don’t have to be anxious but it’s also nice to sometimes not have to say anything and still be understood,” Clint said. “You make me feel so comfortable, Bruce. That’s not the only reason why but I do think it’s the main reason.” 

Bruce was silent for a long time, staring unblinkingly at Clint’s collarbones. Clint watched him, waiting to see some sign of anything. Anything to let him know what Bruce was thinking or feeling about that. Finally, Bruce met his eyes and offered an embarrassed smile. 

“I thought you were going to say my hair or something. I wasn’t prepared for that,” he admitted, his cheeks rosy red. Bruce buried his face against Clint’s chest and said, “What are the other reasons?” 

Clint smiled, running a hand through Bruce’s hair. “Well, you’re right. I do like these curls a lot. And your eyes. They’re so warm. And your voice. It’s very soothing. You also sound pretty good when you sing. Anytime you feel like singing to me, I’d be happy to listen.” 

He felt Bruce’s arms around him tighten and then he was looking up at Clint again. 

“Mostly physical things, I see. You pervert.” 

Clint barked out a laugh that made Bruce kiss him. “That’s not true! The voice one isn’t really physical. Plus, my list of reasons is longer than you are tall.” 

“Rude,” Bruce gasped, grinning anyway. He leaned in to press another kiss to Clint’s nose and then one to his cheek. 

“I’ll list them all right now. You watch me.” 

“As nice as that sounds, it’s my turn.”

“Alright. I guess I’ll just surprise you with the other things I like when you least expect it. Whisper it in your ear, text it to you in the middle of the night. You know, romantic shit.” 

“Well, when you put it like that, who could say no?” Bruce laughed, watching Clint’s face closely and Clint felt a blush creeping up his neck. He was used to Bruce staring at him. He wasn’t used to Bruce staring at him while being aware that he loved him. The butterflies it gave him were in a class all their own. 

Bruce propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Clint. He reached down and touched one corner of Clint’s mouth and then cupped his cheek, his thumb stroking across Clint’s lips. 

“Your kindness,” he said. “You were clearly in pain in every way when you met me and what did you do? You tried to make sure I was alright. You were so damn nice even despite me pushing you away. There were days when you were grumpy and at your limit and you’d snap at me and I did see you lose your temper with others a few times but that isn’t who you are, it was just how you were sometimes. You’re like my personal ray of sunshine.” 

Bruce plopped back down, this time with his head on Clint’s chest and Clint rolled onto his back to make them both more comfortable. 

“So it’s not because you think I’m sexy then?” 

A laugh bubbled up out of Bruce that was pure music to Clint’s ears. He felt the gentle shaking as Bruce laughed, resting his hand on the smaller boy’s back. 

“I’m kidding. I’m honored to be your sunshine,” Clint said, feeling warm and fuzzy just at the thought. 

“If you’re my sunshine, what am I to you?” 

“My moonlight.” 

“But moonlight is cold. That’s not as nice,” Bruce grumbled. 

“Then you’re my moon.”

“Still cold though.” 

“It’s not about temperature. It’s about comfort. I love nighttime. It’s always been the only time when I really had any peace. So you’re my moon, my nighttime, my comfort.” 

“That’s really… romantic, actually.” 

Clint snorted. “I love that you’re surprised.” 

“Shh,” Bruce said, smiling against Clint’s chest. “I’m trying to enjoy the moment.” 

They both laid there quietly for a while. Clint watched the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s head on his chest, enjoying the warmth and weight of him. Slowly he rubbed his hand across Bruce’s back and it wasn’t long before he heard his breathing starting to even out. 

Clint’s heart felt full. The heart he had once worried was a hiccup away from falling apart, felt strong and beat confidently in his chest. Nat had started mending its tattered, broken pieces years ago and little by little had managed to put quite a bit of it back together and now Bruce had finished the job and filled it with life. 

Right now, watching this boy he loved so much sleep, he could almost laugh at how ignorant he had been to ever think he could move on, to ever think he could stop loving him. A small part of him still screamed about the worries and fears Clint should be feeling. He was really going to give someone so much power to hurt him? Had he not learned his lesson yet? 

But he silenced it. He knew the risks and he was willing to take them because they meant he could have Bruce. 

He was closing his eyes, just about to join Bruce for their second nap, when his phone buzzed. He reached out blindly and tried not to jostle Bruce, finally grabbing his phone and bringing it to his face to see a message. 

Nat: [attached image] 

He opened it. 

Clint: you’re the absolute best, you know that? God I love you 

Nat: I know [heart emoji] 

She had taken a picture of their first kiss. Clint saved it and made it his wallpaper, putting his phone down and soon falling asleep. 

Chapter Text

ONE YEAR LATER 

“Where are the short boys, Steve?” Nat asked, coming in with Clint and Carol, her latest find who had been suffering from a nasty bout of amnesia whilst living on the streets and still wasn’t sure what the cause of it was. She had quickly warmed up to everyone and everyone in turn liked her quite a bit. Nat, Clint thought, maybe liked her more than the others but that was still to be decided. 

Steve was sitting on the couch in the living room watching a baseball game, Fury standing behind the couch in true dad fashion instead of just sitting to watch the television. 

Fury snapped his fingers and Steve lifted the bowl of chips up so the older man could grab a handful and slowly eat them while he watched the eighth inning, somewhat unaware that the other three had come in. 

“Hi, Nick,” Clint and Carol said. He let out a grunt in response to them. 

“Hey, Nick,” Nat said, and Nick actually smiled. Clint rolled his eyes but he didn’t actually mind. In the last year of living here, he had grown to appreciate how much Nick cared for Nat more and more. He really did treat her like his daughter. 

“They’re in Tony’s lab,” Steve finally answered, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth and then grabbing his sandwich and taking a bite. 

These days, Steve was always surrounded by food, which Clint loved because he always knew where to go to find the best snacks. He and Steve had even entered the Coney Island Hotdog eating contest and Steve had almost won. 

Seemingly belated, Steve had had a growth spurt and was now almost Clint’s height. Not to mention he was bulking up pretty quick. At first Tony had seemed irritated by Steve’s sudden height gain (Bruce still was) but Tony had come to appreciate his boyfriend’s newfound stature and Clint, Nat, and Carol loved having another gym buddy. 

“His lab?” Carol asked. She’d only been a permanent house member for the last three weeks. It made sense that some of their common phrases and expressions went over her head. 

Steve turned to her. “It’s not really a lab.” 

“It’s just a bedroom he and Bruce turned into their science lair. Dorks,” Clint explained. “Nick got them a bunch of scientific equipment and a high-speed computer—”

“That those fuckers tore apart, might I add,” Fury said, still looking at the game but clearly listening in. 

Nat laughed. “It was a birthday present for Tony and he and Bruce rebuilt it better actually.” 

“Yeah, my Bruce is kind of a genius,” Clint said, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t bragging about his boyfriend. 

“Tony too,” Steve said in the same tone. He and Clint locked eyes for a moment, the competition on, but Nat interrupted before they could start their usual ‘who has the better brunet’ battle. Bruce and Tony loved to egg it on to listen to their golden retriever boyfriends aggressively praise them.  

“Anyway,” Nat said, “so they spend all their time in there doing experiments and running calculations.” 

“Like mad scientists?” 

Clint shrugged. “Eh, basically. Just more sane.” 

“Slightly,” Steve huffed with a laugh. “ Slightly more sane.” 

“Well, where’s Jennifer? Is she still at the library?” Nat asked. 

“Guess so. She hasn’t come back yet,” Steve answered. “You need her for something?” 

“Yeah, we’re doing a girls’ night just the three of us.” 

“Aww, gonna go commit some light arson? Maybe rob a bank?” Clint wondered innocently. 

Carol smirked. “Actually, we’re going to one of those rage rooms where you destroy things with a sledgehammer.” 

“ What ,” Steve, Nick, and Clint all said at the same time. 

“I wanna go!” Clint whined. 

“Nope. Sorry. Strictly girls,” Nat said with a shake of her head. “Come on, let’s go pick up Jen or else we might lose our reservation.” She grabbed Carol’s hand. “Bye!” 

There was a sad response of ‘Bye Carol’ and ‘Bye Nat’ and then the two of them were gone. Steve and Clint looked at each other. Nick was no longer paying attention to anything other than the game. 

“Wanna watch? It’s the top of the eighth, they got one out left and nobody on base but—”

Clint plopped down beside Steve who handed him the bowl of chips. “Anything is better than trying to go downstairs and get between the science bros.” 

“Amen.” 

“It’s not that simple, Tony,” Bruce said, his voice carrying into the living room over the sound of the television, which Clint and Steve had turned down now that the game was off. It was playing some sitcom on the background but the two of them were sharing a pizza and playing cards. “No one is just going to let you make ricin.”

“They will if they don’t know. Besides, we're trying to find an antidote.”  

“You’re right. Let me rephrase: I’m not going to just let you make ricin. At least not in our makeshift lab in the house where everyone we care about lives,” Bruce told him, sounding somewhat exasperated. 

This was also normal. Bruce and Tony having ethical debates about their experiments. One time Steve had made the fatal mistake of chiming in and though he wasn’t wrong, he found himself locked in their debate for the next five hours. Now everyone knew better. Even if they were debating the pros and cons of lining the walls with C-4, no one was getting involved if they valued their time and sanity. 

But it was still nice. Bruce seemed to feel at ease around this group of people who had been strangers only a year ago. He and Tony had stared at each other in silence for twenty minutes the first time they met until Bruce noticed the smudged equations Tony had written out and then tried to wipe off on his arm. After that, they almost didn’t stop talking. It made Clint’s heart soar to see Bruce chatting so freely and smiling so easily. 

And of course it had been nice seeing Tony come out of his shell too. 

“Don’t make eye contact,” Steve warned, his head down as he reshuffled their cards. “It’s not just limited to speaking. Now if they catch your eye, they will drag you in.” 

Clint chuckled but Steve sounded like a man speaking from experience so he kept his head down too. The smaller boys wandered into the kitchen and weren’t seen for ten minutes until Tony came out with a coffee and Bruce a tea. By then, it seemed they had reached the end of their discussion and were all scienced out for the evening. 

They sat on the couch and looked around, seemingly only just now noticing how empty the house was. Even Nick had gone out to meet with friends. 

“Where is everyone?” 

“Nat, Carol, and Jen are having a girls’ night,” Clint said begrudgingly, still wishing he could’ve gone. Not that he didn’t enjoy hanging out with Steve. He wished they both could have joined them but he was also happy that Nat finally had some girl friends too. 

“Girls’ night? Those three? What, are they gonna burn something down?” Tony asked with a snort. 

Clint snapped his fingers in Tony’s direction as if to say ‘ exactly !’ 

Steve laughed. “He said the same thing. They went to one of those demolition rooms, though, so close.” 

“I’m jealous,” Bruce said. “We should go to one. I’d love to destroy some stuff without consequences.” 

“But destroying stuff with consequences is also fun,” Tony said in a sing-song voice. Bruce reached over and just patted his head. 

“In celebration of you two not coming upstairs covered in soot or with singed eyebrows, I think we should pass on the destruction for one night and have a relaxing evening,” Steve offered. Tony scoffed and Bruce laughed but by the looks on their faces, there must have been an explosion the others just didn’t know about. There was always at least one near-death experience when they went to Tony’s lab. 

“I second the calm evening,” Clint said, lifting his slice of pizza and bringing it down on his plate like a gavel. “I sentence us all to eat this pizza and watch a movie. Maybe even have ice cream if we’re feeling crazy.” 

Bruce got up and came to stand behind Clint’s chair, draping his arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Clint closed his eyes, melting into the contact and the sweet kiss. 

“I’m feeling extra crazy. I’m going to have ice cream first ,” Bruce said, hugging Clint lazily now, their cheeks pressed together. 

“Calm down there, Banner. We’re not old enough to watch that kind of movie,” Tony teased and Clint felt Bruce’s face heat up against his as he blushed. 

Bruce took the pillow from Clint’s chair and threw it at Tony. Tony wasn’t particularly sporty—neither was Bruce, honestly—but it hit him square in the face. They might have been worried if he wasn’t still cackling loudly at his own joke. 

“I’ll get you another pillow,” Bruce told Clint. 

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Nice throw.” 

“It was an impressive throw. I didn’t know you had it in you, Bruganda,” Tony said, coming over to choose a piece of pizza. 

    +

“Oh my god, why are you two soaked?” Nat asked as soon as the front door opened. She was on the couch with Tony and Carol. Carol was curled up against the arm of the couch asleep and Tony had his head in Nat’s lap while she played with his hair. Steve had evening art classes. “It’s not even raining.” 

Bruce and Clint looked at each other and grinned wide, both of them dripping water onto the entranceway rug, their clothes sticking to them like cling film. 

“And after you’ve told your story, grab a mop,” Nick said, coming out of the kitchen and catching sight of them as he made his way upstairs. 

“Will do,” Clint told him with a lazy salute that Nick huffed at, which was Fury speak for ‘thank you.’ 

“So?” Tony asked, sitting up to look at them and Clint realized now that Nat had put several tiny ponytails in his hair with colorful clips. 

“Well,” Bruce began, grinning so widely that Clint couldn’t have stopped himself from pulling him into a sloshy, chilly hug if he wanted to. Bruce’s smile only widened and he started to explain. 

~ 

It was Date Day. Most people did date nights but Bruce and Clint were not most people and therefore decided to do a date day. All day long they would treat each other to date-like things and spend the day just the two of them. They saw each other pretty regularly but since Clint had started working at an animal shelter near Canal Street and Bruce was taking classes at NYU, a lot of their time spent together was some combination of Clint just existing happily next to Bruce while the shorter boy studied. 

So whenever Clint had a day off coming up, Bruce made sure to get in all his studying before or after so they could take full advantage of it. 

Each Date Day was different. Sometimes it was just hanging out at home alone, talking, kissing, doing a crossword, or even napping together and then grabbing food. Sometimes it coincided with half-price movie ticket days and they would just go see whatever was playing, staying at the cinema all day long. One time they had even taken the train and then bus to Jones Beach in Long Island and spent the day tanning, building sand castles, and Bruce finally graduated from his swimming lessons with Clint at the local pool and swam for the first time in open water. 

Today, however, they had decided to do some city dates. They started simple and grabbed breakfast at a somewhat touristy location but one where the food was still good, The Brooklyn Diner on West 43rd. The pancakes were top notch but actually Clint opted for another sweet treat he’d always wanted to try—chicken and waffles. Bruce had gone for a bagel and as a treat, just because they could, they shared a vanilla milkshake like they were in a rom-com. 

“Where to next?” Bruce asked Clint as they walked hand-in-hand down the street, full from breakfast and just happy to be together. 

Clint swung their hands between them and looked around. It was only 11am, the sun was shining, it was nice and hot, and they had the whole day ahead of them. 

“Hmm,” he said, tapping the fingers of his free hand to his chin in thought. He looked around. “Let’s go to Brooklyn.” 

“To do what?” 

Clint shrugged. “Dunno. But Steve was telling me Williamsburg’s full of interesting stuff to see. Sound okay?” 

Bruce’s nose scrunched up as he thought and Clint looked down to watch him, his heart thudding at the cuteness with the same level of intensity it did the first time he saw him make that face. He still wanted to pinch himself sometimes to make sure this was all real. His new sense of safety, his new little family, being able to actually grab Nat and squish her in a hug until she made him stop, being able to hold Bruce’s hand and kiss him even. 

He knew he had lived a shitty first few years but he sometimes felt like he had been repaid with one too many blessings. So for that reason, he tried his best to always be appreciative of what he had now. 

“Oka—”

“I’m crazy in love with you, you know,” Clint said, watching him still and seeing as Bruce’s cheeks slowly reddened. Bruce looked up at him, pushing his glasses up his nose which was more so just a habit now that he had gotten them fixed and they didn’t slide as much. 

Bruce’s expression softened and he pressed up on his tiptoes and puckered his lips. Clint obliged quickly, dipping his head to catch Bruce’s mouth with his while they waited to cross the street. 

“Queer love! Ya love to see it,” a young girl with pink and black hair cheered happily as she passed, holding the hand of a grumpy-looking girl with a shaved head and black lipstick who offered Bruce and Clint a small, shy smile after the other girl prompted her to greet them. 

Bruce’s blush intensified and he buried his face into Clint’s side. Clint wrapped an arm around him, waved to the girls, and they crossed. 

“That was so sweet,” Bruce mumbled into Clint’s shirt and then pulled his face back to say, “but I’m still not used to that.” 

“To what? Blunt New Yorkers?” 

Bruce chuckled. “Yes but that’s not what I meant. Just to… being out. Like out of the closet. And so openly. I—don’t get me wrong. I love it, I love you —” Clint grinned like the big, lovesick idiot he was—“but my fight or flight kicks in sometimes when people point it out.” 

Clint’s arm around Bruce pulled him in even closer and he rubbed his arm comfortingly. He also, as he always did, heard what Bruce wasn’t saying: his father was still alive. Clint had been forever freed of the fear of Harold Barton ever finding him and hurting him again. 

Bruce, sadly, didn’t have that luxury. Brian Banner was alive and kicking unfortunately but thankfully so was Rebecca Banner so there were some upsides. And Bruce had gotten to talk to her over the phone a few times while pretending to be his aunt so his father wouldn’t be suspicious. Bruce cried after each call so Clint always made sure to be there or to have Bruce call him after each one. 

 “Yeah, I get that. It’s only been a year. I’m sure it’ll get easier.” 

“I hope so,” he said, moving out from under Clint’s arm to hold his hand instead and absentmindedly play with his fingers as they walked. “I don’t want to be tensing up in ten years’ time just because we kissed.” 

Clint’s smile widened. They were walking down the street with no clear destination or even an inkling of a plan and neither of them cared. Date Day did not need to follow a rigid itinerary or be filled with amazing stops and moments. Their relationship was built upon spontaneity and comfort and Clint had the feeling it always would be. Even more so after the comment Bruce just made. 

“Ten years, huh? You’re not gonna be bored of me by then?” 

“What?” Bruce, being the sweetheart that he was, sounded truly and sincerely offended. “Of course not, Clint.” More proof that he was serious because he rarely used Clint’s name anymore, preferring a wide range of pet names. The next time he spoke, he sounded less confident. “Do you think you’ll get bored of me?” 

“Pfft,” Clint responded without hesitation, having learned well that when his teasing upset Bruce he had to immediately remedy the situation. He could not let doubts take root because Bruce and overthinking were like macaroni and cheese—always together. “‘Course not. You’re my Bruce. It just surprised me that you said ‘in ten years’ time.’” 

“What, you don’t think we’ll make it that long?” 

“No, I do. Longer even. I just didn’t know you did too.” 

Bruce blushed as he spoke, his tone stubborn, which Clint hadn’t expected. “Clint, I’ve planned an entire life with you.” He looked away. “We’ll move in together and you’ll get a dog like you always talk about and be running your own shelter by then and I’ll be teaching at a college nearby. Nat will live with us, too, unless she’s got a person of her own by then and wants to live with them.”

Bruce was quiet for a long moment but Clint sensed that he had more to say so he waited, watching people pass them on the street and thinking about where they might actually want to go next. 

“Does that scare you?” Bruce finally asked.

“I thought it would and I feel like it should but it doesn’t. I dunno if it’s because it’s you or because I also know deep down that this is what’s gonna happen.” Clint shrugged. “I know we’re young and it’s only been a year so some people might think this is a seriously stupid thing to say but I don’t. I can’t see myself loving anyone but you. I also really love the Nat addition. I think she’d like that.” 

Bruce was staring up at Clint, his brows knitted together in worry as he listened. As Clint reached his last few words, his expression began to clear and make way for relief and a wide grin. He pressed up again and Clint met him halfway to kiss him quickly. 

They walked in silence for almost a minute before either of them spoke again. 

“I’d like another kiss.” 

“It’d be my pleasure.” Clint kissed him once more and then added, “Hey, how’s about a trip down memory lane?” When Bruce only frowned in confusion, Clint dug into his pocket and pulled out his splitter. His headphones were resting around his neck, never far away and he knew Bruce had his earphones in his pocket too. “Let’s just… walk and see where it takes us.” 

Bruce nodded and they set up the music, the splitter plugged into Clint’s phone. He hit shuffle on a playlist he had made for the two of them. It was all of the songs they had discussed or listened to on their roadtrip a year ago plus a few others that had taken on a special meaning for them in the last few months. 

They ended up all the way downtown and then walked across the Brooklyn bridge. They grabbed a quick bite to eat and decided to just keep walking until Bruce had an idea. 

“I still haven’t been to Coney Island. I know you and Steve went for that contest and I’ve been wanting to go ever since. Is it far?” 

Clint looked around. He wasn’t as familiar with Brooklyn as he was with Manhattan and they had been heading north slowly towards Williamsburg but he could figure this out. No, he would figure this out if that was what Bruce wanted to do. 

“Mmm—oh. Okay, yeah we can take the train over there part of the way, change once I think and then boom: Coney Island for my Brucie. Easy-peasy.” He squeezed Bruce’s hand as he led them towards the station. “I hope you like it.” 

Bruce shrugged, leaning into Clint’s side as they walked. “I’m with you so I’ll enjoy myself regardless.” 

Despite his usual avoidance of crowds and loud noises. Bruce did like it. He stayed close to Clint who made it his personal goal to win Bruce as many items as he possibly could at the various stalls and games. With his little boyfriend’s arms full of prizes, he tugged him along to William’s Candy to spoil him some more. 

“My turn,” Bruce demanded from behind a large stuffed penguin. 

“What?” Clint asked, taking some of the prizes from Bruce and putting them into a tote bag he had just bought. 

“I’m treating you. Date day has to go both ways. Besides, we’ll probably just end up sharing anyway,” he told him, moving around the store gathering items as Clint simply nodded. 

Bruce bought him a caramel apple, some fudge, gummy worms, and an entire bag of things he knew Clint would like. He scarfed down the apple in no time—despite Bruce wondering how he wasn’t pulling his teeth out on the hard caramel—and was working on a piece of fudge when they spotted The Coney Island History Project. 

“It’s not really science but you wanna go check it out?” 

“Yeah, actually I do.” 

“Lead the way.” 

Another thirty minutes well spent and Bruce was happy at having gotten the opportunity to learn something new. Clint had never visited the tiny space before but was glad he did. He felt what he had learned might come in handy for future crosswords.

“Okay, where to? Unfortunately, you force fed me way too much candy for me to successfully ride any of the rides,” Clint said, rubbing his full stomach and still holding a half-full bag of sweets. “Home?” 

Bruce shook his head. “Wanna sit on the beach for a little while? Watch the sunset?” 

Clint grabbed his hand and pulled him along to a good spot. They were well aware that they would be finding sand on themselves and in their clothes and shoes for the next few days but it was worth it to just sit beside each other and stare out at the horizon. The gentle lap of the waves was relaxing and even with the loud noises of the amusement park right beside them, somehow it was serene. 

Bruce settled down in between Clint’s legs, leaning back against his chest. He grabbed one of Clint’s arms and draped it over himself, letting out a contented sigh as he played with Clint’s fingers. 

“I’m kinda crazy in love with you too,” Bruce told him, tilting his head back until he could see Clint who stared down at him. Clint smiled and pressed a kiss between Bruce’s eyebrows. 

“I was wondering when you were going to say it back. It’s only been like five hours, gosh.” 

Bruce laughed, making himself comfortable against Clint again and bringing Clint’s knuckles up to his lips to press kisses to each of them. 

They sat there quietly for another twenty or so minutes, people-watching and absently snacking on their bag of goodies. The peaceful end to their date lasted only another two minutes before Bruce interrupted it. 

“Question.”

“Shoot.” 

“What would you do if I jumped into the water?” 

“Right now?” Bruce nodded. “Jump in with you.” 

“You say it like it’s so obvious.” 

“You say that as if you think there’s another choice.” 

Bruce snorted softly. “Okay, what if I jumped in fully clothed?” 

“I thought that was implied the first time. I didn’t really see you stripping down in front of all these strangers and children.” 

“And you’d still jump in with me? Fully clothed too?” Bruce asked, sitting up, the excitement plain on his adorable little face. His smile was wide and bright and his eyes practically sparkling. Damn him for being so cute and hard to deny.  

“Yeah. Fully submerged or?” 

“Of course.” 

“Alright.” 

“Okay.” 

“Let’s go then.” 

“Our stuff?” 

“We’ll just leave it here. We won’t be gone long. Anyone who manages to grab it and run off before we’re back deserves it, I guess.” 

Bruce looked skeptical but then simply shrugged. “Let’s go.” 

Clint removed his flannel and they put their phones and wallets into it, balled it up, and stuffed it into their candy bag, hoping no one would take it. There was a nice-looking young family sitting not too far from them and they asked them if they wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on it. They nodded and Bruce and Clint promised to be back quickly. 

Before the wife could ask where they were going, they broke into a run. Something like that required courage. Courage or else so much momentum that they couldn’t suddenly chicken out. They were going for the latter. 

The water was cold but they kept going until they were waist deep, which was different for each of them. As soon as he could, Bruce dove under and Clint followed suit. They came up a moment later and just stared at each other. It took less than ten seconds for the laughter to start up and once it passed they began swimming back to see the family confused but amused. 

They thanked them and started heading towards the subway. It was going to get a little chilly soon once the sun went down. They should probably head home before they got sick. 

“So… that was different,” Bruce said when they sat down on the subway. They were dripping pools of water onto the floor beneath them and true to New Yorker attitudes, no one but those who stood out as tourists so much as batted an eyelid at the soaking wet boys. 

“It was fun. What made you think of it?” Clint asked. 

Bruce shrugged and his clothes squelched. “It just came into my head and I wondered what you’d say.”

“And if I’d have said no?” Bruce just stared at him, raising one skeptical eyebrow. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have said no.” 

~ ~ ~ 

“And that’s why we’re wet,” Clint finished. Nick had brought them some towels despite how annoyed he had seemed at the mess they were making and the heating was on. Clint was standing behind Bruce drying his hair for him. 

“I had like six theories and, believe it or not, none of them involved you two taking a dip fully clothed into the Atlantic,” Tony said. He plopped back down into Nat’s lap, closing his eyes as she immediately began playing with his hair again. “Date days, huh? Might have to see if Steve’d be interested in trying those.” 

“Cute story,” Nick said from the second floor, leaning over the banister, “now get to mopping.”

+

If Bruce and Clint were together, they usually spent that time in Manhattan. Especially since Bruce had started classes at NYU, he and Clint practically lived together. They had become used to always being in one another’s presence so this was nothing new and the need for space never really became a necessity—they were familiar with existing in one another’s space while simultaneously doing their own things. 

That being said, Clint had been up to New Rochelle and handful of times to meet Elaine and see Bruce’s new home. As an absolute shock to no one but Clint himself, Elaine loved him. They bonded over a mutual love and appreciation for animals and even movie tastes. Clint still wished he could’ve met Rebecca, Bruce’s mother, and gotten her seal of approval but he figured her sister’s approval was pretty damn good too. 

Today was one of those days when they were heading upstate to spend the weekend in New Rochelle. Elaine had invited them and tempted them away from city life with offers of home-cooked meals and her famous cookies that Bruce had raved about (and which had lived up to the hype, so Clint never planned to miss out on them.) 

“What did Elaine cook?” Clint asked, stretching his legs out on the train and then his arms high above his head. His arm landed around Bruce’s shoulders as it came back down. 

“Not sure. She said everything was a surprise.” 

Even after all this time, Bruce still hated surprises no matter who they were from or how much proof he had that nothing bad would happen. He had found a loose piece of thread on the edge of his sleeve and was scrunching it into a ball and straightening it out over and over. After a moment of watching, Clint rested his hand over Bruce’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

He looked down at him with a soft smile and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It’ll be fine. Maybe she’s belatedly celebrating our one year anniversary? Maybe she just made a recipe she wants us to try. Maybe she just wants us to come over and hang out. Did she explicitly say it was a surprise?” 

Bruce nodded miserably. “Or, well, she said ‘I have something I think you’ll like’ and that’s basically the same thing.” He dropped his head onto Clint’s shoulder and sighed. 

Clint pressed a kiss to the top of his head and lingered there, tucking a curl behind Bruce’s ear just to watch it refuse to be tamed and bounce back into place. He loved Bruce’s hair. 

“Aw, Brucie, it’ll be fine. You’ll see. Our anniversary was a couple days ago. Maybe she made us something for that?” 

Bruce grumbled and Clint waited for him to sigh, pull his head back, and repeat himself more clearly. “You could be right but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to still hate it. I hate surprises.” 

“I know, Brucie, I know,” he told him, stroking his hair. 

All throughout the ride, Clint did his best to keep Bruce either distracted or occupied. He alternated between telling corny jokes he knew his boyfriend loved, pointing at clouds and asking Bruce to name their formation, or shutting up his anxious thoughts with kisses and cuddles. 

All in all, it worked pretty well because by the time they arrived, Bruce sat up suddenly and said, “We’re here already?” 

“Oh. We are. Whaddya know.” 

Bruce turned to Clint, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You were trying to distract me. You didn’t really want to know about the clouds!” 

Clint helped Bruce off the train and then reached over to gently boop his nose with his index finger. “Not trying, Brucie, did .” He grinned and Bruce rolled his eyes, leading them out of the station to the car park where Elaine was no doubt waiting for them. “And I did too wanna know about the clouds. It was really interesting and you’re kinda adorable when you tell me fun facts.” 

Bruce tried to roll his eyes again but was too busy blushing at Clint’s compliment. Clint smiled down at him as they exited the station and were met with the bright morning sun. The place seemed as empty as usual, most people having made the commute in the opposite direction into the heart of Manhattan for work even on a Saturday morning. 

Bruce craned his neck to look for Elaine’s grey Subaru but it wasn’t there. Maybe she was running late, which was unlike her and Clint knew that that fact was only going to make Bruce more anxious so he tightened his grip on his hand to get his attention. 

“Let’s go sit over there on the bench and wait for her. Maybe traffic is bad this morning.” 

With one of his hands in Clint’s, Bruce was unable to wring his nervously and so simply nodded and followed where Clint led him. Clint pulled him against his side, his hand stroking reassuringly up and down Bruce’s arm. 

“It’s all going to be just fine. You’ll see.” 

“How do you know that? What if they’re finally going to kick me out?” 

“Why would they? Don’t you pay rent against your aunt’s wishes? What reason would they have to kick your sweet little face out on the street?” 

Bruce just buried his face into Clint’s shirt and grumbled some more, always ever so slightly irritated when Clint destroyed his anxious thoughts with good ol’ logic and reason. 

“Boys!” they heard Elaine call. She came jogging around the station. “Sorry, I’m late. I stopped for gas and of course right as I’m getting back onto the road there’s an accident. Minor thankfully. It didn’t seem like anyone got hurt.” 

Bruce looked up at Clint who mouthed ‘told you so.’ 

“I’m parked on the other side because I had to take an alternate route. Come on. How are you? You don’t look so well, Brucito.” 

“He’s just nervous,” Clint said, ruffling Bruce’s hair. 

“He can speak for himself,” Bruce said stubbornly. “But he’s right. I’m nervous.” 

“What is there to be nervous about?” Elaine asked, pressing the unlock button as they piled into the car. 

“You know I don’t like surprises, Tía .” 

“I know, mi amor , but this time you will. I promise you. And if you don’t like it, I won’t ever plan another surprise for you ever again.” 

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Really?” 

“Really really.” She grinned at them both in the rear view mirror. “But I already know you’re going to like this surprise so maybe you should start mentally preparing now for the next time.” 

Bruce groaned and returned to his usual position in Clint’s protective embrace. Clint kissed his forehead and then smiled back at Elaine, winking. They would get Bruce accustomed to being loved and spoiled if it took their whole lives. 

They arrived and headed for their bedroom as per usual. Elaine had no issue with them sharing a room because she trusted them to make sure the doors were locked and they were quiet about whatever they did or did not do. Mostly ‘not do’ because even a year in, Bruce was still weary of the whole ordeal and Clint wasn’t in a hurry nor did he push Bruce to set a date. He was content to take whatever Bruce could comfortably and happily give him. As far as he was concerned, if Bruce didn’t want to give it then Clint didn’t want to take it. 

Clint watched Bruce nervously put some of the dirty laundry he had brought into the hamper and then start packing his return bag already with fresh clothes from his chest of drawers. He’d be going back to Manhattan with Clint Sunday night because he had classes bright and early Monday morning. 

Clint pulled out his phone and texted Nat that they had arrived safely, to which she replied with two yellow hearts and he smiled, just about to ask her what her plans were for the day when Bruce spoke. 

“We’ve never officially said it… it just kind of happened but, um, could I leave some clothes at yours permanently? Maybe do laundry when I’m there instead of always bringing them back here?”

Clint was lying on Bruce’s bed, his phone in the air above him as he texted, and he lowered it so he could look at Bruce. He raised an eyebrow, just about to say something sarcastic when he changed his mind at the last moment. 

Looking at Bruce softly now, he said, “‘Course you can, Brucie.”

“What was that first look for?”

Clint shrugged. “I guess I’ve always assumed you were already living with me. Well, partly with me and partly here. I just thought you didn’t like the fabric softener we used or something.”

“Oh,” he said, clutching the shirt in his hands tighter, a faint blush on his cheeks. He looked down and smiled and Clint felt his heart skip a beat. 

“C’mere. You can’t just be that damn cute and not let me kiss you.” 

Bruce shuffled over, grinning and blushing even harder. Clint pulled him down into his lap and peppered his face with kisses until Bruce was reduced to laughter and smiles so happy they made the butterflies in Clint’s stomach go nuts. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around Clint’s neck and rested against him, sighing contentedly. Clint pressed a kiss into Bruce’s hair and then turned his face away to yawn. He was not used to being up this early on the weekend. 

When he turned back, Bruce was staring up at him, big brown eyes and impossibly long dark lashes threatening to turn him into putty. 

“I don’t really think Elaine’s got anything planned for us this morning. She said the surprise was for ‘later,’” Bruce said with unconcealed disgust that made Clint chuckle. “You wanna take a nap?” 

“Of course I wanna take a nap, who do you think I am?” Clint scoffed and Bruce laughed as they slipped under the covers and got themselves situated. Bruce had his head on Clint’s chest, one hand slipped under his hoodie to rest flat on his stomach and Clint’s arm was curled securely around him. 

“Comfy?” Bruce mumbled, already almost asleep. 

“Very,” Clint said, yawning again and smiling faintly as he felt Bruce’s hand moving across his stomach. He couldn’t remember exactly when, but not too long ago, Bruce had started seeking out skin to skin contact and even since, Clint had been sleeping better than he ever had before. 

He called Bruce’s name again quietly, just to ask him about it, but only got steady breaths in return. He removed his hearing aids and then closed his eyes. 

Clint woke to Bruce pressing a kiss to his chin and after taking a few minutes to realize he needed to get up, he put in his hearing aids and Bruce said, “Dinner’s ready.” 

“Dinner? How long were we out?” 

“About six hours,” Bruce told him, still on Clint’s chest but facing him now with all his body weight resting on his boyfriend. “Well you did pull a double shift yesterday at the shelter.” 

“And you, cramming the night before even though we all know those exams are easy peasy for ya,” Clint praised, loving to watch Bruce’s cheeks go rosy right before he inevitably buried his face. This time he dropped his head onto Clint’s chest and sighed against his hoodie. Clint wrapped his arms around him. “Love you.” 

“Wuh woo too,” Bruce mumbled, his face still mushed against Clint’s chest. 

Dinner was delicious but unremarkable. At least, both Bruce and Clint seemed to have guessed that whatever the surprise was would be dinner. Perhaps a new recipe or one Bruce hadn’t had in a long time? So far though, it was just the usual Elaine Walters spread, which consisted of a beef roast with vegetables and homemade bread that Jennifer had apparently made. 

Even Jennifer wasn’t doing anything special. When dinner was seemingly normal, then they thought that perhaps Jennifer might have some kind of announcement or that she might show up to the table with bright pink hair. Something. Anything. 

However, still no sign of the surprise and Clint could tell the anticipation was making Bruce anxious. He had only eaten half of what was on his plate and kept stopping to wipe his palms on his pants. Eventually, Clint reached over and rested his arm along the back of Bruce’s chair. The smaller boy leaned back against it with a sigh and offered him a thankful smile. 

“Alrighty,” Elaine said, getting up from the table after dessert, which had been a simple plate of the cookies she promised to make. She checked her watch and then so did Bruce. It was nearly eight o’clock. “I think it’s time I go get the surprise.” 

Clint could see the mixture of relief and worry on Bruce’s face and leaned to press a kiss to his temple. 

“Ugh,” Jennifer groaned. “If I didn’t like you so much, Clint, I think I’d hurl.” 

Her usual teasing seemed to put Bruce somewhat at ease and a moment later, Elaine came out with her phone and a phone stand. Bruce and Clint exchanged a look as she set it down in front of them. They stared at her lock screen and then she swiped it up and away to reveal someone on FaceTime smiling at them. 

“He—” Bruce couldn’t even manage his startled ‘hello’ before the rest of the word caught in his throat and he clapped a hand to his mouth, tears in his eyes. 

It only took Clint two seconds to figure out what had happened and he smiled first at Bruce and then up at Elaine. 

“Hi, my baby. Hi, mi amor ,” Bruce’s mother said, her face scrunching up the exact same way Bruce’s had and tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Mom,” Bruce finally said, leaning forward to be closer to the phone, looking as if he was trying to find a way to hug the screen. “How? How are you calling us?” A tremor went through him after he spoke. 

“He’s at a work event in Cincinnati. He’ll be gone tonight and all day tomorrow,” she told him happily. “It’s so wonderful to see you, baby. You look so good. So happy.” Her smile widened and more tears fell and finally her gaze moved away from her son to Clint. “You must be Clint.” 

“And you must be Mrs—”

“Call me Rebecca,” she interrupted. “Please.” 

Clint nodded. “It’s great to finally meet you, Rebecca. I’ve heard so much about you.” Bruce just continued to smile at the phone, then up at Clint, and back to his mom as it he just couldn’t believe it. He dragged his sweatshirt sleeve across his wet face and let out a shaky laugh. 

“Mom, I have so much to tell you.” 

“And I want to hear it all.” 

Bruce looked up at Elaine and she nodded and Bruce and Clint took the phone to their room and shut the door, starting from the beginning and telling Rebecca absolutely everything that had happened until the moment she had called. 

It had been almost five hours before they finished talking and she happily took in all of it, her face constantly alternating between unbelievably happy and equally as sad. 

Bruce let out a sigh as their story came to an end and Rebecca’s expression grew impossibly softer. 

“Oh, Bruce, I’m so happy for you. For you both. You got away, you found love, friends, a new home,” she said, looking down briefly and shaking her head. “I’m still so sorry you couldn’t have any of those things here with me.” 

“Why don’t you leave him? He’s gone. Just come here.” 

She shook her head again. “It’s the first place he’d look and then we would both be in danger.” 

“He’s going to come after me anyway.” 

“He won’t.” 

“How can you be sure? He’s got enough hate in him to do it,” Bruce insisted. 

“No,” she said firmly, averting her gaze as if suddenly disgusted by something. “I told him you were gone.” 

“I don’t—”

“Gone as in unable to come back, mi amor .” 

Oh. That must have been tough on her but Clint’s respect for Bruce’s mother only increased. She was determined to make sure her husband never found Bruce ever again. 

Bruce opened his mouth a few times but no words came out. Clint wondered what he wanted to ask but didn’t try to help. It would probably be better if he never voiced his questions; he’d only end up hurting himself when he got the answers. Funny how after everything, neither of them truly wanted to believe their fathers hated them. 

“I see,” he finally said. “Well, thank you. That makes me feel safer. I’m sorry though. Both that you had to do that and that you’re still stuck there.” 

“I made the choice to be with him, you didn’t. So long as you have a shot at a life, mi amor , I promise you I am happy. Elaine keeps me updated.” She turned away and yawned briefly, her eyes watering for an entirely different reason. It was nearly 2am now. 

“We should let you sleep,” Bruce said sadly. 

“Call me tomorrow? Bright and early? Or can I call you? When will you be up?” she asked eagerly, somewhat desperately and Clint’s heart broke for her, stuck in a prison constructed by the man who should have loved her. 

“As early as you want. I’ll ask Elaine to wake me up whenever you call, okay? So just... whenever, please.”

“ Prometo ,” she said firmly. “ Te amo, mi amor. And you too, Clint. Te amo .” 

“ Te amo , mama ,” Bruce said, tears already beginning to well up in his eyes and hers as well. Clint smiled though his heart ached for them both and after another few seconds, she hung up. 

Bruce cried himself to sleep in Clint’s arms, sobbing into his shirt and clinging to him desperately. After he had exhausted himself, Clint went out and gave Elaine back her phone and told her about Bruce’s arrangement with his mom. 

“Do you think this was a good idea?” Elaine asked as Clint turned to go to their room. 

He turned back. “Definitely. I don’t think even he knew how much he needed this. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Her expression twisted oddly and Clint understood the unspoken ‘I wish I could do the same for you.’ He offered her a grateful smile and then wished her a goodnight.

On the train ride home Sunday night, Bruce fell asleep against Clint. He had spent the entire day talking to his mom. She wanted to know more about his classes and the rest of their friends. She wanted to talk to Clint and get to know him too. She had a million and one questions even despite their five hour discussion the night before and when it was finally time to hang up, both of them started crying again. Clint had held Bruce while he worked through his emotions and when he was finally left to nothing more than hiccups, they started packing to leave. 

His little boyfriend was exhausted but he knew that he was still happier now than he had been when they had arrived for the weekend. Beneath the sadness was still relief and joy and he could see that on both their faces, Bruce and Rebecca. 

Rebecca wasn’t sure when the next opportunity like this would come around but she would do her best to notify Elaine as early as possible so she could get the boys up to New Rochelle. Rebecca couldn’t call Bruce’s phone because Brian checked her recent calls so for now this would have to suffice. 

Clint pressed a kiss to Bruce’s head, reaching up to stroke his thumb over his cheek. Bruce nuzzled more against him and he smiled. As he had told Rebecca earlier: so long as Bruce was happy, he, too, was happy. 

+

Winter came early that year with Manhattan seeing its first snowfall on October 31st. There were patches of warmer days here and there but now January was nearing its end and a snowstorm had blown through the city, effectively shutting down everything. Thankfully, Bruce had been spending his winter break with Clint and the gang anyway so they didn’t have to be separated. 

Clint and Bruce were from the Midwest—they were no strangers to snow nor did it intimidate either of them—but even so they decided to stay inside like everyone else, eat comfort food, and binge watch b-list horror movies, like Lavalantula and Sharktopus. 

It had been relatively quiet in the house over the last few days. Steve and Tony kept to themselves lately; apparently Steve, despite being a Brooklyn native, had an issue with snow and the cold that went beyond dislike and ventured into phobia territory. Clint and Bruce didn’t ask and Steve didn’t tell. They all had their fears and hang-ups. There was no need for everyone to have to explain themselves all the time. 

Jen was in New Rochelle with Elaine after getting stuck up there due to the snowstorm and she made sure to let Bruce and Clint both know how unfair it was that she wasn’t there with them and couldn’t hang out with Nat who she basically idolized (Elaine had met Nat and seemed to approve of her daughter's new role model).  

“Hey,” Bruce said, turning in Clint’s arms to look up at him. They were in pajamas with snacks spread out on the blanket on top of them. Clint looked down, tearing a piece of twizzler off as he did and raising his brows in response while he chewed. “Wanna call Nat in?” 

Nat hadn’t been in the best of moods lately and that was for one reason: Carol was gone. 

As they hung out with her and laughed and talked, Carol had been getting snippets of her memories back bit by bit. It was one night when someone mentioned Mardi Gras that something clicked and she was fixated on Louisiana for hours and hours, knowing that somewhere there was a connection to herself. 

It had taken their resident sleuth Natasha a little less than an hour to track down the name of the person Carol finally supplied her with: Maria Rambeau, 21, New Orleans, Louisiana. A few more clicks and searches and Nat found all of the ads Maria had placed looking for Carol. They still didn’t know how she had ended up in New York but after a phone call to the number listed on the ads, Carol had found her family. Her foster sister Maria, to be precise. 

And now she was gone and Natasha was, well, sulking. 

It had been so interesting to Clint to see Natasha try and fail to ask Carol out. Of course he wanted her to succeed and be happy but witnessing firsthand the fearless Natasha Romanoff stutter and mix her words and then storm off to try again another day? Clint had always admired her bravery and he felt like he admired her even more now. It was one thing to not be scared of anything. It was another entirely to be scared and do things anyway. 

Clint smiled. “Yeah. And if she says no, we overpower her and drag her in here for cuddles.” 

“We might die.” 

Clint nodded solemnly. “I’ll always love you.” 

Nat’s door was slightly ajar and Clint could just see her socked-foot resting on top of her bed. Clint made a bunch of gestures he had seen people on tv make when undertaking a covert operation and Bruce nodded along as if any of it made any sense. Somehow, though, they still seemed to have communicated a plan to each other. 

They simply walked in without a word. Nat looked up from the book she was probably pretending to read to stare at them but they avoided eye contact. Slowly and determinedly, they crawled onto her bed beside her. Clint was on her right and Bruce on her left. 

“What’s happening? Did you two watch a scary movie again?” 

“No,” Bruce said, letting his head drop onto her shoulder. She lowered her book page-down onto her lap, seeming to realize that something was up. 

“Then what’s happening right now?” 

“Why does something have to be happening for us to just hang out with you?” Clint asked, imitating Bruce except due to the height difference his head landed on top of Nat’s. 

She was quiet for a moment and then said, stubbornly, “I’m fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Cool, then you’d be up for movie night with us?” 

She grumbled irritably. “No, aren’t you having a date night?” 

“No, we’re just chilling. N-not Netflix and chilling because we don’t—we haven’t—it’s just normal chilling. We have snacks and crappy movies,” Bruce rambled and Clint wouldn’t be surprised to look over and see his boyfriend wiping sweat away from his forehead. 

And thank goodness for Bruce’s endearing awkwardness because it got a tiny smile out of Nat who fought to remove the offensive expression from her face. 

“No, I’d just be a drag.” 

“I thought you said you were fine,” Clint challenged. 

“I am. But I’m not in a movie mood so I’d be a drag.” 

“Then we can do something else,” Bruce suggested. “We have puzzles. And crosswords. Or video games and I’m really bad at them so you’d probably win every round.” 

Nat let out the smallest of small laughs. “I’d win? What about Clint?” 

“He sucks at video games.” 

Clint gasped in shock. “Um, excuse me? What was that?” 

“You’re better than me but you’re not good ,” Bruce explained with a casualness that had Clint blinking in disbelief. Nat was fully laughing now, looking up at Clint’s appalled expression with an amused one of her own. 

“You think you know a guy and then boom—he says you suck at video games. When were you going to tell—no, not important right now. Nat, has any of this convinced you to come hang out with us?” 

“I know why you’re doing this,” she said, her tone as sad as her face. “But I’ll be okay, really.” 

“That’s good. I’m glad you will be. But right now you’re not and as your best friend—” Bruce cleared his throat pointedly and Clint corrected himself. “As your best friends , we cannot just sit idly by and let you wallow alone. It’s illegal actually.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Definitely. Jen told us. You know she’s really into law and everything,” Bruce added. 

Clint could see Nat’s resolve to sit in her room alone and brood being worn down by them. He and Bruce were the perfect tag team of annoyance but also they did really love Nat and hate to see her so down and she knew they did. 

“C’mon, Tasha,” Clint said, managing to get a hold of one of the hands she had tucked so tightly against her arm. “Come on , we love you.” 

“ So much,” Bruce added in the same pleading tone as Clint. 

After another ten seconds, Nat sighed and then rolled her eyes. She looked at Bruce and then she looked at Clint and another smile graced her face and this time it stayed. 

“Fine, fine . I guess I do kind of like you guys.” 

“Yikes, ease up with all the affection, would you?” Clint teased, standing and pulling her up out of the bed as Bruce came around and headed back to their room. Clint slung an arm around Nat’s shoulder and pulled her into his side. She lifted one of her own to rest around his waist. “We’re here for you, okay? Doesn’t matter what it is. We’re here. I’m here. Okay?” 

“Okay,” she said after a short silence, looking up at him and now allowing herself to show some of the pain she was actually feeling. Clint knew she had already developed feelings for Carol but even he wasn’t sure how strong they had been. 

“Welcome to Casa del Brint,” Bruce said, patting the bed. He had removed all of their snacks, which had been balanced precariously on top of the blanket and pillows, and had fluffed a pillow for Nat right in between their own pillows. 

“Brint?” Nat and Clint asked at the same time. 

Bruce frowned. “No? Not good? I thought it was kind of cute. Better than Cluce.” 

Nat snorted. “Definitely better than Cluce.” 

It was about an hour later that Clint, who had been moved to lay in the middle, was the last one still awake. Nat had her head on his shoulder and had been asleep the longest and Bruce had somehow burrowed into his other side, his face pressed against Clint’s ribs. Clint had been checking every few seconds that Bruce could even breathe like that and then finally gently moved his head so his cheek was pressed to Clint’s side and all breathing holes were obstruction free. 

Clint had an arm around both of them and had given up on watching the movie, deciding to watch them instead. He bent his head and pressed a kiss into Bruce’s hair and then he pressed one to Nat’s forehead. Bruce didn’t stir but Nat smiled softly before smacking her lips and making herself more comfortable. 

Thinking about how far he had come, about where he had been just over a year ago, he sometimes couldn’t believe it but right here, right now? In this moment he could. In this moment his efforts were visible, they were tangible, they were sleeping. 

The two people he cared most about in the entire world were right here with him, in his arms, safe and sound. One was a little heartbroken at the moment but otherwise, they were happy, together, and nothing on this planet or beyond could separate Clint from them. He just would not let it. 

“Aw,” Clint said softly, smiling to himself, “I’m so happy I have you two.”