Marvel Imagines (Requests open!)

Clint Barton: Fragile

nov 30th, 2019

Title: Fragile
Character: Clint Barton
Spoilers: no
T/w: dead bodies; reader being sad; showering together lmao

so I realized a lot of what I write is really angsty and idk, I've always been drawn to angst but I think I want to mix some fluff in so I have a bit of variety in my portfolio. I hope you enjoy this, I wrote this in like half an hour in class
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Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Y/n L/n. Also Hawkeye.

While Clint was presumed dead, Captain America passed on his mantle⁠—and his bow⁠—onto you. And then he wasn't dead because Clint Barton doesn't know how to die, but apparently, he knows how to share.

And now you're both Hawkeye. Not Hawkeye and Hawkgirl, not Hawkeye 1 and 2. Just Hawkeye and Hawkeye, a pair of Hawkeyes fighting together. For the most part.

He was supposed to be training you. Keyword, 'supposed'. Instead, he liked to boast his archer skills and occasionally teach you the odd life lesson here and there.

For the most part you went on missions. Like today.

You'd been investigating a string of kidnappings. Six kidnappings; six symbols spray painted exactly two blocks away from where they occurred. Clint believed it was The Circus of Crime while you believed there's a much more sinister presence at hand. The Circus were thieves—these were gruesome, bloodier, more mature.

And you were proved right when you entered the vault you'd cracked open. The only thing thicker than the musty air was the stench of decay, letting your nose run onto your top lip. Your eyes shifted to the source of the stench. Stumbling back, you screamed. Clint wouldn't hear, though. He was busy fighting off the kidnapper (more like: murderer). You fell to your butt and scrambled to the door of the vault, scurrying as fast as you could away from the pile of bodies.

Something brushed against your legs and the scream that followed was blood curdling. You hadn't realized it came from your mouth until it echoed back.

Ok Y/n, back to reality. Back to being a hero.

On your feet now. You made your way over to where Clint had taken down the man and had already called the police in. They were taking the man outside when Clint finally turned to you.

"Hey y/n—are you crying?"

You closed the difference between you guys and wrapped your arms around him. The sobs wracked your body.

"What's wrong?" He pulled you outside, rubbing your back the whole time. And when you didn't answer, he repeated: "what's wrong?"

One of the cops stole away your opportunity when he threw up before promptly calling for backup. "There's so many—"

You stopped listening when Clint released his grip on you. Tumbling to your knees, your face went straight to the pavement. Vomit leaked from your mouth.

"Y/n," you could have sworn Clint was calling your name but the room was spinning. "Y/n!"

Then his arms were around you. People were taking, more emergency vehicles were pulling up. Yet all you could focus on was the bodies, the stench that stained your nose.

Eventually, you and Clint had made your way back to the apartment, silence the whole way. You immediately grabbed a towel and hopped into the shower, letting the water boil your skin.

Though you made every attempt to scrub away the stench that stuffed your nose and the grime that caked your skin, it was to no avail. Apparently, you'd been in there for too long and Clint ended up busting in the door.

"Clint—Jesus fuck! Get out!" You backed up against the wall and turned your back to him.

"Y/n, you've been in here for an hour...I thought you drowned or something."

"Yeah well, I didn't. You can leave now." You continued to shampoo your hair.

"God, can we talk about this? You haven't said a word since you saw the bodies. I hate to say this because I know you'll kick my ass but you're actually starting to worry me."

"I'm fine," you choked out. That was the last thing to set you off before you broke down again. You slid against the wall of the shower, letting the shampoo run into your eyes.

"You're not. Just—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What can I do?"

With the one hand that wasn't holding your knees together, you slid open the shower door. "Come here," you mumbled. "Please."

Clint obliged. Soon, his warm torso was pressed against your back, his hands through your hair. It took you a minute to realize that he was rinsing it out.

"Shh, it's okay now. It's okay baby, it's okay." He rocked you gently.

Eventually, Clint realized his water bill was about to cost more than his rent if he didn't cut this short. He helped you out of the shower and dried you off before turning to himself and shaking his hair like a dog.

"If you need clothes you can take some of mine. "

Little did he know you were already planning on it.

After changing into a pair of Clint's shorts and a shirt that was too big for Clint and way too big for you, Clint came into his bed to see you laying there curled up in a ball.

"How are you feeling now?" He fluffed out his hair.

"Like I need you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him collapse onto you. When had things changed between the two of you? You didn't know, all you knew is that you needed Clint, and you needed him now.

"I love you," he whispered.

You mumbled it back, not that he heard it through your face in his chest. He was as necessary as air.