WAKING UP IN A HOPSITAL ROOM SHOULD HAVE SCARED PETER, but he felt strangely detached from his own body- was this death? The thought came from afar as he looked around.
The blinds had been closed, (saving his eyes from being blinded by the afternoon sun), there was also a cast around one of his legs and an array of hospital equipment that surrounded the bed on both sides- his perusal of the room stopped abruptly, attention latching onto a figure. In the visiting chair was a hunched being who was contorted into a clearly uncomfortable position; the sight of the archer made Peter's heart lurch in his chest.
He couldn't look away from the myriad of garish bruises marking the man's skin or the stitches that seemed shockingly white when compared against the deep, purple bags beneath Clint's eyes.
"'Ou awake?" Clint grunted out, opening one bleary eye.
Words refused to leave Peter as he continued to stare at the man's injuries.
Any thoughts of a possible response had vanished, and any potential apologies that had run through his mind weren't stringing together to make full sentences.
A frown tugged on Clint's face at the lack of response; he shifted in the seat, untangling his limbs so that he had the faculties to sit up. He eyed Peter with a worried look that only further highlighted the tiredness that seemed to cling to his features. "Can you understand me kid?" He questioned, inching forwards hesitantly. Concern seeped into Clint's voice- he could remember Peter falling too quickly to the ground for him to catch and could even still hear the distinct snap of his leg and the sound of the rebar pole impaling the teenager as it went straight through.
The memories and spiralling thoughts made Clint grip the armrests of the chair.
Taking in a deep breath to steady himself, he moved closer to Peter who practically jolted away; he winced as the movement jarred his own injuries and sucked in a sharp breath.
"Pete? You okay-"
"What is wrong with you?" He spat out, wide eyed.
Clint reared back at the venom in Peter's voice. Hurt flashed across his face before he managed to mask it, cursing himself for being caught off guard by a teenager of all things, (he refused to acknowledge that Peter was more than just some teenager to him at this point- it had helped to contain the potential grief despite Natasha's disapproving stare at his coping mechanisms).
"Do you want me to go?" He asked quietly, voice calm and soothing. "I can find Nat-"
Peter scoffed and fixed Clint with an almost feral look- but the archer could see the fear beneath it, could hear it lingering behind his words. "I almost killed you!" Peter's voice broke harshly at the end and Clint's chest tightened at the sound. A glimmer of terror sparked in Peter's eyes when he stared at the archer, breathing with barely contained guilt- he'd almost killed him. The teen felt suddenly ill and tore his gaze away when Clint made an odd noise in the back of his throat, his mind still processing Peter's reaction- he leaned back into his chair, looking almost thoughtful.
"Look, let's not start with this bullshit." Clint started, aiming for a levity that made Peter wince. His gaze was stubbornly fixed on his hands. "So, you punched me-"
"- beat you-" Peter cut in, the words a snarl and coloured with disgust. Clint ploughed on.
"- who cares? I mean-"
"- it was almost to death, Clint-"
"- I've probably had worse."
Peter's head shot up and he had tears in his eyes when he met Clint's own. He let out an angry breath, with his hands balled into tight fists that shook uncontrollably by his sides.
"Don't you get it? I don't care if you've had worse- I almost killed you."
"You think you're the only one to take a hit at me?" Clint asked, incredulous. "Natasha almost killed me when we first met- now she's my best friend." He shrugged but Peter didn't look appeased.
"It's different. She wasn't, wasn't mind controlled, but me? I knew you. I knew what I was doing but I couldn't stop it. Hydra got in my head and I couldn't get them out and you were paying the price because I was too weak-" He cut himself off, biting hard enough on his lip to draw blood.
There was a tense beat of silence. Clint simply stared at Peter, part of him aching to reach out and hold the teenager as close as possible and never let him go again. "Maybe I shouldn't-"
"What?" Clint couldn't bear to hear Peter say those words. "Be around me?"
Hesitantly, he moved so that he was sat on the edge of Peter's bed despite the teen wriggling as far away as he could get when he noticed the archer move. "Kid, I've been there." Clint breathed out, feeling awkward and out of his depth. He'd never been good with the whole heart-to-heart thing, somehow always managing to miss the mark when he was supposed to be the best marksman in the world. He looked everywhere but at the teen. "When Loki was in my head, I didn't want to be near anybody in case I hurt them- I couldn't even stand to be in the same room as Nat because I was just so terrified, that I'd have an urge to kill her or any of the other agents and I'd lose control."
Peter was watching Clint like a hawk as he spoke.
"But you can't run forever or hide from the people you love." He concluded. "And everything that happened?" He finally met Peter's eyes again. "That just makes me want to be around you more. To keep you safe so that what Cain did never happens again."
He spat the man's name, feeling his anger rise before he pushed it back down again. Chin trembling, Peter shook his head repeatedly.
"I'm sorry Clint. I'm just so sorry." He rushed out, blinking back fresh tears.
"It's okay kid. I'm okay. We're okay." Clint promised.
Muttering apologies, Peter fell into the man's side. On instinct Clint curled around the teenager, tugging him further into his chest so he could simply hold him and murmur assurances.
A/N
Clint and Peter having a heart to heart? I live for it. And Peter carrying guilt? Accurate. Let's be honest- it's the most in character thing in this story.
Anywho! Let me know of any spelling mistakes! xoxo.