→ I JUST CAN'T SEEM TO MISS.

Clint Barton. Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Ex-Avenger. Hawkeye. All-around great guy. [ CLINT BARTON FOR SOKOVIA RISING. ]

[codenamehavkeye]

xkinney​:

Laura shot him an amused look – kid was pushing it a bit, but she was used to people knowing her father first and then immediately considering her the baby Wolverine. Barton also had that tired, would-rather-be-sleeping attitude that she was used to counterbalancing, and it made falling into banter quite easy.

“Hmm, got it,” she said quietly, studying the map with intent. “If I can catch a scent when I go around that area, I won’t need a copy, but we never know with these possibly occultist mysteries.” Whatever it was, she’d made sure to stay far away unless the experts in that kind of thing said that there was something for her to stab. “They say you’re at your best from up above,” Laura continued, back to the task at hand. “That leaves the ground for me.”

“See, the thing is, I don’t know if it smells like anything?” Clint said, a little awkwardly. “It’s one of those damn—man, I don’t even know. Some kind of inter-planar invisible big boogeyman. I’ve kept my nose out of it because I have enough problems that I can’t deal with, so, you know,” Clint shrugged, scrunching his nose against the early-morning cold (still better than the wintertime) and letting Laura focus on the map. 

“So you can guess how annoying it is that I, yeah, can’t see it. Got a good eye for rabbits, at least,” he said with a smile her way, taking a sip from his thermos. Ah, coffee. “You hunt often? Or d’you use your super-instincts strictly on the field?” 

[codenamehavkeye]

relentlessperplexity​:

Steve shook his head and straightened, both excited at the promise of a would-be adventure and pleased to hear that some things didn’t change.  Those were even games he was fairly decent at, which was good to know. He wanted to try something new, but at least he’d have a skill to fall back on if he made too much of a fool of himself. Which was likely - Steve wasn’t that familiar with the term video (certainly not in the way it was being used) and he couldn’t know that he wouldn’t even have muscle memory to fall back on, his present self not much of a gamer beyond the early iterations that would have been around when he was a kid. 

“Video games sound promising. Are they like Ballyhoo?” That was an old favorite, enough that even Steve knew that term had started to fall out of fashion. So he added, “Pinball” as he started to regather his assortment of snacks. All of those games, Steve of course knew, involved at least some waiting around.

Clint was about to ask what Ballyhoo was, thoughts immediately going to the reggae band (which would have been hilarious, but totally improbable), before the explanation. “Sure,” he agreed easily. “I used to lose hours on pinball as a kid at the arcade,” he said with a hint of nostalgia. He didn’t mention that he’d totally lost hours at it as an adult too, back when it’d been a standard PC game and he’d been laid up with this or that injury. 

“But yeah,” he said cheerfully, plucking a bag of chips off the counter graciously to help out, “You saw the TVs in the rec room? You use them like the screen where all the action shows up, and you play the game through a controller. I’ll even be a good sport and see if we have any flying games to give you the edge,” he said with a grin as they headed towards the rec room, feeling pretty chill, all things considered. “I bet you’ll catch on fast. How old are you in there, by the way? You sound a little younger than the Captain Trevor I’m used to.”

[codenamehavkeye]

chernyypauk​:

….

Natasha couldn’t help but grin as Clint swept her right off of her feet, instinctively bending her knees just slightly as she did to fully lift her heels off the ground. Hands came up to cup both sides of his face, a contented, happy hum leaving her against his lips with half-lidded eyes temporarily sliding to a close. It was easy to lose herself for a moment, to the warm familiar slide of his lips on her own, though she pulled back after just a moment to smile at him. She ducked in again, planting two more pecked kisses on his lips with a light, blissful sigh leaving her.  “I do like to have my way with impossible things,” she mused, reaching up with the thumb of her right hand to gently wipe away a few smears of lipstick she’d left behind. “Like getting you in a suit.” A tease, light and playful in the middle of the lump of emotion she was still trying to swallow around. Her hand then moved to her face, swiping under one eye quickly to wipe away any incriminating moisture that might smear her mascara. “You have a way of making impossible things happen, too, y’know. Like getting me in a wedding dress.” This wasn’t the future she’d seen for herself, not in a thousand lifetimes. Maybe in a dream, far away and …intangible. Not here, right in her grasp with a new weight of a ring on her finger. The pastor was speaking again, the ceremony concluded but – “Speaking of impossible,” Natasha began, before turning to speak to the pastor in Hungarian. She was opening her clutch to pull out a small digital camera and a cell phone (a burner, for this purpose and trip alone) and pass them over. “Photos. At least one. Maybe I’ll get into scrapbooking, in all my free time. Plus, Cap might kill us if we don’t get one.”

It was just like Natasha to try to joke the feelings bubbling up between them away, smiling up at him with shining eyes and lipstick that somehow, magically, wasn’t smeared from their (first married, fuck) kiss. He beamed right down at her without a care, arms still around her little waist and soaking up the sight of her. Funny enough, he didn’t have any jokes to sling for... maybe the first time he could remember in a long time. 

But the pastor stole Natasha’s attention, and Clint could only smile wider as she handed him a camera. “As many as you want, Mrs. Barton,” he teased, because—well, fuck it, he’d actually really liked how it had sounded when they’d been joking earlier, though he’d never expected to. “Though you’re never going to scrapbook,” he pointed out with a grin as the pastor fiddled with the camera and they got into position. “And Cap’s going to kill us either way.” 

Though, after this, he was pretty sure he’d die a happy man. The thought was so disgusting that Clint should have wanted to kick himself, but he was too happy to do anything other than hold Natasha to him as the pastor clicked a picture of them, the witnesses in the pews still clapping lazily. 

There was about a 30% chance this would be all over the news tomorrow. Clint was delighted to find that he didn’t give a single flying fuck.

[codenamehavkeye]

xkinney​:

“Please, I would let you lead upfront and help you from the back, what kind of wingman do you take me for?” Laura continued playfully as they walked together, but Clint’s next suggestion was indeed more reasonable. She nodded with a hum and spared a look his way at the yawn. There was something to be admired in the non-enhanced humans that took part in the Nomads. Peak performance and training compared to a normal specimen, along with last generation gadgets and equipment, but they didn’t have any other personal advantages that could either protect them or make their work in the field easier.

“So we’re shooting Bambi and his mom. Tragic.” Even if actual deers didn’t look nearly as expressive as cartoon ones. “There are more animals around that can spook the others with their noise. Not to mention whatever else is out there… since you’ve been here longer, are there any parts that we should avoid?”

.

“You’re the wingman I always needed, kid,” Clint said with a laugh. She was definitely more pleasant than her old man, he’d give her that—this hunting trip was already off to a better start than the last time he’d gone out with a Wolverine. 

He was going to make a crack about how annoying Bambi and his mom were in real life—the first time Clint had been up close to a deer, the first thing that he’d registered after the big eyes had been the stink—but the question had him humming an affirmative. “Yeah,” he said, reaching into his pack and shuffling around until he pulled out a paper map. Tech was great and all, but he didn’t trust it to not fail. 

“Here, see the areas marked in red?” he said, unfolding it and holding it out. “This might be a couple weeks out of date, but this is the most recent one we got. I like to avoid the red bits by a wide margin. I’ll get you a copy if you want to go out alone at some point, but the radius’s been spreading.” 

[codenamehavkeye]

xkinney​:

Laura didn’t have any problem rolling out of bed at the crack of dawn, ready to go about with her day. She had a pistol strapped to her thigh – could have gone with a rifle, yes, given the purpose of their venturing outside the castle, but she wanted to be able to move freely and she wasn’t likely to use any of the bullets unless she had to cover for Clint from afar.

“I was genetically enhanced for that, so I sure hope it is,” she replied, the quirk of her lips belying the deadpan quality of her voice. “I can get us on the right trail, yeah, what are you in the mood for, today? Wanna take a whole bison back to your Black Widow?”

.

“Somehow I think that the romantic effect would be ruined when she sees you’re one carrying it back to the castle,” Clint replied with a grin, rolling his shoulders before nodding for them to head out. 

The air was crisp in the best way, waking him up just a bit more. Not so much that he didn’t still want to leave the work to the baby Wolverine, though. “But if we could bag a couple deer—a big one for you to carry back and a reasonably-sized one for me—then that should keep the people happy for a good long while and spare us from hunts for a minute,” he noted with a yawn. “These woods are getting creepier by the day. Somehow. You’d think they’d be worse in winter...”

[codenamehavkeye]

relentlessperplexity​:

Steve braved the heat until he couldn’t stand it anymore, heading straight for the refrigerator. He meant only to grab a bottle of the fancy water, but the milk was far too tempting (at least if he ignored the bewildering fact that it came in cardboard - it couldn’t be any worse than armored heifer.). 

“We didn’t have a lot of things.” Steve had yet to decide if this was for better or worse, but so far the discovery process had been just swell and so his voice remained bright as he went through the motions, rifling through the cabinets and pouring himself a glass. He took a nice, big gulp, tried not to look too relieved when he finished, and then popped a chip into his mouth, silently offering the carton in turn. “Hm, not bad. Though I think I might prefer the classics.” Chips. Fries. It’d be a shame if those things went out of style. And not just food either.

“Say,” he snagged another chip, “What do people do to pass the time these days?” He knew about the (colored!) television, but surely that wasn’t the best of what this time had to offer.

Clint wasn’t sure what he’d expected his life to look like back when he’d been starting out in the business, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t been hanging out in a Balkan castle with Wonder Woman’s amnesiac boyfriend between hunts in a kind-of-haunted forest, exchanging snacks and chatting. What a trip. He smiled around the spicy chip.

“That depends on what sorts of things you like to do,” he replied cheerfully. “In my case that’s mostly watching the worst trash TV I can get my hands on or trying to trick someone here into playing darts or pool with me. Though...” A slow grin tugged at his mouth. Why not? The guy wanted entertainment. “Have you tried playing any of the video games set up in the rec room?”

[sakura-haruka]

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff

[codenamehavkeye]

chernyypauk​:

…. The swell of emotion washing over her was not unexpected, considering the setting and the stage, though Natasha still found herself unprepared for it. Talking was not really their thing, and everything they felt was so often unsaid in a comfortable, easy way. Natasha knew that she loved him, knew that he loved her in return, and words were messy. Words were so messy, and despite knowing how she felt and knowing that how much she loved Clint would always ring true, she’d been more nervous than she’d been in years when it came to putting vows together - as luck would have it, the flowed with no hesitation or hiccups, came just as effortlessly as loving him every day did. Blinking away misty vision (because she would be damned if she had smeared mascara for her wedding, even for a moment) and quietly clearing her throat as she reached to open the tiny white clutch she’d collected at a thrift store to match the dress. “My turn again,” she began, voice wavering a little as slim fingers worked quickly to retrieve the ring she’d selected for clint from the velvet box inside - platinum, simple with a beveled outer edge for more of a matte finish, practical considering that was an outright demand in their line of work. It felt heavy in her hand, and she took in a slight and subtle breath as she reached across the small space between them to take his left hand. “I, Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” she began with an easy (if a little watery, still misty despite her efforts), “Natasha Romanoff and everything in between, take you, Clinton Francis Barton,” that grin grew a few degrees warmer, wider, spreading naturally across her face, “to be my husband, my life, my heart. I used to think that love was for children, a fairy tale, and you showed me otherwise. So here’s to our fairy tale,” she slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit, just as she’d intended, “full of explosions, pizza, bad trashy TV and jumping off buildings together until the end of the line.”

Holy shit. The thought echoed quietly through Clint’s mind, threaded through with total disbelief and breathless excitement. Because holy shit, it was actually happening. He’d known that from the start, obviously—they were in the church getting married, after all, weren’t they?—and still, when Natasha pulled out the ring she’d picked for him—

Clint swallowed down some tight-sweet feeling that’d been clogging his throat, hand in Natasha’s as she said her vows and slid the ring onto his hand. He’d said he’d never get married again, wear a ring again, do this whole song and dance again, but for Natasha? His impossible girl? 

Yeah. Yeah. He squeezed the fingers holding his, pulling back when the priest murmured to him. Clenched his hand a couple times to get used to the welcome weight, smiled, and held his right hand out for Natasha’s left as his now-ringed hand slid into his suit jacket to retrieve her ring from the inner pocket: a delicate thing with rounded edges and the thinnest little line of diamonds inset along the top. 

“I, Clint Francis Barton, take you, Natalia Alianova Romanova,” his mouth quirked, the name falling easy off his tongue after over a decade of lessons in Russian, “Natasha Romanoff, and anyone else you ever decide to be, to be my wife. I never thought we’d end up anywhere near here, but I should’ve known better—you always have a way of making impossible things happen, of making things feel real, and I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you. Ride or die, baby.” The ring slid onto her finger, notching perfectly into place. 

Clint didn’t need a translation for the next bit. His arms opened for Natasha when the priest stepped back, and he was smiling into her pretty red mouth as he lifted her off her feet.

[codenamehavkeye]

relentlessperplexity​:

It took some maneuvering, Steve finally just dropping everything on the counter, studying the blue bag with great interest before he passed it over. Ketchup-flavored chips? Wow. They really did make everything now. 

“Boiled -” Steve wouldn’t want to do or say anything that might potentially undercut Captain Rogers, but he also wouldn’t say everything. Well, not unless - “Oh. He must mean Bully Beef.” Meat should not come in a can. Just the memory of the taste was enough to push him towards the nearest snack, in desperate need of a palette cleanser. “And I suppose I did have a lot of cabbage growing up.” But that had more to do with budget, really. 

But to address the observation directly, Steve added: “But it is nice. Having a warm bed and something new to eat.” Rations rarely came in any variety, especially as the war dragged on. And they certainly didn’t have anything with nearly as much flavor packed into the single chip he had just bitten into, his eyes widening, caught off guard by the spiciness of it.

Clint popped open the bag and popped a chip into his mouth gratefully, leaning his hip against the counter and observing the other man. For someone who’d always looked so harried from his notes and the glances Clint’d gotten in the hallways, he seemed younger now. Despite having been in the middle of a war that he’d died in. 

But from what he knew, that was old hat to Captain Trevor, so.

“It’s always the simple things,” Clint replied with a head-tilt and a smile, holding out the chip bag to the other man. “Betting you didn’t have a lot of that where you just came from?” 

[codenamehavkeye]

relentlessperplexity​:

open starter!

Then. 

In the cold frigid months of 1943, Lieutenant Steve Trevor was assigned a seemingly inconsequential mission where he took off with several officers and was expected to land with none after the completion of a HALO jump. Their exact mission? Lieutenant Trevor knew better than to ask questions. Unfortunately, it is suspected no jump was ever completed - like so many others, all aboard disappeared without a trace, soon to be presumed dead. 

This is not the story of what happened to them. 

Now. 

Steve went from fast asleep to wide awake in no time at all, squinting at his - his eyes narrowed further - not his watch, learning that he had slept later than he ever had before (in any of his lives). A quick (but obviously not thorough) survey of his surroundings told him that he was not in the expected cell, but a bedroom. Strange. But he wasted no time on why, clambering out of bed and toward the door. Unlocked. Both surprised and appropriately suspicious, Steve unplugged the nearest lamp, removed the shade, and promptly stomped on the freed bulb after placing it beneath the muffled safety of a pillow. Shade returned, he hesitated only briefly before picking up the biggest shard of glass, too, tucking it under his sleeve. Two weapons. Good. Finally, he ran.

Some hours later.

The Mousehole was loud. In that pleasant, people going about their lives kinda way but also in a way that made his head pound and had him flinching away from the (color!) television anytime something exploded (or the sound simply spiked). Don’t get him wrong, Steve still couldn’t believe his luck - yes, he mostly understood that he had an unusual case of amnesia and that this meant he had not actually done anything revolutionary like time-travel or resurrect, he didn’t even have immortality like Miss Diana. But he was alive, the War over. How could he not count his blessings. 

(This is what he told himself, anyway, when he thought of the friends and family he left behind and all the concerns that he might never develop new memories. Because things, he knew, could be so much worse.) 

Still, it wasn’t long before Steve decided he needed a break and he sought it - just a quick detour to the kitchen where he was inevitably caught for the second time that day with an armful of food.  He smiled, his most charming grin. “You only live -” Well, no, apparently that wasn’t true. For him anyway. And so he shrugged, just catching a wayward bag. “I might not remember to try them tomorrow.” Which really would be unfortunate.

“Hey man, I fully support any and all snacking,” Clint replied with a breezy smile Captain (or not? still? probably) Trevor’s way. He actually only had a vague idea of what, exactly, had happened to the guy whose perimeters Clint’d been minding on his hunting trips over the past too-many-now months—amnesia, yeah, but he wasn’t sure what that meant when someone was, according to Cap, Wonder Woman’s WWI-era beau. 

"Any chance you’re willing to share the ketchup-flavored chips, though?” Clint asked, pointing towards a little blue bag. "You seem to be dealing with everything shockingly well. It’s the food, right? Cap—Rogers—says you guys used to boil everything in the 40s. That true, or is he just playing up the old man thing?”

[codenamehavkeye]

chernyypauk​:

…

“For years, huh?” Full lips curved upwards, amusement dancing across her features and settling into green eyes. “Sounds like you had all your eggs in one basket, Mr. Barton.” It was a tease, but she’d honestly felt the same: somewhere along the line, her love for Clint had become so powerful to her in a way that she’d never known before and in a way she’d accepted she would never fully understand.  Even with her teasing, she was bordering on nervous herself. Nerves were not something that Natasha was much used to, and when faced with unease she was used to pushing right through the other side without giving any anxiousness much thought. This was never something she’d pictured for her life - love, marriage, sharing her life with someone. It had always felt so far out of reach, and yet here she was with her hands in his in the middle of a chapel in a wedding dress.  As the priest continued with the hurried and condensed ceremony, Natasha smiled at Clint and cast him a wink, teasingly mouthing ‘I’m gonna make you cry’ when the priest had turned to her and cued her in for her vows. This was the nerve-wracking part, but just like always Natasha pushed through: “You are home to me, the only one I’ve ever known. I don’t think of four walls and a roof; I think of you, because wherever you are is home to me.”  English was best, even if the priest might not understand but bits and pieces; he didn’t need to, this was for them. “We’ve already seen it all: for better, for worse and everything in-between. I don’t know if we’ll get to grow old together,” that felt less and less likely, with the climate they were navigating, “but I promise to be there for it all. There’s no one else I’d ever want to face the end of the world with, time and time again, through magic and monsters and everything else. You are my heart, Clint Barton, and I promise to love you through anything life throws at us. And,” that smile began again, ghosting across her lips, “I promise to translate everything he said, as soon as we’re done here.”

It was the most natural thing in the world to raise his brows at Natasha’s tease as the priest went on, anticipation bubbling up in his chest. Everything felt unreal, something out of a dream, while simultaneously being the realest thing he’d felt in years. And then Natasha started. 

And, yeah, almost, almost made him cry. Clint had to clench his jaw and blink the emotion away, knowing his mouth was twisting a bit, because—they didn’t really talk like this, not often. It was all just understood. But if there was ever a time to spill everything twisted all up inside their heads...

He huffed a laugh at the way Natasha ended her vows, the good-heavy tension of the moment broken. The priest took a beat to make sure she was done before continuing, saying—whatever it was he said (that Natasha would translate). Before turning to him, and Clint knew it was his cue. 

“When I met you, I thought I’d never be doing this again,” Clint chuckled, nodding his head towards—everything. "And to be honest, even though you were probably the prettiest, smartest, most dangerous little thing I’d ever seen, that didn’t change for a long time. Because I didn’t want to push, and I honestly thought friendship would be enough, because Natasha... You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” And wasn’t that the crux of it? “Before everything else. I’d never known anyone half as loyal, who loves even half as hard as you do, until I met you. And especially not to me. It was like... I couldn’t believe it, at first. That I’d be so lucky. That you’d let me, yeah, find a home in you, and build you one right back. I don’t know if I can promise you that we’ll have this forever, ‘Tasha, or that we’ll ever get to be old, but I can promise it as long as I’m alive. This is it for me. You are it for me. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Right there, covering your six, through the good and the bad.” His mouth quirked, hands squeezing hers. “Can’t wait for a lifetime of blowing things up and trash TV.” 

He turned back to the priest, who said something and motioned to Natasha.

[codenamehavkeye]

riseofthewitch​:

The silence when he thought about it was agonizing like it was stabbing into her skin. She didn’t know what she was going to do if he said no. She couldn’t ask it of Bucky. She didn’t want to plunge him back into trauma just so she could sleep. Clint was strong in a different way from him. 

She didn’t have to think about it too long because Clint agreed just like she’d prayed he would. She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady and helped her breathe better while she held on tight to his shirt. It was easier for her to show her gratitude this way. Saying ‘thank you’ to what he agreed to seemed insane. It wasn’t something she wanted to have to ask him for and the way his eyes got bigger for a minute told her it wasn’t something he wanted to say yes to. He did it anyways though and that was worth more than anything to her. 

The wind was blowing around them and she could feel in her hair as she sniffled and pulled back a little bit. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she said quietly. “But I want to do whatever I have to do. I don’t want to be sent away.” They had grounds to do it and she was aware of that. She was back to trying to prove that she wasn’t just a disaster. “I don’t want Tony to be right about me…”

.

Clint accepted Wanda into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and closing his eyes. Blocking out the stone and the wind and the trees, and focusing on the feeling of the person hugging him, the person he was hugging back. Simultaneously more and less fragile than she felt, in ways that were so much the same and still so different from other people. A spark of warmth there against his chest, one he didn’t want to snuff out. 

Christ, he didn’t want to have to do it. But if that was what she needed...

“I know, Wanda,” he replied quietly, letting her pull back so that they could meet each other’s eyes again. “We’re not sending you away. And Tony wasn’t right. You’re not a nuke, you’re a person. A person making choices even as we’re talking,” he reminded fondly, pulling an arm back to knock a gentle faux-punch against her jaw. “A good person. You hear me?"

[codenamehavkeye]

chernyypauk​:

…

“I thought so, too.” Natasha’s volume was much lower than usual, her hushed stone still echoing around them and against the stone walls. She turned into him at his touch, momentarily tucked into his side as she allowed herself to look around the chapel. “It feels just right.” Natasha had expected to find some justice of the peace or something along those lines to officiate, hadn’t expected to choose a chapel for their ceremony by any means. It was exactly what she wanted, after she’d seen it - small and intimate with scars that told a history, beautiful in a quiet way that became more pronounced when the sunlight hit the stained glass just right.

The place of honor, to the altar directly at the center of the chapel. “Probably should,” Natasha agreed, looping her arm through his and beginning to steer them in its direction. “Hope you’ve got your vows ready. No time for improvising.”

“’Tasha, I think I’ve had them ready for years,” Clint replied—and he couldn’t even find it in himself to wince about saying that kind of shit out loud. It wasn’t romantic; it was honest. Even as they were walking arm in arm down to the altar where the priest was settling in and opening his hands to them in welcome, where a couple scattered people along the pews were turning to look back at them. (Good, they’d need witnesses.) 

No part of this was traditional; no part of this was normal. It was goddamn perfect. 

The stained glass-soaked walk down the aisle seemed to take an eternity and a second all at once. Before he knew it, they were stopping at the altar and turning to face each other while the priest began saying—whatever he was saying, in Hungarian. One of Natasha’s languages, not his. He barely heard it as he stood there holding Natasha’s tiny bone-breaking hands in his and watching the way the afternoon sun made her green eyes glow. 

And then the priest turned to Natasha and said—whatever he said. Clint presumed it was time for her vows, to start.

[codenamehavkeye]

riseofthewitch​:

“I’d like that,” she told him. She rested her head on his shoulder and blew one of her curls out of her face so she could see him better. “I can make more popcorn,” she offered. It would nice to have a night in. She smiled. “Maybe later I’ll look up a recipe for Stroopwaffels.”

Wanda sat up and kissed Clint’s cheek. Old man, she thought with love. Her heart felt warm.

“Well, I’m not gonna say no to that,” Clint said with a grin, laughing and accepting the kiss to his cheek. His hand came up to the back of Wanda’s head and patted through her curls as her head fell back to hims shoulder, the Addams family going through with their shenanigans in black and white almost sixty years ago. Simple, for a moment, when nothing else was. 

It was nice.

[codenamehavkeye]

belyypauchok​:

Yelena grumbled a little. “I could have killed her. Arrogant-” she trailed off, muttering a little in Russian about older sisters and their arrogance. She exhaled a long breath eventually though and turned over his words in her head, attempting to measure a response. “I am not mad at her. I understand.” She started quietly before sighing and shaking her head. “But the Red Room is not a place for a child to grow up and she left me there to do exactly that. That still hurts.”

“Figures. Makes sense. Far as I’ve learned, those kinds of feelings don’t go away,” Clint replied. God. Everything about this trip, watching Natasha and Yelena—his mind kept bouncing right back to Barney, like a fucking boomerang. What it felt like to be left behind, and, yeah, understand why. But never really get over it, anyway. God knew he was still raw, sometimes more, sometimes less, when he ran into Barney. Even if he was pretty sure that his brother couldn’t or wouldn’t kill him. He’d bank on the first, though he’d really like to believe the second. “Think you two’ll ever live in some kind of harmony?” he asked, almost wistful. 

[codenamehavkeye]

riseofthewitch​:

“I’m not going to be out very much. Or around. I don’t want people to look at me and be afraid again. I know they will and I just can’t handle it on top of everything else.” She held out his key to him. “I made a place for myself where I’ll get locked in at night. It should keep my magic inside.” She swallowed and it hurt her throat to try to get around the lump forming there. “But I’m scared,” she forced herself to say. “If I’m not in control all the time. And I have to sleep.” She couldn’t survive without it.

She pushed her lips into a thin and tight line so they wouldn’t wobble. She was crying again and she hated it. She was so sick of crying. Wanda sniffled and then shook her head fast to try to make it so she wasn’t. “Please, stari,” she struggled, reaching for something so personal. It was not a name she called him often and it took a long time for her to say it at all. In many ways Clint felt like the father she lost. He was wise and he was steady. He was older and therefore safer in so many ways because he had lived so much life and so much of it was rocky. He understood, which was more important to Wanda than nearly anything. Stari ran thick and deep. Like he was her blood, but it was more because he chose it and he chose her. He was there when she fell apart into nothing and he didn’t look at her with hate and fear. He saw a person. He saw suffering and didn’t feel repulsed. 

“If I lose control again, will you stop my heart? I cannot be the cause of any more pain.” 

It was not a small favor, but it might be the most important promise she ever asked for.

Clint wasn’t sure about the mechanics of a magic enclosure, but he trusted that Wanda knew what she was doing a hell of a lot better than he did. Still, he reached out for that key, accepting it from Wanda’s hand.

And when she made her request... 

Clint took a moment, brows furrowing, mouth drawing tight. But he didn’t blink, and he didn’t say no, even as the feeling roiled up. No, he didn’t want to potentially have to do that. But. But Wanda was crying, and he remembered what she’d looked like, up on that mountain. What all was lurking in her head. And how hard it must have been for her to ask. 

He thought of Natasha, so long ago, so many triggers. Barnes and his haunted eyes. Wanda, now, and her red-rimmed eyes. She didn’t need him to kill her, not really. She just needed to know that he could, if only to stop her from doing something she couldn’t live with. 

And nodded. “If it’ll make you feel safe,” he replied, carefully. “Help you sleep.”

[codenamehavkeye]

chernyypauk​:

….

“Probably more times than me,” Nat said with a contemplative hum. “I’ve always been intrigued, though.” He’d know that, though - she’d shared that thought before, had brought it up the night before after sharing that she’d found somewhere quiet, private and perfect to share her vows. Natasha had never been religious by any means, had been indoctrined into the world of espionage and assassins rather than that of any religion, but the idea was intriguing; Natasha thought she would never understand how one could put so much faith and belief into something intangible, though there was something she could quietly appreciate about the idea. It made the chapel she’d found for this all the more special, all the more fitting: Natasha may not believe in any deity or high power, though her belief in them and her love for Clint made her understand how much power could be in the unseen. “Another adventure,” Nat confirmed with a smile, ducking in to steal one last kiss before they moved inside. The chapel itself was certainly old and quite small, in disrepair in many ways though it was beautiful in a way that stood out to Natasha. Sunlight streamed in through large window panels, brightening the stone walls and shedding light on the few pews inside. Light catching the stained glass windows at the front of the chapel cast multicolored streams of light onto the stone flooring and walls, blue and green filtering over Natasha’s face as she spoke in Hungarian to the kind-faced man that had been near the altar as they’d stepped inside. “This isn’t exactly a wedding chapel, though he was happy to agree to to it when I stopped in yesterday.” Natasha said once they were left by themselves again, in a quiet voice that still seemed to carry and echo. “He’s squeezing us in between services.”

It was prettier than he could’ve imagined. More fitting, too. Clint wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Nat had told him that she’d found a chapel for them, but this place... felt like stepping into a bit of history. Somewhere a hell of a lot older than either of them, that’d been through hell and back, judging from the paint-scraped walls and the rough stone, but was still standing. 

Yeah. He could definitely get married here. 

“It’s perfect,” he said, rubbing a hand along the small of Natasha’s back, eyes still lingering on the stained glass and stonework before going right back to her. He looked after where the priest had gone, he was presuming to grab a couple witnesses, before offering Natasha his arm and nodding towards the altar. “Wanna wait for him in the place of honor?” He flashed a grin. “You are the lady of the hour.”