Clint and Cal - Backdated
Nov. 7th, 2020 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainClint bites off more than he can chew; Cal has all the feels about all of it.
Someone, later, would probably ask Clint what the hell he thought he was doing, strolling into a warehouse at the docks and attempting to bust up a weapons deal all on his own. It was a little more than he usually handled by himself. Okay, a lot more. Then again, they were bad people, and the dealers were planning on selling the guns to mutant haters to capitalize on all the fear going around lately.
It wasn't like he could just walk away. Right?
Don't answer that.
The truth is, he was feeling a lot more reckless lately, so smarts didn't really add into the equation. (If they ever had in the first place.)
In the end, all he managed to do was blow up a few crates of weapons, get his ass kicked, and barely make it out of there alive by jumping out of a three story window, sliding down a roof, falling onto a fire escape, then hiding in a dumpster until they stopped looking for him. He lost consciousness a couple of times in there. Maybe. There were some weird dreams in which he was a tiny orange dragon dancing for Jabba the Hutt. When he finally managed to climb out of the dumpster somewhere around three in the morning (he'd cracked his phone screen, so he wasn't real clear on that), he realized that he was pretty sure he'd done some fucked up thing to his back, because moving felt like fire in a lightning storm.
He slumped down next to the dumpster, and had just opened his phone again when the screen flickered twice before going black.
And it started to rain.
By that stage, Cal had already been looking for Clint for a good thirty minutes. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to one of his regular nightmares, heart thudding hard, body covered in sweat, only to find their room devoid of the usually comforting psi presence of Clint's. Fuck. He'd dozed off before Clint came back, which he usually managed not to do. The dregs of his nightmare got shoved aside in favor of focusing on what mattered: Clint was still not back, and it was the middle of the fucking night.
Cal had snuck out of their dorm room, after making sure that Caleb (and Nott, possibly) were fast asleep, and slipped his uniform on, throwing jeans and a hoodie on top of it. Then he'd been gone in a blink, and checking in the areas they usually covered, scanning everywhere for any sign of Clint. With every minute that passed without a trace of him, the vice around Cal's lungs twisted a little tighter.
He'd started blinking haphazardly around New York City, staying in place just long enough to get a good psi scan of his surroundings, then blinking away again, without a care for who might see him, features obscured by the rain and the shadow of his hood.
And then, finally, he'd felt a trace of Clint. He zeroed in on the groggy consciousness, then blinked right to the alley and crouched down in front of Clint. He felt like he could breathe again, because clearly, Clint was alive. But also, shit, the state he was in. "What the fuck," Cal muttered, and wished he had Simon's mutation on tap after all. "Dude, I'm taking you back to Xavier's, okay?"
To the infirmary, even, even if it did nothing for Cal's levels of anxiety. Clint needed medical attention.
Seeing Cal was enough to get Clint moving again, if only out of shame for the state he was in. He stumbled to his feet, grimacing, and started toward the end of the alley. "What? I'm fine. No docs," he said, maybe slurring a little, but hey, who didn't, now and then?
"Dude, where are you - stop!" Cal appeared in front of Clint in a flash of pink light. "Clint. You're, like." Shit. "I've never seen you like this. Please."
The flash of pink in front of him was...shit, that was bright, and Clint stumbled back a few steps, bringing a hand up over his eyes. "Oh. Hey. Let's not with the...the flashy."
"Okay, okay," Cal agreed immediately, raising his hands in a show of harmlessness. "Clint, you're concussed. And you're walking funny." And you look like shit, worse shit than ever, and Cal was going to stop thinking about that before he started freaking out. Clint needed him. "You need to see someone."
"Just," Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was late. Caleb would be asleep. But the thought of going to the infirmary gave him the hives. "I just need to - to sleep it off. And shower. Not necess-airly in that order."
"You're way past sleeping it off. But let me think, give me a second." Shit, why had Pike left. Cal reached for Clint's shoulder to steady him as much as to make sure he was staying put. And also, maybe, possibly, just to be touching him. "I can take us to one of the empty rooms. You can take a shower, sleep." Cal could monitor him. "Does that work?"
As Clint pulled his hand away from his hair, he carefully wiped it along his hip, attempting to hide the fact that it had come away a little sticky with blood. "Yeah. Shower, sleep. Sounds good. Do the thing."
"Close your eyes," Cal said softly, remembering Clint's reaction to the flash of pink last time. Fuck, he hoped blinking itself wouldn't wreak havoc on his concussed brain. He would have to talk to Simon about that, but for now, he would hope.
Clint closed his eyes, reaching out to grab hold of Cal's shoulder to steady himself. Once upon a time, he would have leaned in to that, enjoyed it, trusted it. But Clint had seen Cal and Loki together. Things weren't the same.
If there was one moment when Cal was not going to let his shit get in the way, it was right then. He wrapped an arm around Clint - carefully, because it seemed like a miracle his friend was still standing, but with no hesitation. His other hand went to Clint's side, gentle, without pressure, just there to help steady him in case the sudden relocation to an empty room at Xavier's made him dizzy. "Here we go."
Clint felt the familiar wrench, then a wave of vertigo, and found himself leaning into Cal's grip anyway, if only to stay on his feet. As he opened his eyes, he was quiet for a moment, as he reoriented, then reached back to try and slide his bow off without hurting whatever had twinged along his spine. "Thanks..."
"Hey, let me," Cal said quietly, happy to let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness in the empty room, rather than turning on the lights. That would probably be easier on Clint's brain, right? He helped Clint get his bow off, then realized he couldn't very well keep helping him, not without things getting super awkward. "You wanna jump in the shower? I'll go get you some clothes, and, uh, a first aid kit."
As quickly as he could, too. He didn't like the thought of leaving Clint alone, even just for a minute. A lot could happen in a minute. The idea was definitely to aim for under a minute.
Clint didn't meet his gaze as he unhooked his quiver from his belt and set it on the empty desk in the room. "Yeah. Okay."
"I'll be right back," Cal assured him, setting the bow down beside the quiver. "If you feel dizzy, just sit down and wait it out, okay?"
The bathroom door was already closing on Cal as he said it, the water turning on in the shower to indicate that Clint had at least made it that far. Inside, Clint sat on the lip of the tub, still fully dressed, cursing himself silently. Eventually, he'd peel out of his t-shirt and jeans and wash the blood out of his hair. Eventually. For one moment, though, he wanted to curse the world. And pray for painkillers.
Cal stayed there for a few more seconds, listening for any thump that might indicate Clint slipping. But when he didn't hear anything, he figured he might as well hurry, now. He blinked to outside their door, then sneaked in quiet as could be, petted the head of a sleepy Abs, and grabbed a change of clothes and a towel for Clint. He sneaked back out, blinked to the infirmary, grabbed a first aid kit, and made one extra stop by the linen closet to grab a set of bedsheets.
He was back in the empty room forty seconds later, mostly because it had taken him way too long to find the first aid kit, unfamiliar as he was with the infirmary.
Clint took far longer to shower. He started to nod off half-way through, but managed to stay on his feet, rinsing the blood out of his hair and off the scrapes on his back, hands, and shins. Bruising was starting to well up in places, and he knew that he was going to look shitty the next day. They'd probably insist on the infirmary eventually, even if just for a check up, but right then, all Clint wanted to do was sleep.
He managed to shut the water off, then step out, looking around at the empty room in sudden realization that there wasn't a towel.
In the meantime, Cal had made up one of the beds (it wasn't like he was planning on sleeping), and then sat down on one of the chairs, listening in on Clint showering and focusing on breathing the threatening panic away. Clint was fine. Cal had found him. Clint was fine. He was going to be fine. Everything was fine.
He would have texted Loki, but his hands were trembling a little, and what if Loki wanted to help? Clint wouldn't want that. So, no texting Loki. He'd watch over Clint all night. Things would be fine. Just fine.
It was only a few seconds after the shower stopped that he realized the clothes and towel were still on the desk beside him, and he started, and blinked them all into the bathroom immediately, aiming for the floor just inside the door. "Sorry," he murmured with a wince, knowing damn well Clint couldn't hear him from all the way over there. He'd just... say it again when Clint emerged from the bathroom.
Clint blinked at the things that appeared on the floor, shaking his head slowly as he gripped the wall. He wasn't imagining that, right? No. The clothes came into full focus and he sighed out. Cal thought of everything. Of course he did.
He managed to slowly - very slowly - dry off and painfully get into the boxers and sweats. He didn't bother with the shirt, because he didn't want to bother stretching his back muscles like that again. Leaving it on the counter, he stepped out, gripping the doorframe white-knuckled for a moment as he opened the door. "Thanks."
Cal got to his feet when the door opened, schooling his features into a neutral alertness he did not feel. And this time, if he stared at Clint's chest, it was only on account of the bruises already coming out on his skin. Shit. "Don't mention it. Sorry I forgot to blink them in earlier. I've got, uh," he gestured at the first aid kit on the desk, "stuff." It was open, and Cal had already set out a few things. Disinfectant, healing cream, painkillers. Basics.
Clint moved to sit on the edge of the bed, weaving a little as he walked. "How'd you find me?"
"A lot of frantic blinking around," Cal admitted with a little wince. "Startled a bunch of folks. And rats." He shook a couple of painkillers into his hand, then walked over to hand them to Clint. "You want some water for those?"
Without a glance, Clint swallowed them dry, but looked up at Cal, his eyes glazed. "Why? The blinking. I mean."
"What do you mean, why?" Cal asked with a frown, moving back towards the desk to grab the rest of the supplies he'd set aside.
"Why were you..." Clint trailed off. He knew why. Sort of. He rubbed his brow.
"Why was I - looking for you?" Cal completed as he took a seat beside Clint. He looked incredulous, and then the anger he hadn't realized was simmering behind the worry swept over him. "Because it's the middle of the fucking night and you never came back, what do you think?" He took a deep, calming breath, then grabbed the disinfectant spray. "Close your eyes."
Clint closed his eyes, but made a little face. "That's going to hurt, isn't it..."
"Sting like hell," Cal confirmed, before spraying some of the liquid on the first of Clint's cuts. He was as delicate as he could be with the gauze he used to clean the cut, but yeah, it would still hurt.
Clint bit down on any kind of sound that wanted to come out, staying quiet for a moment until it was clear that Cal was done doing whatever the fuck he was doing.
It was going to take a few minutes for Cal to do all of the cuts and abrasions on Clint's body. About halfway through the process, he asked, "What do you think about me teleporting outside Tam's room so I can make sure you're gonna be okay? He said I could grab his mutation whenever."
Clint opened his eyes and eyed Cal quietly in the dark. "I told you, I'm fine."
Cal breathed through the anger, pushed it back deeper inside him. He hadn't expected that to leave his voice so full of feelings he sounded choked up, though. "You're at least concussed, and you're making me not take you to an actual doctor," Cal pointed out. Fuck, he really was choked up. "Please, let me make sure you're okay."
Clint frowned, but he was too tired to argue. So he nodded, slowly stretching out on his side on the bed, flinching through the pain. "Kay."
Cal opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and just settled on, "Thank you." He set the supplies aside - for now - and stood. "I'll be right back."
A muttered, "Okay," as Cal had put his bracelet back on, and Cal disappeared in another flash of pink light. He reappeared outside the graduate building, and it was easy enough to psi-scan the occupants, locate Simon, and levitate over to his fourth floor window. Cal reached for the buzz of his mutation, then teleported back to the room Clint was in.
"I'm back," he said quietly, unnecessarily, before sitting back down on the bed.
"Mm'sleepin'," Clint complained into the mattress.
"You're not, you're talking to me," Cal pointed out, but he kept his tone soft, quiet. He reached out to lay a hand on Clint's bare arm, ignoring the conflicting feelings inside him to focus on the sudden rush of data.
"Lies," Clint huffed softly, but opened his eyes as Cal touched him, realizing what he was probably trying to do.
Cal did not hear him, already lost to the massive amount of information he was suddenly getting from Clint. His breathing went quicker, and it took him a few moments to acclimate enough to even see past the regular workings of Clint's body to what the actual issues were. Minor cuts and abrasions, even more bruises, a muscle strain to his back, and of course, most worrying, the concussion. Fortunately, there was no bleeding or significant swelling, so Cal thought Clint would be okay? Probably? What the fuck did he know.
He pulled his hand back and his gaze focused again, as he breathed in deep, then let it out slowly, coming back to himself. "I think you're gonna be okay," he said, when he realized that Clint was watching him. "I think? Your brain doesn't look too bad. I should still probably wake you up regularly to make sure. But you can sleep." Probably? Fuck, what if he got it wrong? He hated that Clint wouldn't let him take him to a professional.
"Of course I'm be okay," Clint grunted. Sure, Cal didn't believe him. Cal hadn't seen all the scraps he'd gotten into in his life. Clint knew better than anyone how to walk away from a fight. Okay, crawl, in most instances, but he crawled gloriously. "I'm always okay."
You're not fucking immortal, Cal almost snapped, but managed to hold it back. "Sure," he simply agreed, trying to keep his internal struggle between anger and fear to himself. "Just go to sleep. I'll - I'll be here."
Clint just frowned fuzzily at him. "Me not wanting to go to the docs means you have to sit here all night, doesn't it?"
"I'd probably sit up all night either way," Cal admitted, after a second's hesitation. He stood and stepped away, because he needed to put some distance between them. He could still run through all the damage in Clint's body in his mind.
The archer started to push up on an elbow, but his back twinged again, and he huffed softly as he lay back down. "Cal..."
Cal looked over with a frown, and winced as he saw Clint lower himself back down. "Just go to sleep, Clint. Please. You need it." And he needed to get a grip. Clint being asleep would be good for both of them.
Clint frowned deeper, but closed his eyes. He'd thought that Cal didn't need him anymore, but apparently Clint still needed him. At least enough to continue to make things stupid between them. He couldn't really think about that though, especially with exhaustion sinking into him. He started to say something...but fell asleep before it could leave his lips.
Cal tried to ignore Simon's mutation, and the incessant rundown it was giving him of his own bodily functions, but he ended up dropping it before ten minutes had passed. He'd just go back and get it to check in on Clint in a couple of hours. And then again, and again. Hopefully he would manage without waking Clint.
For now, he shifted into his panther form (he still hadn't gone back to the wolf-dog) and paced the length of the room, trying to find something even resembling calm in the storm of his emotions.
* * *
Cal had managed to last through the night without sleep, and when Clint had showed no sign of waking up in the morning, he'd e-mailed the faculty about Clint and him taking a mental health day, and Caleb to tell him not to worry. (He would, anyway.) After Simon went about his day off of the school grounds, Cal had had to keep his mutation around. Unused as he was to the constant hum of it in his mind, it exhausted him mentally and he ended up dozing off halfway through morning. When he next woke up, it was midday, and after checking in on Clint, he stopped by their room to walk the dogs, then blinked to the kitchen to grab snacks and bring them back to the room.
A couple of hours later, Cal sat beside Clint again and reached out to lay a hand on his arm. He breathed through the onslaught of data, focused on what mattered. The concussion was slowly healing, as was his strained muscle. Faster than a normal person, but still slowly, compared to the full force of Clint's mutation. Cal pulled his hand back with a soft sigh.
Suddenly, Clint's hand snapped up, grasping Cal's wrist, wakefulness showing in his bio-signs as though it were at the flip of a light switch. Blue eyes flew open, and Clint stared at his friend for a moment in confusion.
Adrenaline shot through Cal's system as his heartrate sped up, but he forced himself not to react. It was Clint, that was all, and being able to focus on their physiological reactions made it easier, in that moment, to fight off Cal's usual psychological reaction to being grabbed. "Just me," he managed to get out, his voice a little rough for not having spoken to much of anybody in hours, apart from the dogs.
Clint's muscles relaxed in what was clearly relief as evidenced by the information flooding into Cal's brain. Though just for a moment, before Clint pulled his hand away, there was a spike of something else, something that triggered a wave of hormones and endorphin. "Oh. Hey. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Cal answered, and leaned his hand on the bed. Don't think about that surge of hormones. Or the ones that cascaded through Cal in response. "Sorry, I was just - checking in on you. You've been healing. How - how are you feeling?"
Clint pushed up to sit on the edge of the bed, cradling the back of his head. “Better, I think. Note to self, dumpsters are bad.”
Part of Cal wanted to put some distance between them when Clint sat up, but he also refused to give in to the urge, so he remained where he was, sitting beside his friend. "What happened?" he asked, had to ask.
"Nothing. It was just a thing. Got in a tight spot is all. It's fine," Clint told him, staring across the room and trying to decide if he could stand or not.
"Yeah, tell that to someone who doesn't know precisely every injury you got," Cal remarked, some of the anger he had worked so hard to suppress making his tone cold. He wasn't buying Clint's bullshit. Not today. Not with the state he'd found him in. Not when it was a small fucking miracle he'd found him at all.
Clint rolled a shoulder - ow - and pushed to his feet, teetering for a moment as he stood there. Fuck, he needed coffee. "There was a weapons deal going down. I got in over my head. I didn't think you'd..." he trailed off.
"You didn't think I'd what?" Cal echoed, feeling the cold grip of anxiety on his lungs. "Show up in a second if you called?"
"But that's just it," Clint told him, wandering into the bathroom to get a wet rag. "You don't need to. You've got Loki. Caleb's got Nott. You guys have people that care about you."
Cal stood up at last, now frowning in confusion. "What's that got to do with -" He cut himself off and took a deep breath. Clint was actually concussed, so maybe some confusion was to be expected? Except Clint should have called him before the concussion. Cal trailed after him when Clint didn't close the bathroom door, and stopped in the doorframe. "We still care about you. I still - I would do anything for you," he blurted out, hurt, worry and lack of sleep making him sound more intense than he had planned to. "You've got to know that."
Clint turned and looked at him. "Yeah? Look at you. You're worse off for having known me."
"I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you," Cal blurted out, too shocked by how wrong that statement was to think about what he was saying. Hey, it was true on so many levels, anyway. He was so aware of his elevated heartrate, and every chemical his brain was producing right now, and it was getting to be too much, so he dropped Simon's mutation before he could talk himself out of it. Mind mercifully quiet, he stepped closer to Clint, lowered his voice. "Shit, Clint. Please tell me this is the concussion talking."
"I didn't mean - Yeah okay, in the Right. But now you don't have to worry about me," Clint told him. "I'm fine. I'll...be fine. It's just some bruises. But you, you're all...sitting up all night with me and running off picking up other mutations for me."
"Of course I am, and I'll do it again," Cal retorted without missing a beat. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Who the fuck told you I'd stop giving a shit because I give a shit about somebody else too?" He reached for Clint's shoulder, slowly, aiming for unbruised spots, and held his gaze, wishing him to know this, and having a hell of a time keeping it all behind his shields. "I love you, okay?"
Clint just...stared at him. He didn't know what to do with that, or how to react to it. Even his own family didn't love him. And he sure as hell didn't deserve it from Cal.
Slowly, reluctantly, Cal lowered his hand. "And it's not gonna change," he added, because he might as well commit to it now. Even if his throat felt so freaking tight right now, and anxiety fluttered in his lungs again at the way Clint was just staring at him blankly. "No matter what. So please, just - don't shut me out."
Clint opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking down at the sink. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. Whatever he meant to say, he definitely didn't mean to admit, "I'm not good."
"I - okay," Cal answered, confused. He leaned back against the doorframe, hands behind his back, so he wouldn't reach out. "What do you mean?"
Clint shook his head a little, then winced, reaching gingerly up to poke at his scalp. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I freaked you out."
"What - of course it matters," Cal blurted out. He was in no shape to deal with this roller coaster of 'fuck yes Clint was talking to him' to 'wait no now it was business as usual'. "Please."
Jesus, Cal was killing him. And expecting...things. Clint shifted to sit on the edge of the tub and rubbed his head. "I'm not good. I...I've never been good, but I was trying to, you know, hold it together, for you, for Caleb. But you guys are good now, and I'm...not. And going out there, and kicking ass, or maybe getting my ass kicked, I don't know, it helps."
Shit, that was... that was a lot to unpack, and Cal moved back into the bathroom, sitting on the floor with his back to the counter, feet hitting the tub next to where Clint was seating. He looked up at his friend and said, because he had to start somewhere, "It's not gonna help if you're dead."
Clint smirked at him. "Who says?"
The tears Cal had been fighting so hard welled up in his eyes now, angry tears, desperate tears. "I do."
Again, Clint was caught off-guard. Sure, he was close to Cal. To Caleb too. And yeah, he cared about them a lot, but the tears startled him, eyes widening slightly at the look on Cal's face.
Cal pushed himself back to his feet, as if he could outrun his anxiety if he moved, but it was solidifying in his lungs with each breath, even as he wiped at his eyes. "Are you for real? You really - d'you wanna die?"
"No, I...no," Clint told him, rubbing his eyes. "No."
That, at least managed to stave off Cal's panic, and he leaned back against the counter, just focusing on breathing and strengthening his shields for a few seconds. "Okay. I just - I was so fucking scared, Clint."
"Sorry... it's not...I didn't do it to scare you or anything," Clint sighed.
"I know," Cal confirmed quietly. "But can you please call me next time?"
Clint pointed to the dead phone sitting on the sink's edge. "It died. Pretty sure I killed it with my body when I fell into the dumpster."
"Before you get into something like that," Cal pointed out, but he mostly sounded tired. He was. He was exhausted, and he felt like he was a hair's breadth from crying again.
"Call you before I decide to take on a warehouse full of weapons dealers?" Clint blinked at him.
Shit. The reality of what Clint had walked into slammed through Cal, but he did his best to answer with a forceful, "Yes." And then, in case it wasn't clear, "Fuck yes."
Clint was kind of hoping that wasn't the case, but he should have known better. He grimaced a little, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh. Okay. Sorry."
Cal wiped a hand over his face, then looked back at Clint. "Look, I - I've been trying to give you your space. I don't wanna... I don't know. But I can't just sit by while you do shit like that."
Looking up at him, Clint shook his head. "You still don't get it."
"Get what?" Cal asked, his expression so eager. He wanted to get it. Badly. Maybe then he could actually help.
"I'm always gonna...do shit like that. Screw up," Clint sighed. "That's why I didn't tell you."
"You not telling me is where you screwed up," Cal retorted, frowning again. No shit he didn't get it. He really, really didn't get it. "Everybody screws up, Clint. I'm just asking you to try."
"Maybe," Clint agreed. "But you also didn't get hurt either."
"Didn't I," Cal pointed out with raised eyebrows. Instinctively, stupidly, he was masking the hurt in question behind a veil of anger, seeping into his voice. "For the record, I'd rather heal a hundred injuries than go through this again."
Clint started to say something, then stopped, and thought about that. Cal was more upset than he'd seen him since...well, since Cal almost died, and that was including their whole 'I like you' blow-up. So...maybe he had a point. Except... "You're not gonna die from hurt feelings, though."
"Unlike you, I would heal," Cal snapped.
The words were like taking a brick to the face. Followed by an entire house. Clint suddenly felt his aches and pains more than he had in the past eight hours, along with a icy cold sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, you would," he breathed out without thinking, and pushed to his feet, brushing past Cal and heading for the door of the dorm room. "Maybe you should be the one out there."
"I would be if you let me," Cal retorted, and knew a lot better than to grab Clint's arm to stop him from leaving. He'd already blurted out something he shouldn't have, no need to add to his thoughtless fuck-ups. He was right behind him, though, dogging his steps. "Clint, wait, please. I'm sorry."
"No," Clint muttered, pausing at the door, his hand on the knob. "You're right. I shouldn't be out there."
"I never said that," Cal pointed out softly, and his steps towards Clint were measured, tentative, slow. He was so scared Clint would just walk out, right after Cal had said something so horrible. "You should be out there if you want to be. You're doing good out there. I just - I don't want you to bite off more than you can chew." He felt like all of his anguish had to be showing on his face, and it felt fucking vulnerable, but he was doing his best not to try and hide it, shut down, turn away.
Clint didn't even see the look on Cal's face. Couldn't look at his face, whatever it was showing. He stared at the doorknob instead, thinking about how Cal thought he was making things better, but yeah, wasn't really at all.
Cal wasn't sure what Clint's silence meant, but his slow steps towards him eventually brought him close enough to reach his hand out for his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm - I'm just - I'm scared."
Clint was quiet for a moment, then finally turned back to look at Cal. "You know, I don't really need my hearing aids anymore. I don't even turn them on half the time. But I...I keep wearin' them. Cause it's...it's easier being the 'deaf guy' than being the 'guy without powers'."
He frowned, then leaned against the door, suddenly tired. "TJ says I'm some kind of hero in her world. That I don't even have powers there, but I'm still... part of a team. Worth something. But I don't know how he does it. How can he handle being around people like you, or Thor, or Loki, and just... run around with a bow? He can't even heal. How's he a hero?"
Cal let his hand drop when Clint leaned against the door, his heart aching for his friend. He couldn't settle on one emotion long enough to fully experience it, it felt. From anger to fear to sympathy, now, and through a whole gamut of other emotions, all of them fueled by how fucking much he loved Clint. "I think he's way more of a hero because he does it without all those awesome powers," he said, quietly, not quite trusting his voice. He swallowed, then tried again, more firmly, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're way more than just 'worth something'. You're really fucking amazing." His heart was beating double time again, filled fit to burst with his feelings for Clint, and Cal didn't know what to do with them.
Looking up at Cal, Clint just frowned. He still had the concussion - or at least some of it, he was pretty sure, but he didn't think he was imagining how freaked out Cal had seemed this whole time. But he hadn't thought that Cal cared about him like that. Or maybe it was just 'as a friend'? He wasn't sure. Fuck, the whole mess with Loki was all pretty confusing, so figuring out Cal's feelings was pretty much off the table. Clint didn't think he'd ever understand him. Instead, he settled on what he could figure out. An apology. "Sorry I scared you."
"I don't know what I'd do if you died," Cal admitted, blinking back tears again. He hesitated, made sure his shields were up and solid, so he couldn't risk influencing Clint's answer, then blurted out, before he could chicken out, "Can I hug you?" He wasn't sure he could hold himself together if he got to, but he also felt as if he needed to hug his friend. Badly.
It was so strange to hear it coming from Cal that Clint momentarily hesitated, if only from confusion. But after a second, he gave a slight nod, waiting and allowing Cal to come to him, like some kind of wounded animal.
Cal moved slowly, hesitantly, half expecting Clint to change his mind, half expecting himself to. But eventually, he wrapped his arms around his friend, careful not to press on any of his bruises, shut his eyes tight, and breathed in deep. He was fighting a losing battle to keep his breath even, with so much emotion pressing down on him, but he didn't care. Clint was here, and okay. Or perhaps not okay, but okay enough.
Biting back any flinching from his wounds, Clint wrapped his arms around his friend, closing his eyes. "Sorry," he said again.
I want to help you. Of course, Cal could no more broadcast the words without his emotions leaking all over the place than he could have said the words out loud without a sob making it out, so he kept it all behind his shields. I want to help you so bad, if I could give you back a fraction of what you've given me, and it kills me that you won't accept my help. A few tears ran down his cheeks, but Cal pretended they weren't there. Eventually, he whispered, "I'm sorry too."
“I didn’t know -“ Clint tried to say. But what was he saying? He didn’t know Cal had cared so much?
"Now you know," Cal said, throat closing up halfway through the short sentence, the last word coming out choked and frail. He let a few seconds pass, swallowing against the tears and trying to get his voice back, holding on to Clint through it all. He tucked his face into his friend's neck, and didn't even bother pretending the smell of him wasn't helping him settle down. He'd distanced himself from Clint so much, for so long, and he had missed this. "I'm sorry I didn't make it clear earlier."
"Hey," Clint tightened his grip on his friend a little more - as much as his shoulder and ribs would allow. "Whatever it is, I'll fix it."
"Don't think you can fix us on your own," Cal remarked after a moment, anxiety and warmth battling it out in his lungs. He didn't want the embrace to stop, and he kept his hold on Clint strong and steady - okay, there might have been a hint of desperate in there, too.
"Is that what's wrong?" Clint asked quietly. "Us?"
Cal frowned a little at the way Clint put it, and forced himself to relax his hold a little. He needed to relax at least some if he was going to get any words out. Still, he kept his face tucked in Clint's neck, because, very selfishly, he wanted to stay there, make the most of this moment, of the physical proximity with Clint he had missed so much. "Not like - I mean, we haven't been right, right? But we're not a problem. We have a problem. Or something."
Clint finally pulled back, at least enough to try and see Cal's face. "I don't have a problem with you."
Cal hurriedly wiped his cheeks free of tears, Clint's words only highlighting how much of a fuckup he was. "I have a problem, then," he said, his voice tight, without looking at Clint. He meant to only glance at him then, but once their gazes locked, Cal couldn't look away, and the words came spilling out. "I don't know how to be around you anymore. I miss you so much, and we fucking live together. I try to give you space but then you go and..." He swallowed, hard. "You say you're not good, and I don't know how to help you."
This time it was Clint who couldn't look right at his friend. Yeah, he'd said that, hadn't he? Fuck, his head was spinning. Leaning back against the door, he huffed out a breath. "You don't need to give me space."
"Would that actually help?" Cal asked, his gaze a little wary. "Me not giving you space?"
"Would it hurt?" Clint scrunched up his nose, not really understanding the question.
Cal shrugged, gaze sliding away for a moment, before he forced himself to look back at Clint. "Maybe less than keeping my distance." Hopefully less. He took a deep breath. "But would it help? You?"
Clint frowned slightly. "Maybe? I...don't know. Probably not. But at least I'd stop scaring you?"
Cal huffed out a breath, something that could've been a laugh but fell very, very short of the mark. He leaned his back against the wall beside Clint and sighed. "But I want to help you."
Clint huffed a breath as well. "Well you can't."
That hurt, in a way Cal was too tired to fully integrate. His throat smarted, and he swallowed against the ache. Maybe Clint was wrong. He had to be wrong. What was the point of this, of them, of friendship, if he couldn't help? He would just have to figure out how. He swallowed again. "We'll see."
"Look," Clint said tiredly, "Do I hate looking at you and Loki? Yeah. Is my head in a fucked up place? Sure. But we're still friends. You don't owe me anything. You don't need to be scared of being around me. Things can be good again. Okay?"
Except Clint wasn't good, and that scared Cal. But he could tell he wasn't getting anywhere - he was emotionally drained, right then, and he had no idea how Clint felt, after his night. "Okay," he agreed, rubbing a hand over his opposite shoulder.
Clint turned and tugged him into a stiff hug, injuries be damned. "Being around you helps."
Cal had been too busy avoiding looking Clint in the eye to see the hug coming, and for a second he didn't react, before relaxing into it and wrapping his arms around Clint. Still careful not to press down on anywhere he remembered bruises being, but hugging back all the same. "Does it?" he asked, his voice quiet, so quiet.
Closing his eyes, Clint took a deep breath and murmured, “You have no idea.”
"So tell me," Cal whispered, hoping with everything he had that Clint would. What he wouldn't give for his friend to open up to him.
“Yeah,” Clint huffed. “I can’t do that.”
Cal closed his eyes on that dashed hope, and the hurt that came with it. Then he took a deep breath, and simply said, "Okay."
Clint sighed to himself. Maybe someday he could show Cal, but not with the whole Loki thing going on. He wasn't going to be a dick and trample on that. He could be a dick about a lot of things, but Cal's happiness... nah. Finally, he pulled out of the hug again and stiffly moved to pick up his stuff. "Let's go back to the room."
"Okay," Cal repeated. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved away to put the first aid kit he'd grabbed back together.
Clint knew that he'd broken Cal somehow. He'd fucked up. Again. But he wasn't really sure how he could fix it. Instead, he just gave his friend a little bruised sort of smile and led the way out the door.
Someone, later, would probably ask Clint what the hell he thought he was doing, strolling into a warehouse at the docks and attempting to bust up a weapons deal all on his own. It was a little more than he usually handled by himself. Okay, a lot more. Then again, they were bad people, and the dealers were planning on selling the guns to mutant haters to capitalize on all the fear going around lately.
It wasn't like he could just walk away. Right?
Don't answer that.
The truth is, he was feeling a lot more reckless lately, so smarts didn't really add into the equation. (If they ever had in the first place.)
In the end, all he managed to do was blow up a few crates of weapons, get his ass kicked, and barely make it out of there alive by jumping out of a three story window, sliding down a roof, falling onto a fire escape, then hiding in a dumpster until they stopped looking for him. He lost consciousness a couple of times in there. Maybe. There were some weird dreams in which he was a tiny orange dragon dancing for Jabba the Hutt. When he finally managed to climb out of the dumpster somewhere around three in the morning (he'd cracked his phone screen, so he wasn't real clear on that), he realized that he was pretty sure he'd done some fucked up thing to his back, because moving felt like fire in a lightning storm.
He slumped down next to the dumpster, and had just opened his phone again when the screen flickered twice before going black.
And it started to rain.
By that stage, Cal had already been looking for Clint for a good thirty minutes. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to one of his regular nightmares, heart thudding hard, body covered in sweat, only to find their room devoid of the usually comforting psi presence of Clint's. Fuck. He'd dozed off before Clint came back, which he usually managed not to do. The dregs of his nightmare got shoved aside in favor of focusing on what mattered: Clint was still not back, and it was the middle of the fucking night.
Cal had snuck out of their dorm room, after making sure that Caleb (and Nott, possibly) were fast asleep, and slipped his uniform on, throwing jeans and a hoodie on top of it. Then he'd been gone in a blink, and checking in the areas they usually covered, scanning everywhere for any sign of Clint. With every minute that passed without a trace of him, the vice around Cal's lungs twisted a little tighter.
He'd started blinking haphazardly around New York City, staying in place just long enough to get a good psi scan of his surroundings, then blinking away again, without a care for who might see him, features obscured by the rain and the shadow of his hood.
And then, finally, he'd felt a trace of Clint. He zeroed in on the groggy consciousness, then blinked right to the alley and crouched down in front of Clint. He felt like he could breathe again, because clearly, Clint was alive. But also, shit, the state he was in. "What the fuck," Cal muttered, and wished he had Simon's mutation on tap after all. "Dude, I'm taking you back to Xavier's, okay?"
To the infirmary, even, even if it did nothing for Cal's levels of anxiety. Clint needed medical attention.
Seeing Cal was enough to get Clint moving again, if only out of shame for the state he was in. He stumbled to his feet, grimacing, and started toward the end of the alley. "What? I'm fine. No docs," he said, maybe slurring a little, but hey, who didn't, now and then?
"Dude, where are you - stop!" Cal appeared in front of Clint in a flash of pink light. "Clint. You're, like." Shit. "I've never seen you like this. Please."
The flash of pink in front of him was...shit, that was bright, and Clint stumbled back a few steps, bringing a hand up over his eyes. "Oh. Hey. Let's not with the...the flashy."
"Okay, okay," Cal agreed immediately, raising his hands in a show of harmlessness. "Clint, you're concussed. And you're walking funny." And you look like shit, worse shit than ever, and Cal was going to stop thinking about that before he started freaking out. Clint needed him. "You need to see someone."
"Just," Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was late. Caleb would be asleep. But the thought of going to the infirmary gave him the hives. "I just need to - to sleep it off. And shower. Not necess-airly in that order."
"You're way past sleeping it off. But let me think, give me a second." Shit, why had Pike left. Cal reached for Clint's shoulder to steady him as much as to make sure he was staying put. And also, maybe, possibly, just to be touching him. "I can take us to one of the empty rooms. You can take a shower, sleep." Cal could monitor him. "Does that work?"
As Clint pulled his hand away from his hair, he carefully wiped it along his hip, attempting to hide the fact that it had come away a little sticky with blood. "Yeah. Shower, sleep. Sounds good. Do the thing."
"Close your eyes," Cal said softly, remembering Clint's reaction to the flash of pink last time. Fuck, he hoped blinking itself wouldn't wreak havoc on his concussed brain. He would have to talk to Simon about that, but for now, he would hope.
Clint closed his eyes, reaching out to grab hold of Cal's shoulder to steady himself. Once upon a time, he would have leaned in to that, enjoyed it, trusted it. But Clint had seen Cal and Loki together. Things weren't the same.
If there was one moment when Cal was not going to let his shit get in the way, it was right then. He wrapped an arm around Clint - carefully, because it seemed like a miracle his friend was still standing, but with no hesitation. His other hand went to Clint's side, gentle, without pressure, just there to help steady him in case the sudden relocation to an empty room at Xavier's made him dizzy. "Here we go."
Clint felt the familiar wrench, then a wave of vertigo, and found himself leaning into Cal's grip anyway, if only to stay on his feet. As he opened his eyes, he was quiet for a moment, as he reoriented, then reached back to try and slide his bow off without hurting whatever had twinged along his spine. "Thanks..."
"Hey, let me," Cal said quietly, happy to let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness in the empty room, rather than turning on the lights. That would probably be easier on Clint's brain, right? He helped Clint get his bow off, then realized he couldn't very well keep helping him, not without things getting super awkward. "You wanna jump in the shower? I'll go get you some clothes, and, uh, a first aid kit."
As quickly as he could, too. He didn't like the thought of leaving Clint alone, even just for a minute. A lot could happen in a minute. The idea was definitely to aim for under a minute.
Clint didn't meet his gaze as he unhooked his quiver from his belt and set it on the empty desk in the room. "Yeah. Okay."
"I'll be right back," Cal assured him, setting the bow down beside the quiver. "If you feel dizzy, just sit down and wait it out, okay?"
The bathroom door was already closing on Cal as he said it, the water turning on in the shower to indicate that Clint had at least made it that far. Inside, Clint sat on the lip of the tub, still fully dressed, cursing himself silently. Eventually, he'd peel out of his t-shirt and jeans and wash the blood out of his hair. Eventually. For one moment, though, he wanted to curse the world. And pray for painkillers.
Cal stayed there for a few more seconds, listening for any thump that might indicate Clint slipping. But when he didn't hear anything, he figured he might as well hurry, now. He blinked to outside their door, then sneaked in quiet as could be, petted the head of a sleepy Abs, and grabbed a change of clothes and a towel for Clint. He sneaked back out, blinked to the infirmary, grabbed a first aid kit, and made one extra stop by the linen closet to grab a set of bedsheets.
He was back in the empty room forty seconds later, mostly because it had taken him way too long to find the first aid kit, unfamiliar as he was with the infirmary.
Clint took far longer to shower. He started to nod off half-way through, but managed to stay on his feet, rinsing the blood out of his hair and off the scrapes on his back, hands, and shins. Bruising was starting to well up in places, and he knew that he was going to look shitty the next day. They'd probably insist on the infirmary eventually, even if just for a check up, but right then, all Clint wanted to do was sleep.
He managed to shut the water off, then step out, looking around at the empty room in sudden realization that there wasn't a towel.
In the meantime, Cal had made up one of the beds (it wasn't like he was planning on sleeping), and then sat down on one of the chairs, listening in on Clint showering and focusing on breathing the threatening panic away. Clint was fine. Cal had found him. Clint was fine. He was going to be fine. Everything was fine.
He would have texted Loki, but his hands were trembling a little, and what if Loki wanted to help? Clint wouldn't want that. So, no texting Loki. He'd watch over Clint all night. Things would be fine. Just fine.
It was only a few seconds after the shower stopped that he realized the clothes and towel were still on the desk beside him, and he started, and blinked them all into the bathroom immediately, aiming for the floor just inside the door. "Sorry," he murmured with a wince, knowing damn well Clint couldn't hear him from all the way over there. He'd just... say it again when Clint emerged from the bathroom.
Clint blinked at the things that appeared on the floor, shaking his head slowly as he gripped the wall. He wasn't imagining that, right? No. The clothes came into full focus and he sighed out. Cal thought of everything. Of course he did.
He managed to slowly - very slowly - dry off and painfully get into the boxers and sweats. He didn't bother with the shirt, because he didn't want to bother stretching his back muscles like that again. Leaving it on the counter, he stepped out, gripping the doorframe white-knuckled for a moment as he opened the door. "Thanks."
Cal got to his feet when the door opened, schooling his features into a neutral alertness he did not feel. And this time, if he stared at Clint's chest, it was only on account of the bruises already coming out on his skin. Shit. "Don't mention it. Sorry I forgot to blink them in earlier. I've got, uh," he gestured at the first aid kit on the desk, "stuff." It was open, and Cal had already set out a few things. Disinfectant, healing cream, painkillers. Basics.
Clint moved to sit on the edge of the bed, weaving a little as he walked. "How'd you find me?"
"A lot of frantic blinking around," Cal admitted with a little wince. "Startled a bunch of folks. And rats." He shook a couple of painkillers into his hand, then walked over to hand them to Clint. "You want some water for those?"
Without a glance, Clint swallowed them dry, but looked up at Cal, his eyes glazed. "Why? The blinking. I mean."
"What do you mean, why?" Cal asked with a frown, moving back towards the desk to grab the rest of the supplies he'd set aside.
"Why were you..." Clint trailed off. He knew why. Sort of. He rubbed his brow.
"Why was I - looking for you?" Cal completed as he took a seat beside Clint. He looked incredulous, and then the anger he hadn't realized was simmering behind the worry swept over him. "Because it's the middle of the fucking night and you never came back, what do you think?" He took a deep, calming breath, then grabbed the disinfectant spray. "Close your eyes."
Clint closed his eyes, but made a little face. "That's going to hurt, isn't it..."
"Sting like hell," Cal confirmed, before spraying some of the liquid on the first of Clint's cuts. He was as delicate as he could be with the gauze he used to clean the cut, but yeah, it would still hurt.
Clint bit down on any kind of sound that wanted to come out, staying quiet for a moment until it was clear that Cal was done doing whatever the fuck he was doing.
It was going to take a few minutes for Cal to do all of the cuts and abrasions on Clint's body. About halfway through the process, he asked, "What do you think about me teleporting outside Tam's room so I can make sure you're gonna be okay? He said I could grab his mutation whenever."
Clint opened his eyes and eyed Cal quietly in the dark. "I told you, I'm fine."
Cal breathed through the anger, pushed it back deeper inside him. He hadn't expected that to leave his voice so full of feelings he sounded choked up, though. "You're at least concussed, and you're making me not take you to an actual doctor," Cal pointed out. Fuck, he really was choked up. "Please, let me make sure you're okay."
Clint frowned, but he was too tired to argue. So he nodded, slowly stretching out on his side on the bed, flinching through the pain. "Kay."
Cal opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and just settled on, "Thank you." He set the supplies aside - for now - and stood. "I'll be right back."
A muttered, "Okay," as Cal had put his bracelet back on, and Cal disappeared in another flash of pink light. He reappeared outside the graduate building, and it was easy enough to psi-scan the occupants, locate Simon, and levitate over to his fourth floor window. Cal reached for the buzz of his mutation, then teleported back to the room Clint was in.
"I'm back," he said quietly, unnecessarily, before sitting back down on the bed.
"Mm'sleepin'," Clint complained into the mattress.
"You're not, you're talking to me," Cal pointed out, but he kept his tone soft, quiet. He reached out to lay a hand on Clint's bare arm, ignoring the conflicting feelings inside him to focus on the sudden rush of data.
"Lies," Clint huffed softly, but opened his eyes as Cal touched him, realizing what he was probably trying to do.
Cal did not hear him, already lost to the massive amount of information he was suddenly getting from Clint. His breathing went quicker, and it took him a few moments to acclimate enough to even see past the regular workings of Clint's body to what the actual issues were. Minor cuts and abrasions, even more bruises, a muscle strain to his back, and of course, most worrying, the concussion. Fortunately, there was no bleeding or significant swelling, so Cal thought Clint would be okay? Probably? What the fuck did he know.
He pulled his hand back and his gaze focused again, as he breathed in deep, then let it out slowly, coming back to himself. "I think you're gonna be okay," he said, when he realized that Clint was watching him. "I think? Your brain doesn't look too bad. I should still probably wake you up regularly to make sure. But you can sleep." Probably? Fuck, what if he got it wrong? He hated that Clint wouldn't let him take him to a professional.
"Of course I'm be okay," Clint grunted. Sure, Cal didn't believe him. Cal hadn't seen all the scraps he'd gotten into in his life. Clint knew better than anyone how to walk away from a fight. Okay, crawl, in most instances, but he crawled gloriously. "I'm always okay."
You're not fucking immortal, Cal almost snapped, but managed to hold it back. "Sure," he simply agreed, trying to keep his internal struggle between anger and fear to himself. "Just go to sleep. I'll - I'll be here."
Clint just frowned fuzzily at him. "Me not wanting to go to the docs means you have to sit here all night, doesn't it?"
"I'd probably sit up all night either way," Cal admitted, after a second's hesitation. He stood and stepped away, because he needed to put some distance between them. He could still run through all the damage in Clint's body in his mind.
The archer started to push up on an elbow, but his back twinged again, and he huffed softly as he lay back down. "Cal..."
Cal looked over with a frown, and winced as he saw Clint lower himself back down. "Just go to sleep, Clint. Please. You need it." And he needed to get a grip. Clint being asleep would be good for both of them.
Clint frowned deeper, but closed his eyes. He'd thought that Cal didn't need him anymore, but apparently Clint still needed him. At least enough to continue to make things stupid between them. He couldn't really think about that though, especially with exhaustion sinking into him. He started to say something...but fell asleep before it could leave his lips.
Cal tried to ignore Simon's mutation, and the incessant rundown it was giving him of his own bodily functions, but he ended up dropping it before ten minutes had passed. He'd just go back and get it to check in on Clint in a couple of hours. And then again, and again. Hopefully he would manage without waking Clint.
For now, he shifted into his panther form (he still hadn't gone back to the wolf-dog) and paced the length of the room, trying to find something even resembling calm in the storm of his emotions.
Cal had managed to last through the night without sleep, and when Clint had showed no sign of waking up in the morning, he'd e-mailed the faculty about Clint and him taking a mental health day, and Caleb to tell him not to worry. (He would, anyway.) After Simon went about his day off of the school grounds, Cal had had to keep his mutation around. Unused as he was to the constant hum of it in his mind, it exhausted him mentally and he ended up dozing off halfway through morning. When he next woke up, it was midday, and after checking in on Clint, he stopped by their room to walk the dogs, then blinked to the kitchen to grab snacks and bring them back to the room.
A couple of hours later, Cal sat beside Clint again and reached out to lay a hand on his arm. He breathed through the onslaught of data, focused on what mattered. The concussion was slowly healing, as was his strained muscle. Faster than a normal person, but still slowly, compared to the full force of Clint's mutation. Cal pulled his hand back with a soft sigh.
Suddenly, Clint's hand snapped up, grasping Cal's wrist, wakefulness showing in his bio-signs as though it were at the flip of a light switch. Blue eyes flew open, and Clint stared at his friend for a moment in confusion.
Adrenaline shot through Cal's system as his heartrate sped up, but he forced himself not to react. It was Clint, that was all, and being able to focus on their physiological reactions made it easier, in that moment, to fight off Cal's usual psychological reaction to being grabbed. "Just me," he managed to get out, his voice a little rough for not having spoken to much of anybody in hours, apart from the dogs.
Clint's muscles relaxed in what was clearly relief as evidenced by the information flooding into Cal's brain. Though just for a moment, before Clint pulled his hand away, there was a spike of something else, something that triggered a wave of hormones and endorphin. "Oh. Hey. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Cal answered, and leaned his hand on the bed. Don't think about that surge of hormones. Or the ones that cascaded through Cal in response. "Sorry, I was just - checking in on you. You've been healing. How - how are you feeling?"
Clint pushed up to sit on the edge of the bed, cradling the back of his head. “Better, I think. Note to self, dumpsters are bad.”
Part of Cal wanted to put some distance between them when Clint sat up, but he also refused to give in to the urge, so he remained where he was, sitting beside his friend. "What happened?" he asked, had to ask.
"Nothing. It was just a thing. Got in a tight spot is all. It's fine," Clint told him, staring across the room and trying to decide if he could stand or not.
"Yeah, tell that to someone who doesn't know precisely every injury you got," Cal remarked, some of the anger he had worked so hard to suppress making his tone cold. He wasn't buying Clint's bullshit. Not today. Not with the state he'd found him in. Not when it was a small fucking miracle he'd found him at all.
Clint rolled a shoulder - ow - and pushed to his feet, teetering for a moment as he stood there. Fuck, he needed coffee. "There was a weapons deal going down. I got in over my head. I didn't think you'd..." he trailed off.
"You didn't think I'd what?" Cal echoed, feeling the cold grip of anxiety on his lungs. "Show up in a second if you called?"
"But that's just it," Clint told him, wandering into the bathroom to get a wet rag. "You don't need to. You've got Loki. Caleb's got Nott. You guys have people that care about you."
Cal stood up at last, now frowning in confusion. "What's that got to do with -" He cut himself off and took a deep breath. Clint was actually concussed, so maybe some confusion was to be expected? Except Clint should have called him before the concussion. Cal trailed after him when Clint didn't close the bathroom door, and stopped in the doorframe. "We still care about you. I still - I would do anything for you," he blurted out, hurt, worry and lack of sleep making him sound more intense than he had planned to. "You've got to know that."
Clint turned and looked at him. "Yeah? Look at you. You're worse off for having known me."
"I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you," Cal blurted out, too shocked by how wrong that statement was to think about what he was saying. Hey, it was true on so many levels, anyway. He was so aware of his elevated heartrate, and every chemical his brain was producing right now, and it was getting to be too much, so he dropped Simon's mutation before he could talk himself out of it. Mind mercifully quiet, he stepped closer to Clint, lowered his voice. "Shit, Clint. Please tell me this is the concussion talking."
"I didn't mean - Yeah okay, in the Right. But now you don't have to worry about me," Clint told him. "I'm fine. I'll...be fine. It's just some bruises. But you, you're all...sitting up all night with me and running off picking up other mutations for me."
"Of course I am, and I'll do it again," Cal retorted without missing a beat. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Who the fuck told you I'd stop giving a shit because I give a shit about somebody else too?" He reached for Clint's shoulder, slowly, aiming for unbruised spots, and held his gaze, wishing him to know this, and having a hell of a time keeping it all behind his shields. "I love you, okay?"
Clint just...stared at him. He didn't know what to do with that, or how to react to it. Even his own family didn't love him. And he sure as hell didn't deserve it from Cal.
Slowly, reluctantly, Cal lowered his hand. "And it's not gonna change," he added, because he might as well commit to it now. Even if his throat felt so freaking tight right now, and anxiety fluttered in his lungs again at the way Clint was just staring at him blankly. "No matter what. So please, just - don't shut me out."
Clint opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking down at the sink. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. Whatever he meant to say, he definitely didn't mean to admit, "I'm not good."
"I - okay," Cal answered, confused. He leaned back against the doorframe, hands behind his back, so he wouldn't reach out. "What do you mean?"
Clint shook his head a little, then winced, reaching gingerly up to poke at his scalp. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I freaked you out."
"What - of course it matters," Cal blurted out. He was in no shape to deal with this roller coaster of 'fuck yes Clint was talking to him' to 'wait no now it was business as usual'. "Please."
Jesus, Cal was killing him. And expecting...things. Clint shifted to sit on the edge of the tub and rubbed his head. "I'm not good. I...I've never been good, but I was trying to, you know, hold it together, for you, for Caleb. But you guys are good now, and I'm...not. And going out there, and kicking ass, or maybe getting my ass kicked, I don't know, it helps."
Shit, that was... that was a lot to unpack, and Cal moved back into the bathroom, sitting on the floor with his back to the counter, feet hitting the tub next to where Clint was seating. He looked up at his friend and said, because he had to start somewhere, "It's not gonna help if you're dead."
Clint smirked at him. "Who says?"
The tears Cal had been fighting so hard welled up in his eyes now, angry tears, desperate tears. "I do."
Again, Clint was caught off-guard. Sure, he was close to Cal. To Caleb too. And yeah, he cared about them a lot, but the tears startled him, eyes widening slightly at the look on Cal's face.
Cal pushed himself back to his feet, as if he could outrun his anxiety if he moved, but it was solidifying in his lungs with each breath, even as he wiped at his eyes. "Are you for real? You really - d'you wanna die?"
"No, I...no," Clint told him, rubbing his eyes. "No."
That, at least managed to stave off Cal's panic, and he leaned back against the counter, just focusing on breathing and strengthening his shields for a few seconds. "Okay. I just - I was so fucking scared, Clint."
"Sorry... it's not...I didn't do it to scare you or anything," Clint sighed.
"I know," Cal confirmed quietly. "But can you please call me next time?"
Clint pointed to the dead phone sitting on the sink's edge. "It died. Pretty sure I killed it with my body when I fell into the dumpster."
"Before you get into something like that," Cal pointed out, but he mostly sounded tired. He was. He was exhausted, and he felt like he was a hair's breadth from crying again.
"Call you before I decide to take on a warehouse full of weapons dealers?" Clint blinked at him.
Shit. The reality of what Clint had walked into slammed through Cal, but he did his best to answer with a forceful, "Yes." And then, in case it wasn't clear, "Fuck yes."
Clint was kind of hoping that wasn't the case, but he should have known better. He grimaced a little, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh. Okay. Sorry."
Cal wiped a hand over his face, then looked back at Clint. "Look, I - I've been trying to give you your space. I don't wanna... I don't know. But I can't just sit by while you do shit like that."
Looking up at him, Clint shook his head. "You still don't get it."
"Get what?" Cal asked, his expression so eager. He wanted to get it. Badly. Maybe then he could actually help.
"I'm always gonna...do shit like that. Screw up," Clint sighed. "That's why I didn't tell you."
"You not telling me is where you screwed up," Cal retorted, frowning again. No shit he didn't get it. He really, really didn't get it. "Everybody screws up, Clint. I'm just asking you to try."
"Maybe," Clint agreed. "But you also didn't get hurt either."
"Didn't I," Cal pointed out with raised eyebrows. Instinctively, stupidly, he was masking the hurt in question behind a veil of anger, seeping into his voice. "For the record, I'd rather heal a hundred injuries than go through this again."
Clint started to say something, then stopped, and thought about that. Cal was more upset than he'd seen him since...well, since Cal almost died, and that was including their whole 'I like you' blow-up. So...maybe he had a point. Except... "You're not gonna die from hurt feelings, though."
"Unlike you, I would heal," Cal snapped.
The words were like taking a brick to the face. Followed by an entire house. Clint suddenly felt his aches and pains more than he had in the past eight hours, along with a icy cold sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, you would," he breathed out without thinking, and pushed to his feet, brushing past Cal and heading for the door of the dorm room. "Maybe you should be the one out there."
"I would be if you let me," Cal retorted, and knew a lot better than to grab Clint's arm to stop him from leaving. He'd already blurted out something he shouldn't have, no need to add to his thoughtless fuck-ups. He was right behind him, though, dogging his steps. "Clint, wait, please. I'm sorry."
"No," Clint muttered, pausing at the door, his hand on the knob. "You're right. I shouldn't be out there."
"I never said that," Cal pointed out softly, and his steps towards Clint were measured, tentative, slow. He was so scared Clint would just walk out, right after Cal had said something so horrible. "You should be out there if you want to be. You're doing good out there. I just - I don't want you to bite off more than you can chew." He felt like all of his anguish had to be showing on his face, and it felt fucking vulnerable, but he was doing his best not to try and hide it, shut down, turn away.
Clint didn't even see the look on Cal's face. Couldn't look at his face, whatever it was showing. He stared at the doorknob instead, thinking about how Cal thought he was making things better, but yeah, wasn't really at all.
Cal wasn't sure what Clint's silence meant, but his slow steps towards him eventually brought him close enough to reach his hand out for his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm - I'm just - I'm scared."
Clint was quiet for a moment, then finally turned back to look at Cal. "You know, I don't really need my hearing aids anymore. I don't even turn them on half the time. But I...I keep wearin' them. Cause it's...it's easier being the 'deaf guy' than being the 'guy without powers'."
He frowned, then leaned against the door, suddenly tired. "TJ says I'm some kind of hero in her world. That I don't even have powers there, but I'm still... part of a team. Worth something. But I don't know how he does it. How can he handle being around people like you, or Thor, or Loki, and just... run around with a bow? He can't even heal. How's he a hero?"
Cal let his hand drop when Clint leaned against the door, his heart aching for his friend. He couldn't settle on one emotion long enough to fully experience it, it felt. From anger to fear to sympathy, now, and through a whole gamut of other emotions, all of them fueled by how fucking much he loved Clint. "I think he's way more of a hero because he does it without all those awesome powers," he said, quietly, not quite trusting his voice. He swallowed, then tried again, more firmly, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're way more than just 'worth something'. You're really fucking amazing." His heart was beating double time again, filled fit to burst with his feelings for Clint, and Cal didn't know what to do with them.
Looking up at Cal, Clint just frowned. He still had the concussion - or at least some of it, he was pretty sure, but he didn't think he was imagining how freaked out Cal had seemed this whole time. But he hadn't thought that Cal cared about him like that. Or maybe it was just 'as a friend'? He wasn't sure. Fuck, the whole mess with Loki was all pretty confusing, so figuring out Cal's feelings was pretty much off the table. Clint didn't think he'd ever understand him. Instead, he settled on what he could figure out. An apology. "Sorry I scared you."
"I don't know what I'd do if you died," Cal admitted, blinking back tears again. He hesitated, made sure his shields were up and solid, so he couldn't risk influencing Clint's answer, then blurted out, before he could chicken out, "Can I hug you?" He wasn't sure he could hold himself together if he got to, but he also felt as if he needed to hug his friend. Badly.
It was so strange to hear it coming from Cal that Clint momentarily hesitated, if only from confusion. But after a second, he gave a slight nod, waiting and allowing Cal to come to him, like some kind of wounded animal.
Cal moved slowly, hesitantly, half expecting Clint to change his mind, half expecting himself to. But eventually, he wrapped his arms around his friend, careful not to press on any of his bruises, shut his eyes tight, and breathed in deep. He was fighting a losing battle to keep his breath even, with so much emotion pressing down on him, but he didn't care. Clint was here, and okay. Or perhaps not okay, but okay enough.
Biting back any flinching from his wounds, Clint wrapped his arms around his friend, closing his eyes. "Sorry," he said again.
I want to help you. Of course, Cal could no more broadcast the words without his emotions leaking all over the place than he could have said the words out loud without a sob making it out, so he kept it all behind his shields. I want to help you so bad, if I could give you back a fraction of what you've given me, and it kills me that you won't accept my help. A few tears ran down his cheeks, but Cal pretended they weren't there. Eventually, he whispered, "I'm sorry too."
“I didn’t know -“ Clint tried to say. But what was he saying? He didn’t know Cal had cared so much?
"Now you know," Cal said, throat closing up halfway through the short sentence, the last word coming out choked and frail. He let a few seconds pass, swallowing against the tears and trying to get his voice back, holding on to Clint through it all. He tucked his face into his friend's neck, and didn't even bother pretending the smell of him wasn't helping him settle down. He'd distanced himself from Clint so much, for so long, and he had missed this. "I'm sorry I didn't make it clear earlier."
"Hey," Clint tightened his grip on his friend a little more - as much as his shoulder and ribs would allow. "Whatever it is, I'll fix it."
"Don't think you can fix us on your own," Cal remarked after a moment, anxiety and warmth battling it out in his lungs. He didn't want the embrace to stop, and he kept his hold on Clint strong and steady - okay, there might have been a hint of desperate in there, too.
"Is that what's wrong?" Clint asked quietly. "Us?"
Cal frowned a little at the way Clint put it, and forced himself to relax his hold a little. He needed to relax at least some if he was going to get any words out. Still, he kept his face tucked in Clint's neck, because, very selfishly, he wanted to stay there, make the most of this moment, of the physical proximity with Clint he had missed so much. "Not like - I mean, we haven't been right, right? But we're not a problem. We have a problem. Or something."
Clint finally pulled back, at least enough to try and see Cal's face. "I don't have a problem with you."
Cal hurriedly wiped his cheeks free of tears, Clint's words only highlighting how much of a fuckup he was. "I have a problem, then," he said, his voice tight, without looking at Clint. He meant to only glance at him then, but once their gazes locked, Cal couldn't look away, and the words came spilling out. "I don't know how to be around you anymore. I miss you so much, and we fucking live together. I try to give you space but then you go and..." He swallowed, hard. "You say you're not good, and I don't know how to help you."
This time it was Clint who couldn't look right at his friend. Yeah, he'd said that, hadn't he? Fuck, his head was spinning. Leaning back against the door, he huffed out a breath. "You don't need to give me space."
"Would that actually help?" Cal asked, his gaze a little wary. "Me not giving you space?"
"Would it hurt?" Clint scrunched up his nose, not really understanding the question.
Cal shrugged, gaze sliding away for a moment, before he forced himself to look back at Clint. "Maybe less than keeping my distance." Hopefully less. He took a deep breath. "But would it help? You?"
Clint frowned slightly. "Maybe? I...don't know. Probably not. But at least I'd stop scaring you?"
Cal huffed out a breath, something that could've been a laugh but fell very, very short of the mark. He leaned his back against the wall beside Clint and sighed. "But I want to help you."
Clint huffed a breath as well. "Well you can't."
That hurt, in a way Cal was too tired to fully integrate. His throat smarted, and he swallowed against the ache. Maybe Clint was wrong. He had to be wrong. What was the point of this, of them, of friendship, if he couldn't help? He would just have to figure out how. He swallowed again. "We'll see."
"Look," Clint said tiredly, "Do I hate looking at you and Loki? Yeah. Is my head in a fucked up place? Sure. But we're still friends. You don't owe me anything. You don't need to be scared of being around me. Things can be good again. Okay?"
Except Clint wasn't good, and that scared Cal. But he could tell he wasn't getting anywhere - he was emotionally drained, right then, and he had no idea how Clint felt, after his night. "Okay," he agreed, rubbing a hand over his opposite shoulder.
Clint turned and tugged him into a stiff hug, injuries be damned. "Being around you helps."
Cal had been too busy avoiding looking Clint in the eye to see the hug coming, and for a second he didn't react, before relaxing into it and wrapping his arms around Clint. Still careful not to press down on anywhere he remembered bruises being, but hugging back all the same. "Does it?" he asked, his voice quiet, so quiet.
Closing his eyes, Clint took a deep breath and murmured, “You have no idea.”
"So tell me," Cal whispered, hoping with everything he had that Clint would. What he wouldn't give for his friend to open up to him.
“Yeah,” Clint huffed. “I can’t do that.”
Cal closed his eyes on that dashed hope, and the hurt that came with it. Then he took a deep breath, and simply said, "Okay."
Clint sighed to himself. Maybe someday he could show Cal, but not with the whole Loki thing going on. He wasn't going to be a dick and trample on that. He could be a dick about a lot of things, but Cal's happiness... nah. Finally, he pulled out of the hug again and stiffly moved to pick up his stuff. "Let's go back to the room."
"Okay," Cal repeated. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved away to put the first aid kit he'd grabbed back together.
Clint knew that he'd broken Cal somehow. He'd fucked up. Again. But he wasn't really sure how he could fix it. Instead, he just gave his friend a little bruised sort of smile and led the way out the door.
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Date: 2020-01-21 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-21 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-21 04:55 pm (UTC)Also, Yana would like to know why no one ever thinks of HER when they need someone healed? I mean, yeah, it'd mean a trip to Limbo and some serious pain, but really... ;)
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Date: 2020-01-21 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-21 05:04 pm (UTC)Clint would barely know Yana - I mean, I'm sure they've met, either at the BH base or since? But not really to talk to. We should fix that sometime. :)
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Date: 2020-01-22 02:16 am (UTC)I want to both smack them and squish them.
Caleb also wants to both smack them and squish them.