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"Buck, no, I can't dance," Clint groaned, trying to distribute his weight so he couldn't be budged. Bucky, of course, didn't even slow down and simply continued to drag him into the empty living area.
"Can't, or won't? C'mon," Bucky drawled. "I'll teach you. Just don't step on my toes or I'm not putting out."
Clint sputtered, eyes widening and jaw dropping open. Aw, Bucky, no. He clamped his mouth shut and squinted at the man, trying to find any hint of a joke, but being an ex-assassin helped him in the sense that he's now as difficult to read as a Russian textbook when he wants to be. "You wouldn't."
Bucky's lips twitched, a sly smirk planting itself on his face. "Are you really willing to risk it?"
Clint admitted defeat, letting himself be pulled against Bucky's solid chest. He automatically tried to intertwine his fingers with Bucky's, assuming that's what he was supposed to do, but was instead guided to Bucky's shoulders and linked his fingers together behind his neck. He felt the familiar flesh and metal rest on his hips and squeeze slightly; reassuring.
"See? You're doing great already." Bucky smiled down at him, nothing but warmth.
Clint huffed, focussing on his feet as Bucky began swaying them back and forth. "What, we're not going to Waltz?" He said after a beat.
"Nah, don't want you to fall on your face and end up in the ER or something when you start showing off."
Clint paused, knowing he was referring to the time he wanted to prove he could shoot a curve arrow with his feet while doing a handstand and ended up losing his balance and breaking his nose. The mighty Hawkeye never misses, though, and he got the arrow right in the middle of his target. He pulled Bucky's face down so they were eye-to-eye, but not much, because he was not that short, thank you very much. "That happened once. Besides, you're here to catch me if I fall."
Bucky simply hummed in response, pulling Clint even closer to his chest, making sure there was absolutely no space between their bodies, and Clint began to relax as he felt the rhythm of Bucky breathing and listened to his heart beating.
Bucky shoved his nose into Clint's hair and breathed in the scent of his ridiculous fruity shampoo - There's a dog on the bottle, Bucky. A dog. - and remembered the time he first laid eyes upon the archer almost ten months ago.
Bucky was tired. He'd had another nightmare. Or memory. He didn't know these days. All he knew was that the older man saying his name, from his position next to the crashed car, before Bucky laid punches into his face felt disgustingly familiar, like he knew him somehow. He wasn't going to tell Steve. He couldn't stand to see the concerned crease between his eyes for one more second. His ma would've told him to smile before the wind changed and his face was stuck like that, but when Bucky had said the same thing to him, thinking it'd make him happy, the crease only grew deeper. Besides, he wasn't prepared for the possibility that he had known the man, that Steve knew him. He didn't want to know.
He ran his flesh hand over his face. He'd spent so long in Steve's quarters that he now had no idea how to get anywhere in the tower. Of course he knew every escape route and exit, but he wanted coffee, and lot's of it. Just as he was going to give in and ask the ceiling where the kitchen was, he heard a crash and deep swearing from down the hall. He made his way towards the sound, silent footsteps on cold tile. Despite knowing that the probability of the language coming from a friendly vastly outweighed it coming from a HYDRA agent, he wasn't ready to completely let his guard down. What he saw was definitely not an enemy. The man had bandaids scattered over his arms, one on the bridge of his nose, and one of his wrists was bandaged. He had blonde hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed in at least a week and was staring down at a quiver with its contents spilled across floor.
"Aw, arrows, no."
After what felt like an eternity, seriously, Bucky could've kill him four times over by now, the man looked up and noticed him for the first time, jumping like a frightened cat. He quickly regained himself and smiled coyly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.
"I, uh, couldn't sleep so decided to shoot stuff, but as you can see, I dropped all my arrows on the way back to bed and..."
Bucky tuned him out, deciding instead to stare at his shirt. He had no idea what the darker man printed on it had to do with the phrase 'YOU CAN ROCK MY WORLD', but he assumed it was funny in this century. He wasn't going to ask.
"Yo, Robocop, you're not going all Terminator on me, are you?"
Bucky didn't know what that meant either, but the man was suddenly looking uneasy and his soft features were becoming guarded, despite waving his hand in Bucky's face.
"What's a Terminator?"
The man's demeanour changed instantly and he gasped and slapped his hand to his chest.
Bucky raised his eyebrow, prompting him to stop being dramatic and explain.
He simply shook his head and bent to pick up his arrows. "I can't explain it with meagre words. You need to watch it, experience it. You weren't planning on sleeping, were you?" He continued before Bucky got a chance to answer that no, not really, but does he happen to know where the damn coffee is. "Good. Follow me. We're watching it right now. Stop pouting, you'll love it. I'm Clint, by the way. Come on."
Bucky doesn't know why, but he followed. For the Terminator or the unquestioning blonde man with piercing blue eyes, he'll never know, but maybe this'll make Steve happy. Maybe it'll make him happy.
Clint sighed contently, burrowing his face into the crook of Bucky's neck. The man had meant the world to him as soon as he noticed him staring at his hilarious shirt. Though he hadn't understood at the time, he had vowed to protect him as much as he possibly could and made sure everyone knew how important he was. Clint barely had to think about their dancing anymore. They were simply swaying to an invisible beat and enjoying the warmth of the other.
Clint reckoned he could stay like that forever.
"Yesterday you came my way."
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle hum and gravelly drawl.
"And when you smiled at me, in my heart I felt a thrill, you see,"
Bucky's voice was unmistakably a Brooklyn accent right now. He had buried his face deeper into Clint's hair, right behind his ears, and his warm breath was tickling the sensitive skin his hearing aids often rubbed raw. He currently had in-ear ones that Stark built him, and he was grateful that they gave him 80% hearing compared to the old ones, so he could hear every breath Bucky took and each tone change.
Bucky pulled himself away from Clint so they could look each other in the eyes and smiled lazily at him. This walking tragedy had somehow become his reason for waking up each day, his reason to laugh and to cry, the man that, despite his own fears and past, never stopped smiling and treating each day as if it were his last. The man who didn't own a shirt without a coffee stain on it and could hit a falling bottlecap from the other side of the room, the man with a seemingly never ending supply of bad jokes and useless knowledge, had literally saved Bucky's life.
"JARVIS, where's Bucky right now?"
"Sergeant Barnes is currently on the roof, and I'd advise going to him quickly. He is questionably close to the edge."
Clint stopped short. "What? JARVIS, is he okay?"
The AI's voice somehow sounded concerned as he said "Judging by his posture I'd say he is the very opposite. Shall I alert Sir or Captain Rogers?"
"No, no. I'll go up. If I need back-up I'll signal you, okay?"
"As you wish, Agent Barton. The elevator is ready to take you straight up."
Clint was suddenly more scared than he'd ever been. He hoped JARVIS had misinterpreted the situation and Bucky was just getting some fresh air, but something in his gut told him he was about to face his biggest fear since Loki.
Clint's stomach dropped as soon as the elevator doors opened. Bucky was standing on the edge of the building wearing nothing but a loose shirt and sweat pants, folded over to make himself impossibly small and staring down at the still lively streets.
"Buck?"
If possible, Bucky's shoulders tensed even more. Every fibre of Clint's body was screaming at him to run towards Bucky, to pull him off the edge and into his arms, but Clint had been exactly where Bucky was not long before they'd met. He knew how dangerous a second presence could be, so instead he approached him slowly, ensuring Bucky could hear every step, and gently called his name again. Bucky needed to know he was there and that he was coming closer so he wouldn't shock him and literally send him over the edge.
Clint sat on the ledge next to Bucky's legs, careful not to accidentally nudge him. They stayed that way for what felt like hours but was most likely a few minutes before Bucky's usually husky voice, now brittle and small, broke the silence.
"Clint..."
Clint simply shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere, don't you dare ask me to leave. Tell me what's going on. Why did I wake up to a half empty bed?"
Bucky made a choked sound in the back of his throat and rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired, Clint. I haven't properly slept in so long. Every time I close my eyes I see them. Every single person I've killed, all staring at me, begging for their lives, but I pull the trigger anyway. Or jerk my hands on their necks. I can't stop it. I'm so afraid I'm going to hurt you or Steve. Fuck, I'm even afraid of hurting Stark. I'm a criminal, a weapon. I-" he hung his head and Clint saw shining tracks down his cheeks. "I can't do this anymore. I want to sleep."
Clint chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Look, I know it's shitty, I know your head is loud and messy, but throwing yourself off a building is not the answer. I've been exactly where you are, I tried pills," Bucky sucked in a sharp breath at that. Clint had never told him, "after Loki. I couldn't live with myself, knowing how many people I'd killed, knowing that I tried killing my friends, so I opted for an out. I woke up in the ICU three days later with Steve by my side. He'd found me, and he'll never admit it, but I know he took it hard. We'd barely been friends a month and he was a mess, imagine if he'd lost his childhood friend that he finally reunited with after seventy years?" Clint stood up behind Bucky, his hand hovering millimetres above his waist.
"Things will never be perfect again, I'm going to be straight with you," Bucky snorted softly, "but things won't be this hard forever. Soon you'll sleep soundly more often than not and you'll be able to see your reflection without wanting to shatter the glass. You'll be okay, I promise you. Please, just come down. I need you more than anything." Clint took a deep breath. What he was about to say could never be taken back. "I love you, Buck."
Bucky's shoulders slumped and his whole body tipped forward slightly, and Clint was sure he'd just lost Bucky, that he'd dropped himself over the edge, but then he let out a choked sob and collapsed into Clint's arms, allowing himself to be pulled away from the ledge and to the ground. Clint wrapped his arms around Bucky's shaking form and didn't mind that he was gripping his favourite shirt so tight it was undoubtedly going to rip. Bucky was alive, his hot tears making Clint's neck damp, so the shirt could go fuck itself. Clint let himself cry too; a mixture of fear and relief flowing through his body. He heard Bucky say between hiccups that he loved him too, and Clint pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around him tighter and kissed the top of his head.
"That it was love at first sight and I was right to love you as I do."
Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips against Clint's. Nothing more. Just savoring the tender touch. He ran his hands up Clint's back, tracing the muscles he knew better than the inside of his own palm, and tangled his fingers in the mess of blonde hair.
"Still, I never dreamed that you could love me too."