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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 3 years

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Brother

A/N: I've been working on my MCU Clint Barton fix-it ideas ever since I've seen AoU basically. But since End Game I've had even more to fix and I guess for the first time I managed to write it all in a somewhat okay-ish flow. This is focusing on Steve's and Clint's relationship - which is highly inspired by the comics, where was their special bond in the movies omg? - at the beginning of End Game since I love their deep affection for each other hidden under a thousand covers of annoyance and bickering very much. I don't know if this interesting to anyone. But I hereby present my little Sunday take on the Clint Barton I love most. Seen through the eyes of Steve Rogers.

They were all back together. And nothing was as it had been five years prior.

Steve had tried to focus all of his attention on helping others get over their loss to keep himself from mourning. Which hadn’t much helped him get his mourning done.

Natasha had been obsessed with finding Clint - who had been fighting crimes under cover, in a new outfit and with new weapons, trying to prove to himself that he was still a hero, that he was still good enough; even after Thanos had taken his hearing away. He wouldn’t have allowed anyone to find him until he had proven himself.

From what Natasha had been able to find out during these hard years, she knew that he had spent a lot of time patching up his wounds. Which had had nothing to do with his deafness, in her opinion, but only with him fighting alone.

Tony had lived a life away from everything and everyone, with his daughter and his wife. Despite the happiness he’d found there, there was a darkness in his features now, a shadow that hadn’t been this large before.

Thor had been changed by grief. His people, his home, his family, he’d lost everything.

And Bruce had stripped the dark past experiences off like an old skin and was now wearing a new one. He seemed to be the most stable among them all. With a big emphasis on „seemed to be“. Just like Steve, he was only suppressing what he couldn’t deal with.

Steve didn’t know who he was most worried about. Steve didn’t know what he was most happy about. The mixture of good and bad had been a part of his life ever since he could remember. Seeing his friends, his family back together was filling him with a peace he hadn’t felt in all those long, painful five years. Seeing them all suffer was almost worse than not having them around at all.

He was walking out of the room with all their notes, plans, ideas and thoughts scribbled on white boards, loose sheets of paper and computers. Plans to change what Thanos had done.

This room with all its planned risks and dangers made him feel sick.

He walked into the big hall with the time-machine-in-process, as Tony and Bruce called it, and the old training ring at the back. This ring had been supposed to be used for demonstrations and sparring matches. All for the training of the new generation of agents and special units. Units like the Avengers had been. Or still were.

Steve could still hear Clint’s playful threats from all those years back…

„I’ll whoop your ass in front of the newbies, old guy!“

He could still see those blue eyes glow up, as they used to crinkle with smiles and laughter, could still remember the way Clint had always been incessantly annoying, constantly teasing him and provoking him to get a reaction. The way he used to be.

Those five years had changed him the most in Steve’s reception. He was more grown up than he’d ever been, all his antics stripped of him violently, leaving holes and wounds and despair. A notion that used to be the last possible one coming to mind when he’d thought of his friend back then. The only times Clint had been desperate in the time before the snap were mornings without coffee.

„Kill me, Steve, there is no coffee in the Tower.“

He’d had his thoughtful moments, sure, and he had been far from being okay - past trauma tugging on his heels like shackles he had never found a key for. But all he’d really needed back then to get him into good spirits again were a sparring partner and positive feedback. He’d always seeked Steve’s respect and he’d always had it.

But Steve knew he’d taken something essential away from him when he’d not let him tag along into space, back when they’d planned to force Thanos to undo the snap. Tony and Clint had only just returned from draining days lost in a space ship in the middle of nowhere. And Clint’s ears had been punctured fatally with his own arrows by Thanos’ hand not long before that. The bandage around his head had been soaked with blood, small trickles running down his cheeks when Steve had put a hand on his chest to stop him, to convey to him wordlessly that he wasn’t coming.

Something in his posture had changed then. He’d shrinked, almost without notice. The already dimmed blue of his eyes had changed to grey - and no smiles had crinkled them ever since. Steve had pushed their foreheads together to try and somehow make him feel how sorry he’d been - how sorry about god damn everything.

But upon returning to the Avengers building, defeated and hopeless, Clint had been gone, with his Hawkeye gear still there. And he’d remained gone until they’d cornered him all together in an alley of the shabby New York a few days before. Clint in his Ronin suit, with his swords and his dark hood. A silent fighter, a dark Avenger, a sword fighter who didn’t kill.

Steve, Tony, Bruce and Thor had circled him, trying to reason with calming gestures and instinctively spoken words the former archer hadn’t been able to hear. He’d fought them all stubbornly until Natasha had appeared in front of him. Stopping in his tracks, frozen to the spot, he’d raised his sword and didn’t bring it down. The battle had come to a halt.

Gently Natasha had stripped him of his mask, revealing his grey eyes and grim expression.

She’d signed something to him, Steve hadn’t seen. But it had been enough to get Clint to drop his swords and fall into her, to let go of his fight and allow her to embrace him again.

Steve could still feel a profound need to take Clint into his arms as well. But with the exception of Natasha he hadn’t let anyone get awfully close ever since his return to them.

He’d been surprised to find out that all of them had learned to sign. They’d been surprised to find out how good of a lip reader he’d gotten. He’d shrugged and pointed to the TV, suggesting that he’d learned by watching it on unchosen mute.

A long story. A long path that had led from their early days as Avengers to now. Ten years.

Steve found it hard to believe that Clint was about to be 33 years old. The snotty circus kid from all those years back had changed.

Yet, as Steve was nearing the training ring, Clint was standing inside of it, like he sometimes had in the time after the Tower. Like he hadn’t moved out of it ever since those days that now seemed so long ago. He used to crack his knuckles and call Steve old until he’d provoked him enough to have him enter the training ring as well.

Steve smiled at the memory, but quickly turned more serious again when he saw Clint stare at the floor with hanging shoulders. A sadness surrounded him. A sadness Steve recognized. He knew what it felt like when you couldn’t get something back again. Or when it would simply never be the same again.

Carefully Steve lifted the chain that surrounded the sparring mat and entered the ring.

Clint’s eyes were on him immediately. Steve looked at it as a success that Clint didn’t avoid his glance. No, he even returned it, untying a knot in Steve’s chest.

He stood there, motionless and just looked at his old friend, looked at him with an emotion that lay beyond his control. He could see far beyond the present, far beyond the Clint that stood in front of him now.

He could see his bashful annoyance when the others had presented him a cake on his birthday. He could see his fierce expression, when he’d jumped in front of his friends, arrows firing in battle. He could see him sobbing uncontrollably after the message of his brother and Kate Bishop having fallen victim to the snap had reached him. He could see him laughing and screaming helplessly when Steve had taken it upon himself to silence his provoking remarks by sitting down on top of him and ravaging him with tickles until he’d cried tears of laughter.

Steve saw all of their shared memories, all of their patched up wounds and those that never heal, saw who they grew to be together and who they’d always stay and he knew that Clint saw the same when he looked at him. He felt a lump form in his throat and swallowed hard, but his eyes started to burn as well and there was this picture of Clint running ahead of him and trying to catch the shield when Steve threw it with this big smile on his face that Steve just couldn’t shake off.

He moved his hands almost instinctively and signed the symbol for „brother“ with his hands, making Clint’s eyes grow bigger and younger all of a sudden. The former archer pressed his lips together and put his fist on his chest, moving it in a small circle.

Sorry.

Then he pointed at himself, at his chin and eventually at Steve.

I disappointed you.

Steve started shaking his head slowly, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head more decidedly by the second. Pain expanded on Clint’s face, despite him trying to suppress it. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head.

So Steve closed the distance between them and put a hand on his neck, pulling his head to his chest, close to his heart. Clint made no noise as his forehead, his cheek made contact with Steve’s broad chest. He merely closed his arms around Steve’s body and held on to his back as if his life depended upon it. Steve’s warm breath ran down his scalp as the Supersoldier buried his nose in Clint’s hair.

And all of a sudden it felt as if they’d lifted a curse, as if they’d broken a magical spell with the warmth of their embrace. As if Clint’s soul finally managed to reconnect with his body and all the weight he’d carried on his own back fell to the floor with a loud thud. He nestled his head at Steve’s chest and smelled the familiar scent of mint and shower gel, reviving within him the feeling of home and safety he’d longed for a long time.

And Steve did not let go.

He had always been strong enough to drag Clint along. Except for that one time when Clint hadn’t been strong enough for being dragged along.

But there he was again.

There he was.

Close to his chest. Remaining. Despite it all, he was still Clint. Which he proved within seconds of their hug by suddenly wiggling his fingertips into Steve’s ribs, forcing him to push away with a surprised gasp and an expression of wonder on his face.

Clint’s sly smirk wiped away any doubts Steve still had held about Clint’s state of mind.

With a roll of his eyes a smirk of his own spread on Steve’s face and he raised his fists invitingly, asking for a long overdue sparring match between the two of them.

Clint shook his arms out and grinned even wider than before. He attacked with precise jabs towards Steve’s torso, but got blocked both times. Still he managed to avoid getting grabbed by Steve in return. Their sparring was a mixture of elegance and force. Accompanied by the occasional bruise.

It felt good to throw punches at each other again, to kick and defend and to try and find an opening. Like they were being active again after a long sleep. Though Steve had to admit that his sleep had lasted way longer than Clint’s. Which was one way to explain the kicks and jabs he did not manage to defend himself against. Or why he eventually just tackled Clint to the floor with his heavier and broader body and gave him a taste of his own medicine by tickling his sides until he was crying out defeat amidst his laughing and squealing.

As if something between them would never change.

No matter what happened.