Desperately, Bruce needed someone to tell him it was all going to be okay. It wouldn’t fix anything and he didn’t want it to happen but it was a need. He missed his family, someone who’d tell him the hollow words.
When Clint put his arm around Bruce, the scientist curled up tighter, he’d have tensed his muscles but that would have hurt more. None of his injuries could be seen but that didn’t mean everything didn’t hurt.
It takes everything Bruce has to look up at Clint. This isn’t the sad, kicked puppy that Bruce usually is when he’s visible broken. It’s sadness but there’s life and spirit missing. “Yout don’t have to say anything,” Bruce tells him. His throat still sore, his voice cracking. Say it’s okay, say we’re okay. Don’t make me go.
Bruce starts to blink rapidly, trying to hide the building tears. He’s not even sure why he’s crying but he knows not to. “We don’t have to talk, I just want to be here. If that’s okay?”
Okay, so the silent act was starting to look bad ( starting or was it already there...? ). Clint wasn’t good at this sort of thing. In fact, he’s like the terrible sequel you wish was never made when it came to comforting people. Maybe he should start wearing a sign that stated that...? But don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t like he didn’t care. Because he did, especially about the individual beside him. He gives him a squeeze to the shoulder to reassure. He only wanted to spare him from this.
Bruce Banner was remarkable. He had a brilliant mind, sure. But he was also more than just the scientist locked away in his quiet lab; He was funny, braver than an impossible equation on a whiteboard, and he picked who he cared about carefully ( a quality Clint could learn from ). And for some funny reason or another, he chose him. Repeatedly believed in the likes of one Clint Barton.
So why was this terrifying for the archer...? There were no bullets clipping his arms, no robots falling from the sky, no bom-... Why couldn't he just let it out? Say it. Say it, Barton. The words repeat as he stares at the flapping of his lips. He wants to listen. Hear the words of a friend in need and help that dead stare by bringing some life into it. He takes a deep breath and considers his options; Considers the tentative beating of his chest while the nerves over his reaction.
With a heavy breath, he begins to move his hands into the familiar rhythm of his childhood. The method he and Barney practiced in the dead of night and in between the other lessons Barney had given him. The words he is saying are ones of concern. His brows knitted with their worry as he looks over him. But when he finishes, he carefully tilts his head.
"Banner, do you understand?"
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
dededos
