Clint and Cal - Backdated

[ax_mimic]

'Shit, you're alive?'s all around, followed by catching up, captive style.


Cal hadn't slept much. The room they'd given him had been huge, by comparison, and the bed too comfortable. Not to mention the fact that he could feel all those mutations buzzing around him, and the voices of the kids brushing against the edges of his mental shields. Sure, he could have dropped the old guy's telepathy, but he liked having it. He liked the safety of it, even if being around people and keeping those shields up was going to take some getting used to. It wasn't just that the shields kept him from hearing all of them, but that they kept anyone else out of his own mind. Besides, none of this felt real, still. Any moment now, Sandra would come around the corner with some guards in tow, and they'd snap a collar back on him before he could think of what to do.

So he was rubbing at his neck as he headed outside for a walk, long after lights out, dressed as warmly as possible given what he'd been given. Sweats, a couple of t-shirts under a hoodie. None of this X-branded stuff looked even a little bit good, but the part of him that would've cared had long since faded away inside him. He didn't stop walking until he'd stopped feeling anyone nearby for a good long while. He hunkered down against a tree, crossing his arms over his chest, and tried to relax. He wasn't sure how long he slept, but he woke up in a start, Sandra's name on his lips, heart thudding in his chest. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, to recognize the woods now bathed in the cold light of the morning.

Cold. Yeah, he was fucking cold. He pushed up to his feet, rubbing his hands over his arms, even as he reached out to make sure nobody was around. Because he could, because being alone was a fucking luxury. But he really ought to get back inside, get some food, warm up, and the best way to do that was to jog over. Physical fitness is paramount, he could hear Sandra say, and he tried to ignore her, even as he did what she would have approved of, and started jogging back towards the mansion, focused on his breathing, letting everything else fall away from his mind.

Needless to say, Clint hadn't been able to sleep all that well, either. That first night, he'd been so freaked out about sleeping in an infirmary that he'd just lay there, pretending for most of the night, even with Caleb's cot nearby. The next...well, they had a room to themselves, and the locks were on the inside, and Caleb didn't mind if Clint turned his hearing aids off and rolled over onto his side and stared at the wall, trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened, and everything they'd been told. Around four am, though, he got tired of counting the spider-cracks in the wall and had snuck out of the room, intent on finding out if they were really prisoners there at all.

He'd headed down the drive, waiting for someone to jump out and stop him, or for spotlights to suddenly illuminate his passage, but none of that happened. He made it all the way down to the street, and even about half a mile toward town before finally deciding to turn back. After all, he couldn't leave Caleb or Molly.

He was on his way back inside, just as dawn was breaking, when he saw someone come jogging around the corner from the direction of the woods. His immediate reaction was to run like hell, but he clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand his ground.

Cal's blood went cold, and just like he knew he would, like he was so fucking scared he would, when it came right down to it, he froze. He stopped jogging and came to a halt, staring at Clint like he'd seen a fucking ghost. He might as well have. Clint was the last person Cal might have even halfway tried to call a friend. Clint was decent, and funny, and Clint gave a shit. But Sandra had said - he didn't work out. She'd said - no more easy healing for you. She'd said - even more reason to behave. But all Cal had heard was that Clint hadn't worked out, and he knew what that meant. He wasn't the first or the last kid Cal had never seen again.

So this had to be them fucking with his head. It had to be.

His heart was thudding hard in his chest, each beat almost painful with emotion, and suddenly, Cal remembered what he could do. He reached out, brushing couldn't-be-Clint's mind with his own. Because they'd rescued other kids. Because Sandra was a liar. Because what if.

When the guy's features manifested out from under the shadow of a tree, Clint's stomach dropped out. He'd...he'd been fucking sure Cal was dead. He'd disappeared from the lab, and no one would tell him shit about where he'd gone, and he'd thought...that was it. He hadn't survived whatever procedure they'd put him through. He'd finally bit it.

Jaw going slack, he struggled to form words that actually made sense. There was something...like the old guy’s touch in his head, but all he could think was..."Holy shit."

Cal retreated the fuck back behind his shields, the moment he felt - yeah. Yeah, this was Clint, and Cal didn't want to feel what he felt on top of his own fucked up emotions. Holy shit was right, but he could find words for anything right now. It felt like his heartbeat was loud against his temples as he stepped closer, slowly, as if expecting Clint to vanish any second.

Clint stood there, a little numb in the cold and pre-dawn light, staring at his friend. He hadn’t said anything, and suddenly it all felt like a trick. Some kind of game. He clenched the end of his sweatshirt sleeves, taking a step back.

The step back made Cal stop walking, because - yeah, of fucking course. "No, it's me," he said, to say something, because holograms didn't talk. But then the words kept coming, pushed out by the emotions beating too large in his chest. "Fuck. Clint? I thought - I thought you were dead. They said - she said -" He wanted to step over to Clint and hug him, fiercely, because that would be the ultimate test, or maybe just because... because. But now the shadow of Sandra stood between them, of Sandra and of whatever they had done to Clint. Cal's words died on his lips, and his feet wouldn't move anymore.

Clint let the silence linger again for a beat, then he sucked a deep breath. “Because I couldn’t heal ya anymore,” he realized.

Of course his handler’d bitch about that to Cal. And of course they’d make it sound like he was dead.

“Pretty sure they were getting ready to kill me, so she wasn’t all wrong,” Clint grumbled softly, glancing down at the ground between them.

That was when it hit Cal. The buzz of Clint's mutation was almost imperceptible, and when he reached for it, nothing happened. His body didn't feel any better, his eyesight didn't improve. "What the fuck did they do to you," he whispered, as if all of his voice had been shoved out of him by the realization. Were those hearing aids?

Clint’s stomach rolled over, and he lowered to a crouch, reaching for some grass to tug at and play with rather than look at Cal. Anything to do but look at Cal. Cal was the only one who knew exactly what he’d been capable of, before he became this. Cal knew just how much he’d lost. He could probably feel it, knowing him.

He swallowed, then quirked a forced grin at the ground. He could do this. As long as he didn’t have to look at him. “They tried to make me better. They fucked up.”

Cal's anger came to batter against his own shields, wanting room to spread, to unleash, to flood everything around him, and he took a few steps away, filled to the brim with it. He should've personally buried every last one of those assholes, not just hoped the compound would collapse on top of them. Like fucking with his mutation hadn't been enough, but Clint. Clint, who was always looking out for everybody else. Clint, who couldn't look Cal in the eye for what they'd done to him. Tears of rage and frustration welled up in Cal's eyes, and he rubbed at them angrily. Emotion will not serve you.

Fuck you, Sandra. Fuck every last one of them.

He looked back at Clint on the ground, and managed to get out, muted anger thickening his voice. "I'm sorry."

It was Cal’s back-pedaling that had Clint looking up, even if he hadn’t meant to. And fuck if Cal’s tears didn’t make his own eyes bright.

Pushing to his feet, Clint shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m alive. And. And we’re out.” Right. They were out, Clint reminded himself. “It may not be how we planned, but...”

"You're alive," Cal repeated, because it was what mattered. Something to cling to, since he couldn't bring himself to cling to Clint. Since he had to get through to the other side of all that anger, all that helplessness.

Clint swallowed hard. “Can we...can we just. No one here really...I mean. Just uh.”

And fuck it all, because Clint didn’t really know what to say. Stop reminding me that I lost everything? He laughed darkly at the thought. “I’m glad you’re alive, too,” he said instead.

Cal huffed out something that fell short of being a chuckle. "Yeah." Sometimes, he wasn't. He didn't want Sandra to win, but he wasn't sure anymore what wouldn't constitute her winning. He'd keep on going, anyway. What else was he going to do? "You, uh." Was he the only one to make it? "Did they only spring you?"

This, this, Clint could talk about. "Caleb's here too. Redhead, magic? And Molly, but I think he's from after you-" died "-left."

"I don't know a Molly," Cal said, after a moment, but what did that mean? He'd never gotten the names of half the mutants he'd mimicked. Less and less as time went by. It had become easier, not knowing their names. "But Caleb... I know Caleb. Is he - how is he?"

"Good," and when Clint looked up this time, he met Cal's gaze. "He's good - as much as any of us could be. He was always a little quiet, but he taught me sign language, and he's got his power back now. And his cat, which is a big deal. He and I got put in a room together."

"His cat," Cal echoed, memories surfacing he hadn't thought back to in a long time. "It had - a really stupid name."

Clint's lips actually pulled into a small, honest grin. "Frumpkin."

Cal huffed out a breath that nearly sounded like a chuckle. "Yeah. Really stupid." But it was - it was good to know. About Caleb, and Frumpkin.

"You're really stupid," Clint taunted back at him, eyes glinting.

"Look who's talking," Cal shot back, because it was the way these things went, but he wasn't sure why his heart was beating so hard at the banter, why anxiety was lacing his lungs again. This should be a happy moment, not - whatever this felt like.

Clint wanted to tell him that they should go to Hawaii, now that they were out. Get that hot tub room and a volleyball and some surfboards. But it was cold, and barely dawn, and the fog drifted across the lawn around them like something out of a dream, and Hawaii seemed just as far away as it had back in his cell. Instead, he took a step forward, then another, then pulled Cal into a tight hug. "Asshole."

For a moment, Cal froze. He was doing that a lot, and it was stupid. It would get him killed.

But not now. Now it just got him hugged, and for a second there he couldn't tell if he was going to shove Clint away or hug him back. Just a second, and before he knew it, he had to shut his eyes against the tears welling up in them, and his arms had moved around Clint to hold him tight. A hug. He'd nearly forgotten what they were like, but this one, it made it feel real. It had to be real, for that solid embrace. "You think we're really out?" he asked, voice roughened by the lump in his throat.

Clint closed his eyes, squeezing Cal a little tighter at the sound of that tightness in his voice. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I sure as hell am gonna find out."

Cal wasn't sure whether he would have wanted Clint to lie. Fuck, there wasn't much he was sure of, in the end. He adjusted his arms around Clint's shoulders, squeezed a little tighter. He should be letting go, stepping away. If they weren't out, this was just more ammo for them to use against them. "How're you gonna do that?"

"Be an asshole," Clint huffed quietly, at this point just holding on because he'd sort of forgotten how to let go. Jesus, how had Cal become such an anchor in his life? Did he really miss Barney so much that he'd replaced him with the closest bud that came along? Or was it all those times, watching Cal, broken and miserable, only to be healed by close proximity, that he'd decided he was some kind of protector to the guy?

"I'm gonna ask all the questions no one wants to ask. Push all the buttons. Stick my nose into places it doesn't belong," Clint told him. "That's what I've always been good at." That, and take the beatings that came after.

"I do a pretty good asshole, too," Cal remarked. It was an offer, yeah. And it was a fuck-you to them, to Sandra, because they'd always forced them to be so alone.

"So let's be assholes," Clint suggested. If it was a trick, at least they'd know they made it hard as hell on their captors. If it wasn't, well, it wasn't as if they owed anyone here anything. You know, besides the rescue and all. And the food. And the bed and clothes and phone. Eh. They'd figure it out.

Cal had managed to somewhat relax into the hug, and he blinked a few times to make sure the tears were gone, before pulling back from the hug and shoving gently at Clint's shoulder. "Shouldn't be too hard."

Yeah. They could do this.

Clint echoed the gesture, giving Cal's shoulder a shove, then moving to throw an arm over his shoulders as he turned them back toward the big ass mansion. Yeah. They could do this.