Finally writing my 616 verse up. Most 616 centric comics up from Clint's original appearance in the 60s up until the 2016 era of comics are canon and then from 2016 onwards, we start going heavily canon divergent from Civil War 2 and after. Instances of my 616 verse are specific and separate between rp partners, each post, and ships but some things remain always canon.
-> CW2 is handled very different and leans more into Government/Corrupt Politicians versus Superheroes. Clint does kill Bruce Banner, he does go on trial, and his reasoning is a lot more personal to himself and his long friendship with Bruce Banner; no one but Bruce and him truly know why he did it.
-> Occupy Avengers is vastly divergent, but the team of Red Wolf, Clint Barton, Nighthawk, Tilda, and Wheels going around solving problems does happen.
-> We ignore Secret Empire's existence (unless stated otherwise)
-> Kate's West Coast Avengers does happen but is vastly different, the Kate's mom stuff is zilch, and it does not get its own headquarters built; Kate eventually disbands the team.
-> Carnage event with Clint, Cap, Spiderman, Logan, and Thing does happen.
-> Hawkeye: Freefall is canon and mostly untouched in changes made
-> Events of Freefall majorly affects Devils Reign.
-> Thunderbolts 2022 is largely changed that should it even count as happening? Clint is not leader of this TBs, but he is on the team
-> The jury is out on Black Widow & Hawkeye (2024), but signs point to non-canon or heavily divergent.
-> The rest of this post is detailing the this blog canon-divergent events from 2016 comics to 2022 comics.
Following the events of his acquittal for the killing of Bruce, Clint Barton goes on a long trip across the country. He travels from state to state, bar hopping, and trying to solve every day problems of average citizens. He ends with small team of lost souls along the way. His roadside hero days end when Kate Bishop calls for his help in setting up her own West Coast Avengers. Eventually, the call comes in for him to help Captain America with a crisis which lands him back in New York, which he had been staying away from.
This goes poorly as the city has changed, such as Wilson Fisk is now mayor. New York and what has happened to Superheroes is a big trigger for him, and it leads to excessive drinking and vigilantism. The pardoning of a known crime boss he had just busted leads to Clint starting guerilla warfare, while masked as Ronin himself, against the Hood. After his defeat of the Hood, Clint flees New York ago and goes on another soul searching journey, now a pariah amongst many of his friends.
Leaving NYC, his Avengers card, and cutting himself off from everyone due to what comes out about him after Freefall. He goes back to bar hopping across the country, feeling ashamed, lost, questioning how far was too far, what was worth it, and waiting out the end of Mayor Fisk's time in office. While in Ohio, Clint gets kicked out of a bar for disorder, and ends up crashing his motorcycle in a farmer's field in the middle of the night. When awakens, he's still hungover and hurt. Clint ends up in the hospital and refuses to contact anyone about this. This is his bottom, evident he has an alcohol problem. He ends up listening to a nurse who suggests he seek help, check out aa or rehab, and confront the fact he's an alcoholic. Any of this time, is not something that Clint talks about but it leaves to him returning to New York.
Things have hopefully cooled down in the City, moved on from his Ronin stunts and Clint's trying to fix his life, cut back on drinking, go sober (he's barely managing four months), and make a real change with himself. Make amends with his friends, with the Avengers, and find his place back in superhero society. Luke Cage is now mayor and offers him a way to do superheroics by the book as being part of the reclaimed NYC Thunderbolts, in hopes to repair New York's relationship with superheroes.
After a relapse early on with his new Thunderbolts team and a very heavy phone call with Bobbi, Clint attempts going sober fully again and this time with help. Present day Clint is struggling still with everything, trying to get back on good diet and workout routine, manage sobriety and self care, as well as battle with the internal war of his feelings about being on a super team and pondering if street level vigilantism may be his path in life now, and making amends with his friends and the avengers.
As his life is officially on track in his opinion, sober and reconnected, Clint will first be made a reserve member of the Avengers, than part of the Avengers Emergency Response Squad, with desire that he be on the roster for the main team.
Thunderbolts (2022) goes as follows, and the aftermath.
He has been attempting to go sober, he's had a few relapses and has almost given up a few times, his longest stretch and it'd the one he is on now is five and a half months
He was recruited for the Thunderbolts after several rejections from trying to start a new team or move back out to the west coast
Even after the months and time he has dedicated to the Thunderbolts, he still has not felt that it is his team or that they are doing anything meaningful and he has been an unhappy "leader" om probation
TBolts 2022 did a shoddy job with the whole PR centric team and in general, it'd a short read with poor attempts at call backs and does not treat clint with respect. So in taking inspiration some other comic events and media at the time\.
Roxxon is the parent company of the PR agency that Mayor Cage is using for the Thunderbolts. Helen is a very good PR manager, and perhaps doesn't realize, that Roxxon owns her agency, as Roxxon is generally a corporate evil and anti superheroes, Roxxon had funded the Underage Hero Welfare Act which wasn't a good thing, as it genuinely arrested children / young heroes and vigilantes and put them in "schools" and mistreated them and attempted to brainwash them.
Based on that, you imagine the idea of if Marvel had given Tbolts 2022 an actual plot and cared about the team, if they had perhaps taken an angle like introduce Roxxon since in past few years, it seems we are gearing towards a crossover wild Roxxon takedown event (Tony's new run is literally going to be Roxxon-Stark war. Thor's run has Roxxon trying to slander Thor to the public)
Additionally, consequences for Clint's actions, he truly does not own the Bed Stuy building anymore and it's one of his biggest regrets. He does not live in Bed Stuy anymore, his new apartment is a two bedroom in a different neighborhood in Brooklyn arranged by Tbolts PR Manager, Helen, who happens to have a key by the way (canon fact).
The combo of asking Carol's advice and her becoming his sponsor (@ / danversiism) along for the fact, and reconnecting with Tony (@ / transistorized), Steve (@ / anecdotist), and Kate (@ / purplearchcr), has lead to Clint really trying these days, and always managing to get back go sober because he likes being sober after his slips, as well as it has led Clint to opening his eyes with how dissatisfied with the state of the Thunderbolts.
Tony ( @ / transistorized ) whom Clint has since asked for help from and announced he wants to be an Avenger again and is in the process of quitting the Thunderbolts, once he gets out the contract he signed but didn't necessary scruntize over details. Additionally, Tony has been kind enough to offer to help Clint out by moving him out of the apartment Helen set up for him, allowing him to move into an old brownstone he still has (since your pr manger/boss having keys to your apartment is a red flag). Clint has goals of regaining the deed to his Bed-Stuy apartment and resuming his landlord duties with another sizable favor from Tony.
After quitting the Thunderbolts, he is on the reserve team and later emergency response squad, with hopes for main roster spot.
In Summary
-> Clint's sponsors are Carol & Tony, he's sober and going on a year sober soon
He is quitting the Thunderbolts, focusing efforts to be Avenger worthy
-> He has moving into a vacant brownstone Tony owns
-> He's reconnecting with people such as kate bishop ( @ / purplearchcr ) , steve rogers ( @ / anecdotist), as well as making new connections ( cass aka @ / spiderz0mbie ). Clint's in his recovery and redemption era.
-> Lucky is with him most of the team instead of Lucky being with Kate; the dog has been trained by him after all to be a disability aid (hearing dog), given Lucky tends to let him know when someone at the door as well as helps him feel secure in his home (dog will alert to intruders if he is sleeping) or comes with him on when he goes out in the world without his hearing aids in
-> Clint has three therapists in total since trying to put his life back together, manage his depression and adhd, cope with his trauma, and stick to sobriety. The first one was Lynette, who eventually he had move on from, a second one who shall not be named because he was not a good fit, and this third, most recent one is Johanna.
This is in general the details I am working with when I write with everyone, and is my main 616 setting and plotlines I am developing or have had an increased interest in writing. So if you see these mentions in other threads, now you know. i am multiship, but this is the default and general details i will follow.
[ hold ] one muse cradles the other’s face between their hands ground them.
// Make it Linda holding his face pls maybe?
@thefleetsfinest -> here's that into darkness thing we were talking about
Where to begin with the past several ⸻honestly, she hasn't been keeping track of the time and in the following days, Linda would come to find how short a time that everything had happened.
From apprehending a man, three hundred years old, to the Enterprise being fired upon; it happened in rapid succession one thing after the next thing after the next. Lives lost, that's the most important sticking fact to her. Linda had been scared along with everyone else, but she knew her role and the face she had to wear. A brave face, stepped right up and she had been intensive situations before.
When the ship first arrived, transporter and shuttles being used to land on the planet. Precautions taken, protective equipment worn and masses of people getting sick, dying. The first week were the roughest, assessment of a situation that was worse than the initial information that they had received. It was awful, made her feel ill and shed tears in the one moment alone she'd find.
They helped people, that's what a hospital ship was for. Helping, bringing supplies, relief and aid. Crisis. Linda's proven to herself that she could handle that, after so many years of medical school and training, and she knew she could. When she had been there, it really had tested her.
The Captain didn't die there nor had there been a three hundred year old war criminal and an Admiral who gone so far with what he had done. Linda was sure when the shock wore off for everyone there will be reports and all the sort of stuff that even before she considered Starfleet, stuff Linda hadn't cared for. The talk, all the bureaucracy of everything. It wouldn't be at the top of her concerns, that would go to the Chief Medical Officer. There would be a funeral after for everyone lost.
Linda's already got the number in her head, or at least a guess from before they were even pulled out of the Enterprise after it was all over. She knows her people, knows the ship crew and size. It's not hard to keep Help coming, taking accounting and the count was one less than what it was The Captain, something that may have felt sort of him playing at being a god; that's one of the things that any medical professional all secretly thought they could play at, when it came to saving lives and Chief Mccoy had done it. He had played god, and it was remarkable. Her eyes couldn't look away from him.
Khan's blood had done it, revived a dead tribble and the Captain's only had just died. Livor mortis sets in at twenty minutes, that had been the window of time that felt like a miracle. Tribble starts breathing and brain function was first to save, the heart could be fine for up to an order and the heart valves for a day. She was able to work with that when Dr. Marcus and Chief Mccoy had put Jim Kirk in cryo to preserve what function was there.
That had been rush, she's not even sure how many hours had gone by once they had Khan, and begin transfusing blood. She had a hand in this, father wrote the modern book on hearts published multiple journals about congenial heart diseases, she was keeping an eye on the Captain's heart, made sure it was pumping properly as the blood transfusion had began. Carol Marcus and Leonard Mccoy worked on everything else while she was the monitor.
THE CAPTAIN LIVES. A miracle, and she's sure now that they had him in a hospital bed. Lungs breathing and brain function appearing present. The blood had left Jim heavily irradiated, and he's been out cold but alive. It's incredible, and her eye haven't left Leonard. They had already been looking, before he played a god, before any of this. Her eyes have been on him, chest went incredibly tight when they knew that Jim had died, watched the way that he went tense; held himself together and than dropped down at a bench, the bench with the tribble.
She couldn't move, shared that moment of silence with everyone. She had been attending to a crewman, she couldn't recall who, but her eyes had went to Leonard and watched him hold his face in his hand. His friend had just died, and he hadn't been there. Linda had watched, pinpointed the moment as the tribble began breathing how his mind had begun to work. Eureka in those blues as he runs a test, as he makes the order to get Kirk into a cryo pod. She had been monitoring those.
Preserve as much brain function, had to be fast and Linda's still watching him. Kirk's in coma, but he's alive and going to recover. There's much to worry about him still, irradiated cells and blood pumping through his body; that puts his heart on overtime, there was so much that could still go wrong. There is that chance that he won't wake up, or an unforeseen neurological change within Kirk when, if he wakes up.
It was four days post, and it's catching up to him. There's something tight between his shoulder blades as he's monitoring the Captain. Linda notices how he had been dry swallowing, jaw clenching and she can guess at a grinding of his teeth. She's aware that he hasn't had a moment alone, reports and talk, being in here to monitor Kirk himself. Linda knows why he does that, long chat about anything and everything. Jim was his best friend, and he put himself at risk and died. Revival wouldn't matter.
I can keep watching him, and she would continue monitoring him. There's nothing to update, his body was healing. He lived. She takes over, or tries to when she can. Enforce that she won't work under the Chief if he's not taking any care of himself. Linda doesn't know what he does when she stands in the door way and refuses him to entrance. As the days drag on to two weeks, Linda knows she's wearing herself thin but she's holding on better.
It's nothing to comparable like anything before, but she's had experiences and someone had to. It's as it reaches two weeks, and Jim Kirk wakes up, that Linda is certain he's not sleeping. That was already a given, but he's really not doing well. Jim's awake, and than there's something, as they were both leaving for the evening. Linda knows not to presume how someone will react to anything. Heart transplant, and the young woman excited to have a new lease on life comes back one month later sobbing for the heart to be ripped put and left with a dead heart.
His best friend was alive, awake now, and he seems defeated, heartbroken. Linda tries to say something, call him back. Hey Chief, you, uh, and she chokes on that. Try to get some sleep, Mccoy, I mean it. She was really worried about him, should have just said that. Admit that she watches, pays attention, and he's her friend. Close friend, possibly her best friend on the ship. She should have just aid that, she's shown the concern before but come on, Carter. She knows that her noticing him was more.
It's hours later, and Linda's gotten sleep and she's his friend, call him or better yet he told her where's his apartment. She's up early, way early enough that it makes it an odd hour, most people don't show up at seven am but they knew each other's sleep schedules. He'd be awake and he'd appreciate good coffee.
That's how she ended up in front of his San Francisco apartment, and he does answer to her. AND THE SIGHT OF HIM ⸻ Oh, he was drunk, not just hung over but like he still was nursing a drink. There really had been something bothering him, whatever it was after Jim had woken up. ❝ I'm guessing you're hoping that I had brought an Irish coffee. ❞ She comes in, won't let him take back opening the door to her.
❝ I don't mind the state or the mess. ❞ She's in, and he was sad; must've been mulling over something all night.
Cursory glance around the place, mostly searching for what was his poison was. She takes in the little kitchen, the living room with the bookshelves. Another time, maybe she could browse them and take her pick of things. Really, what she was doing was looking for his poison. One large bottle, and a glass sitting to be filled. There's maybe less than half of the glass worth left. It's got to be a strong proof, and he was going to have one hell of a hangover that was not going to be polite with him.
Linda knows that this was heavy to be dealing with, and she's got to weight her options with him. Decides, however, that he was done at least and one more was only going to make him hurt him. She goes to pour the final glass, and drinks it herself. It's not to show off, but she finishes off the rest in a go. ❝ You don't have the worst taste but there is better whiskeys. ❞ A soft muse, poor attempt at humor she knows. Linda knows her liquor, ❝ Poker with ol' pops, no Doctor Carter in this family wasn't going to not know the good drinks from the bad drinks. ❞
She explains, just to be talking and show that it was okay. She was here, and she wasn't going anywhere; no judgements either. Linda sets the glass down, next to the coffees and leaning down, reaches to take off her shoes. ❝ Come on, floor time, no saying no. Indulge me. ❞ Linda goes to get water instead, because coffee wasn't the trick to countering alcohol consumption. It was the trick to hiding alcohol consumption.
He'll know what that means, over the year they've been working together and they'd end up in his office, sitting on the floor. Shoes became optional, once they felt like were friends and Linda admitted while her shoes were comfortable she rather have them off. So floor time, no shoes, and they'd just sit and talk. Take a moment to just be before they were back to work. It's their thing, what she'd do for a friend.
She moves the coffee table away from the couch to make room for them on the floor. Sits herself in front of his couch, back against it than pats the spot directly next to him and looks at him expectantly. Come on, she's his friend and she's watched him for two weeks wear himself to the. . . . the bone; she knows his nickname, the pun wasn't intended. There's concern on all fronts, but Linda wasn't letting her friend continue or be alone.
They sit, just quiet for a moment and she just focuses on her breathing. ❝ So, that was a lot, sweeping it under the rug? ❞ She starts, trying to speculate perhaps where some of this was coming from. ❝ Christ, I am doing alright or I will be, will be okay again after some time. Nothing like what I've worked under before. ❞ She starts with herself, just talks and tell him about the rush of the day it was, along with the lead up. Admits she was scared, worried for him a lot of it.
❝ First week on planet, the masses. . . . Fifty patients about every nurse and doctor; thirty eight of those first fifty under my watch died. ❞ She's talking about her last ship she had been aboard, giving him some context for where he was at with her feeling. How she handled everything there. She had lost fellow nurses and doctors too, who got infected but that wasn't admitted. Linda will tell Leonard everything he wants to know anytime, about her past assignment or more.
This time, it all happened so fast and they lost crew mates and friends. Linda talks about that, how she may won't feel the effects until a few more days later and the ship; their home for the time was in dry dock for colossal repair. Talks about herself, and perhaps she shouldn't when Leonard is drunk. It just might help, to know she feels it all too.
Linda knows he's drunk, knows there's the chance he's maybe not going to remember parts of this. Aware of his state, but he's alone and he needs a friend; and Linda's concerned for him. So she's hear, and talking. She notices how he was leaning into her, seeking physical contact, and she turns to him. Gives him something more, connection as well, to see in her eyes.
Her hand goes to cup his cheek, hold his face and really look him in the eyes. Thumb brushes slowly, barely skimming over his skin. Her face displays the fullness of her concern, of her care, her best friend since meeting him on the Enterprise. ❝ Hey, hey ⸺ you can let yourself breath, and feel, and you can rest. ❞ She tells him, her lips a part and she means that.
Hopes that she was reaching him, and she has a thought. ❝ He woke up, you saved him and he saved everyone, than died. You weren't there for that, but you were there to save him and he's awake cause of you. ❞ Pure speculation, and she'll admit to that. ❝ You saved your friend, Leonard, that's enough. ❞
Linda continues to hold his face, thumb still moving so slowly over its place. ❝ Talk to me, how I can help you, Chief, I really worried about you and please, tell me what upset you today. ❞ She pleas, and waits and than she listens. Continue to hold his face, or hug him and be his friend. SHE LISTENS WHEN HE TALKS, EVERY WORD, AND DOESN'T LOOK AWAY UNTIL HE WANTS HER TO.
Her hand doesn't stray from his face, and she knows, she knows, she knows. But he's drunk, and this was just friends. That would be okay for Linda. Eventually, they will get up and leave the floor, his apartment. When that happens, Linda presses her thumb gently into skin and rubs again. ❝ Hey, you slipped and this is one hell of a hangover to have, but Leonard? You got through it, in a terrifying time and you did something incredible, and we can talk about that too. ❞
There's a lot of ethics brushed on there and thoughts, she liked their debates and slow day philosophical wanders. Adored those times, and she had so many thoughts about what he had did. There is the god topic, and than seeing how he worked, how he saved hiss friend. A lot to discuss. Later, that's all for later.
❝ You were strong than, and you'll be strong again, and with help if you ask for it, which I am right here, you're my best friend and of course, I'd help you ⸻ speaking of hell hangovers, you're getting water, doctor's orders, and we're gonna go eat now. Doctor's orders too. ❞ Linda's assuming he'll ride the hangover out, instead of curing it medically. Thumb brush one more time, than she's up to get him more water to drink. AFTER THEY'LL GO EAT.
“So whooooo wants to stop me from goin’ to le supermarché and buyin’ a whole bag full of cheap booze?”
“Ahahaaa, someoneeeee please thwart my fall off the wagonnnn, this! Is me officially begging! Tie me down! Offer me a potato chip! Have me smell some flowers! Kiss me, for fuck’s sake, just stop me! I’ve put on my shoes! It’s serious now!”
“I never thought that I would relapse. You know, I was... I was actually happy. You know, I was doing really well for a long time, and... you know, the only reason that I took a drink was because I felt like everyone was leaving me. You know, I had... I had been there for everyone else, and... suddenly, I just didn't matter to them.”
Do you think we will see Klaus relapsing in s3 concerning drugs and alcohol?
Yes! I do. I do think they'll be in the hotel, so either he'll be wanting to and he'll be frustrated that he can't, or the hotel will provide them in some way. Alternatively, the frustration will lead him to an alternative addiction to his powers. We shall see, though! But it seems to me that they want a relapse storyline for him, which makes sense with the comics.
this happens during the Facility years, prior to any other lou + mal content i’ve posted.
[content warning: very frankly discussed alcoholism and relapse, a not-so-sensitive loved one reacting to those things, negative self-talk. could read as a fight between intimate partners, although the relationship is platonic at the time]
-
"Lou, wait," Mal calls after her as she charges forward. Lou's small but fast. He's tripping over leaden feet, gait wide and long just to try and catch up with her "Lou, stop. I can explain"
She doesn't slow down as he falls in line with her steps. Just surges forward, eyes on fire.
"Can you? Or are you just going to give me another excuse?"
"It's not like that, I swear"
"Pretty hard for it to be like anything else, don't you think?"
"I didn't think you were going to come"
And she does stop then, wheeling around so fast that he has to take a couple steps back not to knock into her. Her face is contorted in the mockery of a smile. Bitter and incredulous
"That's not an excuse!” she says, almost laughing with the ridiculousness of it “That's not a reason! What, did you think it'd be okay because nobody would find out?"
He knows it's meant to be rhetorical but he’s kind of giving an embarrassed half-shrug before he knows what he’s doing and the laughter on Lou’s breath dries up, dies, rots into a snarl.
“Fuck, Mal that's worse," she spits at him "You get that right? You get how that's worse?"
The embarrassment is churning in his stomach as she talks. Turning into shame and guilt and frustration and irritation that she's blowing this out of proportion.
"No, it's not… it's not like that"
"Then what is it like? What is it fucking like because I don't understand"
"I just… Look, it was just a bit of fun. I wasn't… It wasn't like…"
The longer he tries to think of something that'll get her to stay and understand that it wasn't that bad, the less he can think through the tipsy fog in his head. She pounces on the hesitation.
"It wasn't like what? Wasn't like last time? Wasn't like you weren't in control?"
He doesn’t have anything to say. It's just shame and guilt and frustration and irritation.
"These fucking people, these...”
A rare glint of anger ricochets around Mal’s heart, “You mean my friends?”
The look she gives him is one part fury, two parts derision “None of these assholes are your friends”
“You don’t even know them”
“I don’t need to. They’re buying you booze like it’s fucking apple juice”
“Yeah, because it’s my-”
“Five months, Mal,” she barrels on, not caring what he has to say, not caring for his opinion on this because why the hell would she? It’s not like this could possibly be about him “Five months and you just threw it away for some stupid party”
And there’s something about that that breaks him.
"You know what, Lou? Yeah. I did,” he spits “You wanna know why? Because it is my life. Not yours”
The drink is pushing him sideways into something he doesn’t want to be. Something mean and bitter and pessimistic but really, under all of it, isn’t that who he is anyway? Isn’t that who he always arrives back to?
“I'm never gonna change Lou. Alright? Not the way you want me to. Not the way you’re waiting for. So you can either get over yourself, come inside, and have a good time for once in your life, or you can piss right off"
There’s only a microsecond where he can see her heart breaking behind her eyes. Then she nods. Decides the latter.
"Lou, wait," he says again, hoping to buy some time as he bounds up to her – God she’s quick – reaches for her shoulder, "Lou-"
Lou turns around on her heel, fast as a whip and with arms twice as strong and as he's falling backwards he feels the energy from her influence hit him as well. Before he even hits the grass, his mind isn’t his own.
Usually, when Lou reaches out and into his head, it's like a siren call. It's like the ocean coming into shore, gently suggesting that the shells and the rocks and the sand should come back home and join the seafloor. It’s gentle and curing. Almost relaxing. And you give into it willingly as she turns you out and makes you new.
This time it hits him like a freight train. As soon as one carriage passes another one is ready and waiting to hit him again and again and again and again and again and again and-
She finds the guilt first, because it's there and waiting like it always is, and violent as a tidal wave, she hurls it forward.
She hauls up the long nights and the just one then and the whiskey in the morning coffee and the pounding head and the dry mouth and the yeah, just one more why not and the spinning floor and the blood aching thirst and the if you're buying, mate and the sure, just one more just one more just one more just one m-
And then she's found the next thing. The deeper things. The hurt. The grief. The time he'd left her stranded at the hospital because he'd drunk through until 5AM and forgotten it was her home day. The time she spent the night rinsing vomit out of his hair while he sobbed apologies into the rim of the bath, only to have him disappear again the next night. Every dollar he’d stolen from her wallet and lied about. Every time she'd turned him on his side so he wouldn't choke in his sleep.
And then she's found the next thing. The deepest thing. The thing she was looking for in the first place.
The time he’d sold his bike to help make bond on her first apartment. The time he’d fessed up to vandalism he hadn’t even been around to commit just so the cops didn’t look at anyone else too close. The time he’d given up a round of T to some younger kid in the halfway house, ‘cause he decided they needed it more than he did that month. Every nah don’t worry about it, I’ve got you covered. Every of course I’ll be there, just let me know what you need. Every I’ve got you, man, it’s okay. Every I love you. Every I’m here for you. Every I’m proud of you.
All the worst parts. All the best. All the shit he never wants to look at because if he looks at it, it just hurts.
He’s not good like that. He’s not kind like that. Trying to pretend like he is just hurts and hurts and hurts.
"You're the best of us, Mal,” Lou says, as he swims back to the surface. The tears in the back of her throat are hanging from every word, threatening to drop “You're meant to be the best of us. And I thought…"
She doesn't finish the sentence because it doesn’t matter what she’d thought. It doesn’t matter what she’d hoped. He’d let her down. Again.
"I'm sorry," he says and it's useless and empty and not enough and it falls to the ground in between them like a dead thing. Lou scoffs and doesn’t look at him. He tries again, “I’m sorry”
"No you're not, you're just drunk"
The words sting like a slap and he can’t look up, he can’t look at her, he can’t push himself off the ground. He’s drunk and he’s sick and he’s let her down. Again.
A small silver-wrapped package lands in his lap with crinkled corners and too much tape.
“Happy fucking birthday, Mal,” Lou says, grabbing for her helmet "Call me when you've sobered up"
He wants to say her name. He wants to call after her. He wants to grab her and apologise and explain and promise he’ll do better.
But he doesn't.
And she leaves.
He doesn’t even move until he’s heard her bike start up, and heard it tear away. Even then he just sits there, slumped, staring down at the little package in his hands, not sure if it's even worth opening.
When he does, he nearly breaks in two.
He stays there on the hill, crying loudly, for the best part of an hour, ignoring the passersby. Ignoring his buzzing phone, mates asking where he’s gone to. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t the first night he’d up and vanished mid-celebration. It probably wouldn’t be the last.
He knows it's embarrassing, kind of distantly, sobbing violently by the edge of the car park like this. But he doesn’t care. He’s drunk and he’s sick and he’s sad and he feels like he’s just lost everything.
He kind of has.
He curls his fist around the six month sobriety chip. It’s a week too early and he’s already proven it wrong but that’s okay.
Maybe he could be forgiven for holding onto a lie for a little while.
Maybe he can just keep holding onto it until he’s got enough in him to prove it true.
But not right now. Right now he goes back to the assholes that aren’t his friends and no one asks where he’s been, they’re just happy to see him. No one asks if he’s okay, they just buy him one more.
Just one more, mate. Just one more, just one more.
He’ll be better tomorrow, he’ll be better next week.
listening to christmas music alone thinkin abt how i relapsed like fully and how i wish i could feel worthy enough to restart my recovery journey but i know tomorrow is going to be painful due to behaviors from today and that just sucks
There are exactly five thing in life that absolutely crushed him, that had crushed him and changed the directory of his life. Unfortunately for him, those were not the end all or the be all of everything bad in Clint Barton's life. When he was born, he got the short straw in the draw of life. THE WORST POSSIBLE HAND ⸻ and he'd love to know what if there was something more ironic than the fact that Clint knew how to rig about a dozen card games and he still wound up with the worst hand.
Those five things were as follows in particular order ⸻ the loss of his and his wife's unborn son frankie, the divorce between him and bobbi morse, his own brother barney telling him that he may as well die like their father had with a bottle in hand, the crash landing and loss of the enterprise, and lastly most presently important the almost realized fear of losing peter b parker.
In the most recent years, and holy hell how long has it been, almost five years; that there had been two things working for him, one of superior importance; the fact he has managed to succeed at being on a star ship and next; the color that came back into his life after he had been rubbed raw, where his metaphorical vision saw grey and lacking. PETER B. PARKER WAS COLOR.
He had been managing on his own, as best he could to get through his years at the Starfleet Academy; he had got accepted and passed entrance exams (despite that feeling he was a phony, not wanting to be there out of starlight and adventure but out of spite to stick it to his brother that he would not die at bottle and he could do the starship thing too barney barton).
Those first years were a challenge, the hardest challenge as he was trying to scrap himself from the rock fucking bottom alone. Clint almost lost it all multiple times and he knows there had been some with more compassion because of his potential; because there were unique skills that he brought with him (he hate to owe it to his childhood, to how he grew up, and to his time as a performer).
AND THERE HAD BEEN PETER. He had met him when he was off the straight and narrow; a weekend lapse after managing four months without but thins had ben starting to stick more than before. It's a disease, a disease that he had known before he tasted with his own tongue. The lapse had last less than a month, one of the shorter stints and it was starting to stick.
( no longer had he been alone too. a friend turned love, found in peter who had become everything to him. everything. )
It had been a longer time that IT had stuck, years at the last where his hand didn't touch a bottle and his lips didn't touch a glass; personal poison not filling his stomach. HIS HAND IS SHAKING AS HE APPROACHES THEIR QUARTERS. It had been a long time.
The rub, the goddamn rub of where the spot stained, was this. There was a sixth soul-crushing addition to his list. THE REBORN ENTERPRISE WAS FULLY OPERTIONAL; A NEW MISSION ALREADY SET COURSE. THEY WERE FLYING.
As the days turned to weeks abroad a starship, the starship, and when he gazes out from the helm and sees the vast emptiness. IT FILLS INSIDE HIM. A gnawing, incessant fear that filled him and was in every corner.
He may have been cleared, but that was when they were on the ground and when he had been attending to Peter, had been going through therapy and holding it together. HARD DAYS AND HE HANDLED THEM. He got through, didn't drink, but now out in the stars?
The fear came back, with a vengeance and every day was hard, harder than the last and all he could do was hide it. HE WASN'T SLEEPING. He got good at faking that, the first few weeks. He was a liar, a phony, a fraud and he couldn't keep going on not sleeping.
IT ALWAYS STARTS WITH ONE ⸻ and he slips. . . . and when he slips? It never ends with one. The first few days, it's only a taste, one bottle nicked from someone else and hoping they blame their friend (they did) and it was just a taste, something to mellow the senses. SLEEP A LITTLE.
⸻ IT NEVER ENDS WITH ONE.
Here he was, wanting to drain the whole thing because it was felt temporarily good, and the fuzzy feeling wanted to lull him into the belief that it was worth it and good. Years sober and clean would say otherwise. HE SHAKES AS HE ENTERS AND PETER WAS STILL UP. WHAT WAS HE DOING THAT?
The light in the room, despite it's brightness dimmer than that out in the hall, feel BLINDING, BURNING, AND PETER LOOKS A SORRY STATE OF AWAKE. When have those dark circles been there, he had sworn to himself that Peter would be asleep before he went to the alcohol (someone else's nicked from a personal drawer of undergarments) he had relocated for use as his sleep aid.
WHY CAN'T IT JUST BE ONE? Why couldn't he be stronger, with more self control like the good doctor with one glass, one glass a single goddamn night when needed? WHY COULDN'T HE? BUT THE FEELING SHAKING HIS HANDS, SPIRALING OUT FROM HIS GUT AND HOLDING HIS LUNGS CAPTIVE SAID MORE.
The look upon his everything, upon Peter's face was as equally soul-crushing as THAT SIXTH SOUL-CRUSHING POINT. The sixth being the day that it all broke loose, when the fear was keeping up an he had gotten a few looks, some words passed onto him that maybe he should go to medical, and WHAT? AND WHAT? He wanted to bite, he wanted to snap, and tell them he can't sleep?
THERE WAS ONLY ONE GODDAMN CURE AND HE KNEW THE ANSWER. He couldn't spend every night, laying at Peter's side watching him sleep, watching him breath, and FEELING HIS HEART ACHE EVERY TIME HE STARTED STIRRING, OR STOPPED BREATHING FOR THREE SECONDS. Clint simply couldn't do it, he needed the sleep too, hypervigilance wasn't working. it was going to save Peter came to the worst.
TONIGHT WAS ONE NIGHT OF MANY IN THE PAST FEEL WEEKS. The night of many where his lips touched a glass, his throat found solace in the burn going down it, and he knows in the slow long run, that he was poisoning himself again, slowly but surely killing a part of himself; numbing the pain and the fear, and it'd only get worse from here.
Six soul-crushing points in life that came in no particular order, was never going to get to know what it would have been like to hold a baby frankie, was knowing that he was an awful husband who couldn't ever be there when it matter, the feeling of wanting to prove his brother's words right and die just like their father did, the two failures upon not being able to do anything that mattered to save anyone or anything as alien blood on his hands did nothing to change what happened, to having his fears come true and almost lose peter with no way to do anything and watch his everything almost lose himself to grief too, and a few weeks ago, that sixth thing had been when he had found someone's (he didn't bother to remember whose contraband he stole) whiskey and touched the glass to his lips and down.
YEARS WITHOUT LEFT TOLERANCE LOWER THAN EVER. Not much had been needed the first night, that damn spot, the rub of all rubs that left him raw and HE KNEW THE PLUMMET DOWN HE WAS TAKING. It helped him sleep and told him all sort of other lies, and the questions that kept him not being able to look anyone in the eye for weeks, inventing new routines to avoid old ones (no more morning yoga it would be wrong since that came about because of sobriety).
⸻ ALL OF THAT TOSSED AWAY. He was a phony, a fraud, and the addict he knew he was wondered only wondered when the next drink, what plans and reasons he could come up to justify, to make sure he got the next one, what happens when everyone who had brought contraband alcoholic substances no longer had any in their stashes because they hadn't docked in awhile and he went through four hundred and fifty something personnel and every nook and cranny looking for the thing that lied to him, that convinced him that he needed and wanted it.
That was soul crushing to know that his resolve was weaker and Clint felt powerless, had felt powerless for months and why not give himself over to a higher demon he had never believed in anything higher before but if he was going to destroy himself, he might as well.
BECAUSE HOLDING IT TOGETHER, HAVING ONE GOOD THING IN HIS LIFE? It's only a matter of time before he ruin that. Had he been too eager, too much of a stress on Bobbi that he had tressed her out and killed their baby, and he knows he was unsupportive and to blame for the divorce, and he had been the one first to throw barney out of his life, and. . . . what had he done, what could he have done. . . .
Peter was sitting there awake and he knows how they talk; knows the damn love of his life, the color to his world, everything his soul wanted, had learnt sign language quickly as he could on meeting him because he preferred and never shared that he preferred. PETER SAT THERE, AND IF LOOKS COULD BREAK HEARTS, HE WORE THAT EXPRESSION.
« so are we gonna talk about it or are we gonna pretend nothing’s wrong here? »
Clint stands there, stares at him and he hates himself; more than he could ever describe as he is left with that question. THE LOOK ON PETER'S EXPRESSION. It was years that he had drowned.
« Let's go to sleep » He signs, forcing into his face of something hopeful that Peter would just take that, even if Clint knew that he was answering Peter's question. WE GONNA PRETEND NOTHING'S WRONG. Clint wanted to pretend.
How could he say what was going on? BUT Peter knew him better than anyone had in along time of his life, it's why he loved him so much. TO KNOW HIS SOUL, the one he entrusted with his dark. Peter met him when he wasn't sober and watched him as sobriety finally started to stuck. HE KNEW. AND CLINT DIDN'T WANT TO SAY IT.
Somewhere in his system, his head was fuzzy after all, WOOZY, wanted a drink. AND ANOTHER REASON TO DROWN, TO WASH IT AWAY. He hates that feeling, hate that his mouth waters and he knows he'll seek out more.
This is how things end if he can't admit it, ask for help this time around; if he were honest. BUT TONIGHT?
« PLEASE » He looks like he's begging as his mouth moves over the words along with the sign. « Go back to bed, my love. We sleep? We need sleep. »
BUT TONIGHT HE CAN'T DO THAT. He can't admit it, can't ask for help, and face the consequences, risk judgment for this part of him being seen. It's a disease and he'll stay sick. FACE JUDGEMENT.
Tomorrow. . . . maybe tomorrow he. . . .
Clint doesn't go to touch Peter, or go kiss him because he knows (the drink tonight wasn't enough, he needs more, needed more) and he knows and he knows. He tries to go lay down, and give Peter the sorriest eyes, quietly begging for him to just let whatever time it was rest and maybe tomorrow, when he's clearer headed he'll TRY AND TRY AND TRY BEFORE HE FINDS WHATEVER THIS NEW ROCK BOTTOM WOULD LOOK LIKE.
All those years and he took them away from himself.
