Only God forgives @shatteredwinter-archive-blog - Tumblr Blog

Funnily enough, the concern about their safety which would normally found every moment of his waking self had been absent thanks to the night he’d woken from. Clint was no stranger to nightmares, but lately they’d taken on a much more vibrant twist, incorporating the cell he’d called home for two full months and the faceless men that dropped trays of food just outside the bars. Lukin. He’d dealt with them in silence, reminding himself that this was, in a sense, what James had been dealing with all along; he had no right to complain about it, especially considering his stint hadn’t been nearly as long as James’ had.

But this time the nightmare had set him awake in a flurry of cold sweat, and once he’d noticed that James hadn’t been woken by his panic, he’d gone straight to the thing that had always, during every part of his life, set him to calm and quiet. Alcohol.

So when James responded to the sight of him with anger, irritation— rather than quip a biting remark in reply, Clint unconsciously adopted the presence of a struck puppy, pulling feet underneath the lip of his blanket and hands to the warmth between himself and the couch’s armrest. He didn’t want to fight. There was no reason to fight, anyway; James could be mad, and he had the right. Clint had been stupid.

The worst part was, the alcohol hadn’t even helped like it was supposed to. That’s why he’d kept them coming, one after another. All they’d done was open up the path to memories he’d intended to bury, asking him to turn a scrutinizing eye to their details.

Clint’s blue eyes remained on the floor, unwilling to meet the frustrated look of his partner.

"You don’ want me to talk?"

shatteredwinter-archive-blog

In fact the opposite. James badly wanted Clint to talk to him about anything, everything. Just something to let him know what was going on inside his head, even though James wasn't as talkative in return. Whereas before James knew they could fight and snap and just cool off later, that wasn't possible. There was no where for them to go and neither would dare leave the other. So that left James with that unhealthy sting of alcohol in his nostril and a confusion of anger and worry in his heart. "No... no I do want you to talk Clint but anything you need to say that takes god knows how many bottles of alcohol to loosen your tongue suggests you don't actually want me to know." While he would usually drop down beside him, James respectfully chose the seat across from Clint, eyeing the bottle with distaste despite his own desire to taste the liquid himself. His elbows came to rest on his knee's, favouring one leg due to his injuries and clasping his hands loosely together. "I don't.... I don't understand."

#escriptus #v; the only place i call home

hawksvane-archive

what the hell are you doing?

"Drinking..?"

It was the easiest answer, the first word that made the connection between Clint’s wobbling mind and the tip of his tongue. But there’s also something else, some.. nagging insistence that the answer he gave wasn’t good enough.

The bottle— his fifth so far tonight— was set down on the floor next to the couch he was curled up on. This is what had started the problems the first time and, even as drunk as he was, Clint knew that he couldn’t just leave it at that. Nothing could happen that might push James away. So, instead, Clint pushed himself a bit more upright, leaning heavily against the armrest.

"I needta talk t’ you."

shatteredwinter-archive-blog

That much was obvious. The room stank, James was frustrated that he'd been allowed to sleep for so long and allow Clint to drink himself stupid. They knew how dangerous alcohol could be and he certainly didn't think they were safe enough that they could stand to get wasted. More so the smell was a painful reminder of that night and James would rather avoid it. "How many have you had? You know what I don't want to know. Just...." He was half tempted to snatch the bottle away, yet he understood why Clint was wanting to fall into a stupor and yet they couldn't. It was too dangerous. And if Clint would rather turn to a bottle than him then fine. Was this how Clint had felt all those months ago when James had disappeared to bars? "I don't think you're in any condition to talk.

#escriptus #v; the only place i call home

hawksvane-archive

"No! You can’t die on me now!"

The bullet had been a lucky one. It’d transcended past flesh and organ and the stubborn, critical attention Clint had put on keeping himself safe these past few weeks, his intent of making their finally-peaceful life last.

So much for that; a torn, ragged hole was exposed to the cold European air, the metal projectile having touched angrily at the bottom of his heart.

Maybe it was a blessing that nothing had gone numb just yet; instead the lingering agony made his hands tremble, both trying blindly to put pressure on the wound in his own chest. But the blood was piling onto his fingers and palms and it was slippery and made it seem like he was pressing against air, so of course the confused result was to press harder, harder—

He blinks and James is there, pulling him up into both arms and it should’ve hurt like hell but it didn’t, so there’s a numbness, finally.

He wanted to say something, and it seemed to take ages to part his dry lips, maybe to assure James that it wasn’t that bad, in that snarky, confident tone admit that he was fine, maybe throw a little bit of sarcasm in there to make his soldier crack a frustrated, fond grin.

He says “blood” instead and it colors his teeth and tracks down his chin, bringing with it a hopeless sound of resignation.

#v; the only place i call home #-dies-

gryffindor-eternal-deactivated2

reblog this if you’re emotionally compromised by bucky barnes

thearrowfell

how strong are you now?

hawksvane-archive

"I mean me. As a nurse. You fantasizing about actual nurses now?" They were finally reaching the non-residential buildings of the tiny little European town and an odd discomfort was settling in on Clint’s bones despite the protective presences of both Amna and James. His gaze scaled the taller buildings around the street, looking for signs of soldiers or suspicious sets of eyes.

Amna continued to walk in her gentle way, tugging only just enough on the leash to keep them moving forward in their innocent trip. Clint had to keep her leash wound lightly at his elbow to prevent it from causing further damage to his broken wrist, and it was as though she knew that acting like an excited pet would do more harm than good. Still, she held a strangely-intelligent sense of authority in her steps and passerby, who might normally ask to pet such a beautiful, healthy dog, instead chose to keep their distance.

They arrived at the pharmacy, the first destination on their short little list, and Clint gave Amna the command to sit— and protect, though this command remained unnoticed by anyone but their merry little band— and she obeyed, allowing him to let go of the leash and trusting her not to move from that spot until they came back out for her. She received a loving pat on the head and Clint was leading James inside, still hand-in-hand with his soldier. “Me, too. Food next, then, so we don’t collapse while shopping.”

shatteredwinter-archive-blog

"Do you really want me to fantasise about you being my sexy nurse? Because I will, especially in red stockings and a sexy little nurse outfit that rides up when you bend over," he smiled and for those few, split seconds he forgot all about the pain. Just because they were being normal, even if it was brief. The tension was infectious, the riding buildings, smaller spaces, darker alleys; all details catching James' eye and he'd be happy to leave tonight if not for a drastic lack of sleep they were both suffering. He moved closer to Clint, as close as he could get with his limp, eyes darting and scanning and yet still taking time to linger on his family. How Amna seemed just in tune with them as they needed and yet he was still slightly unhappy that he hadn't gotten to check Clint's wrist even though he knew it would be fine. Coming to a stop he couldn't hold back the sign of relief. "Times like this I wish I could wear a dress," he grimaced, reaching down as far as he could to run metal fingers through Amna's fur before following Clint into the shop. "Cheeseburger. Or bacon. Something thick and greasy and tasty and everything we've been denied for the past.." James puffed out his cheeks as he tried to count but Clint would know. His grip tightened a little, here was something Clint had over James. While Clint could be normal, James stole rather than bought, cheated and scammed rather than buying from a store and he didn't trust the people in here simply because they were people.

#escriptus #v; the only place i call home

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