#clint barton; crisipider

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Issues with hearing partners, they could hear and wake at the sound of SOUND. Clint's gotten too use to not being quiet when he came in. He doesn't want Petr to freak out at the blood on him. Sure, new boyfriend was a superhero too but still. He's tiptoeing and than he gets distracted and TRIPS ⸻ AND FALLS. It's Peter's shoe's fault. ❝ AHHACK!! ❞

Shhhhhh no awake, ONLY SLEEP.

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Peter had been CHATTING with Chekov in the mess hall, the two of them had been working on figuring out a weird kink that had been going on with the transporter. They were just BOUNCING ideas off one another on how to go about fixing it.

He can see him there, across the hall.. watching, always watching..

It was enough to make Peter stand just A LITTLE taller, ( did he fix his hair just a little? Whose to say.) and there was a BOUNCE to his overall energy. For the most part he keeps his attention fully focused on Chekov, all too invested in the conversation no matter how cute Clint looked over there.

He had even taken note of the DOCTOR when he had joined HIM, and from the look of it teasing him about something. (He did however notice that Clint's gaze still didn't leave him..) it was at the lull of the conversation with Chekov, he finally FULLY looks over at Clint, meeting his gaze.

« I see you »

There is an attempt to make conversation with the doctor, or something of the sort. His heart isn't really in the conversation, and he does nudge for any gossip because that's really what there was when it came to ship life. Gossip about each other. He's pretending as best he can to be solely focused on Leonard as not to give anyone, the doctor presently, the satisfaction of teasing him further for obvious affection toward Peter Parker.

However, he fails that because his eyes are still drawn towards Pete, in his red code uniform, something of which he think any color looked good on Peter. Red's nice, and hey he's got a line to use on him later (it'd work) but really it was anything to get him to laugh. That was the thing about them, they had fun with each other and Clint doesn't even need to hear his laugh; because when Peter really laughed his whole body showed it. Always so expressive.

Peter's not looking towards his way at which has Clint tempted to find the most harmless small object that he can find it and flick it towards Peter. THAT'D BE RUDE, but he's never much cared about that. SO YES LEONARD, HE MAY AS WELL BEEN DROOLING.

He'd like attention and there's that rare Barton Luck when Peter finally turns his head in his direction. Soft eyes meting his, and Clint decides he doesn't care if he makes a fool of himself winking at Peter in full view. He'll talk with Leonard plenty; the doctor being on the higher end of the list of who he talked with more than others. The list went Peter (always more than others usually any chance and always in their quarters), Leonard and the other helmsman (between shifts, and they shared in the same role), than the rest of the senior officers and rest of the ship.

« I see you » THAT GETS CLINT TO RAISE HIS EYE BROWS. He points to himself, playing in total surprises and there's goofy grin as he continues the point.

« Me? Me? Me? » He keeps up, expression to match and than he's shaking his head. Smirk to his lips, always tended to curve on the side of his lip scar and than he's waving his hands off before signing more. « No. No you can NOT see me. »

He points towards Leonard, focus on Peter entirely. « You see Doctor Legendary Hands. » He shakes out his hands for effect, knowing full well that he has established that the doctor knew american sign and was following along. Is this that time where he explains he knows how to properly crush a windpipe? « Me? I am Invisible Man. You can't see me. » He covers his face for about two seconds, than looking back toward him. « See? Invisible. »

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sign: so are we gonna talk about it or are we gonna pretend nothing’s wrong here?

// you know in your heart who this is for and EXACTLY what point and verse I’m talking about.

CONTENT WARNINGS for alcoholism, relapsing, addiction, death, miscarriage, mention, depression, trauma, anxiety attacks

There are exactly five thing in life that absolutely crushed him, that had crushed him and changed the directory of his life. Unfortunately for him, those were not the end all or the be all of everything bad in Clint Barton's life. When he was born, he got the short straw in the draw of life. THE WORST POSSIBLE HAND ⸻ and he'd love to know what if there was something more ironic than the fact that Clint knew how to rig about a dozen card games and he still wound up with the worst hand.

Those five things were as follows in particular order ⸻ the loss of his and his wife's unborn son frankie, the divorce between him and bobbi morse, his own brother barney telling him that he may as well die like their father had with a bottle in hand, the crash landing and loss of the enterprise, and lastly most presently important the almost realized fear of losing peter b parker.

In the most recent years, and holy hell how long has it been, almost five years; that there had been two things working for him, one of superior importance; the fact he has managed to succeed at being on a star ship and next; the color that came back into his life after he had been rubbed raw, where his metaphorical vision saw grey and lacking. PETER B. PARKER WAS COLOR.

He had been managing on his own, as best he could to get through his years at the Starfleet Academy; he had got accepted and passed entrance exams (despite that feeling he was a phony, not wanting to be there out of starlight and adventure but out of spite to stick it to his brother that he would not die at bottle and he could do the starship thing too barney barton).

Those first years were a challenge, the hardest challenge as he was trying to scrap himself from the rock fucking bottom alone. Clint almost lost it all multiple times and he knows there had been some with more compassion because of his potential; because there were unique skills that he brought with him (he hate to owe it to his childhood, to how he grew up, and to his time as a performer).

AND THERE HAD BEEN PETER. He had met him when he was off the straight and narrow; a weekend lapse after managing four months without but thins had ben starting to stick more than before. It's a disease, a disease that he had known before he tasted with his own tongue. The lapse had last less than a month, one of the shorter stints and it was starting to stick.

( no longer had he been alone too. a friend turned love, found in peter who had become everything to him. everything. )

It had been a longer time that IT had stuck, years at the last where his hand didn't touch a bottle and his lips didn't touch a glass; personal poison not filling his stomach. HIS HAND IS SHAKING AS HE APPROACHES THEIR QUARTERS. It had been a long time.

The rub, the goddamn rub of where the spot stained, was this. There was a sixth soul-crushing addition to his list. THE REBORN ENTERPRISE WAS FULLY OPERTIONAL; A NEW MISSION ALREADY SET COURSE. THEY WERE FLYING.

As the days turned to weeks abroad a starship, the starship, and when he gazes out from the helm and sees the vast emptiness. IT FILLS INSIDE HIM. A gnawing, incessant fear that filled him and was in every corner.

He may have been cleared, but that was when they were on the ground and when he had been attending to Peter, had been going through therapy and holding it together. HARD DAYS AND HE HANDLED THEM. He got through, didn't drink, but now out in the stars?

The fear came back, with a vengeance and every day was hard, harder than the last and all he could do was hide it. HE WASN'T SLEEPING. He got good at faking that, the first few weeks. He was a liar, a phony, a fraud and he couldn't keep going on not sleeping.

IT ALWAYS STARTS WITH ONE ⸻ and he slips. . . . and when he slips? It never ends with one. The first few days, it's only a taste, one bottle nicked from someone else and hoping they blame their friend (they did) and it was just a taste, something to mellow the senses. SLEEP A LITTLE.

⸻ IT NEVER ENDS WITH ONE.

Here he was, wanting to drain the whole thing because it was felt temporarily good, and the fuzzy feeling wanted to lull him into the belief that it was worth it and good. Years sober and clean would say otherwise. HE SHAKES AS HE ENTERS AND PETER WAS STILL UP. WHAT WAS HE DOING THAT?

The light in the room, despite it's brightness dimmer than that out in the hall, feel BLINDING, BURNING, AND PETER LOOKS A SORRY STATE OF AWAKE. When have those dark circles been there, he had sworn to himself that Peter would be asleep before he went to the alcohol (someone else's nicked from a personal drawer of undergarments) he had relocated for use as his sleep aid.

WHY CAN'T IT JUST BE ONE? Why couldn't he be stronger, with more self control like the good doctor with one glass, one glass a single goddamn night when needed? WHY COULDN'T HE? BUT THE FEELING SHAKING HIS HANDS, SPIRALING OUT FROM HIS GUT AND HOLDING HIS LUNGS CAPTIVE SAID MORE.

The look upon his everything, upon Peter's face was as equally soul-crushing as THAT SIXTH SOUL-CRUSHING POINT. The sixth being the day that it all broke loose, when the fear was keeping up an he had gotten a few looks, some words passed onto him that maybe he should go to medical, and WHAT? AND WHAT? He wanted to bite, he wanted to snap, and tell them he can't sleep?

THERE WAS ONLY ONE GODDAMN CURE AND HE KNEW THE ANSWER. He couldn't spend every night, laying at Peter's side watching him sleep, watching him breath, and FEELING HIS HEART ACHE EVERY TIME HE STARTED STIRRING, OR STOPPED BREATHING FOR THREE SECONDS. Clint simply couldn't do it, he needed the sleep too, hypervigilance wasn't working. it was going to save Peter came to the worst.

TONIGHT WAS ONE NIGHT OF MANY IN THE PAST FEEL WEEKS. The night of many where his lips touched a glass, his throat found solace in the burn going down it, and he knows in the slow long run, that he was poisoning himself again, slowly but surely killing a part of himself; numbing the pain and the fear, and it'd only get worse from here.

Six soul-crushing points in life that came in no particular order, was never going to get to know what it would have been like to hold a baby frankie, was knowing that he was an awful husband who couldn't ever be there when it matter, the feeling of wanting to prove his brother's words right and die just like their father did, the two failures upon not being able to do anything that mattered to save anyone or anything as alien blood on his hands did nothing to change what happened, to having his fears come true and almost lose peter with no way to do anything and watch his everything almost lose himself to grief too, and a few weeks ago, that sixth thing had been when he had found someone's (he didn't bother to remember whose contraband he stole) whiskey and touched the glass to his lips and down.

YEARS WITHOUT LEFT TOLERANCE LOWER THAN EVER. Not much had been needed the first night, that damn spot, the rub of all rubs that left him raw and HE KNEW THE PLUMMET DOWN HE WAS TAKING. It helped him sleep and told him all sort of other lies, and the questions that kept him not being able to look anyone in the eye for weeks, inventing new routines to avoid old ones (no more morning yoga it would be wrong since that came about because of sobriety).

⸻ ALL OF THAT TOSSED AWAY. He was a phony, a fraud, and the addict he knew he was wondered only wondered when the next drink, what plans and reasons he could come up to justify, to make sure he got the next one, what happens when everyone who had brought contraband alcoholic substances no longer had any in their stashes because they hadn't docked in awhile and he went through four hundred and fifty something personnel and every nook and cranny looking for the thing that lied to him, that convinced him that he needed and wanted it.

That was soul crushing to know that his resolve was weaker and Clint felt powerless, had felt powerless for months and why not give himself over to a higher demon he had never believed in anything higher before but if he was going to destroy himself, he might as well.

BECAUSE HOLDING IT TOGETHER, HAVING ONE GOOD THING IN HIS LIFE? It's only a matter of time before he ruin that. Had he been too eager, too much of a stress on Bobbi that he had tressed her out and killed their baby, and he knows he was unsupportive and to blame for the divorce, and he had been the one first to throw barney out of his life, and. . . . what had he done, what could he have done. . . .

Peter was sitting there awake and he knows how they talk; knows the damn love of his life, the color to his world, everything his soul wanted, had learnt sign language quickly as he could on meeting him because he preferred and never shared that he preferred. PETER SAT THERE, AND IF LOOKS COULD BREAK HEARTS, HE WORE THAT EXPRESSION.

« so are we gonna talk about it or are we gonna pretend nothing’s wrong here? »

Clint stands there, stares at him and he hates himself; more than he could ever describe as he is left with that question. THE LOOK ON PETER'S EXPRESSION. It was years that he had drowned.

« Let's go to sleep » He signs, forcing into his face of something hopeful that Peter would just take that, even if Clint knew that he was answering Peter's question. WE GONNA PRETEND NOTHING'S WRONG. Clint wanted to pretend.

How could he say what was going on? BUT Peter knew him better than anyone had in along time of his life, it's why he loved him so much. TO KNOW HIS SOUL, the one he entrusted with his dark. Peter met him when he wasn't sober and watched him as sobriety finally started to stuck. HE KNEW. AND CLINT DIDN'T WANT TO SAY IT.

Somewhere in his system, his head was fuzzy after all, WOOZY, wanted a drink. AND ANOTHER REASON TO DROWN, TO WASH IT AWAY. He hates that feeling, hate that his mouth waters and he knows he'll seek out more.

This is how things end if he can't admit it, ask for help this time around; if he were honest. BUT TONIGHT?

« PLEASE » He looks like he's begging as his mouth moves over the words along with the sign. « Go back to bed, my love. We sleep? We need sleep. »

BUT TONIGHT HE CAN'T DO THAT. He can't admit it, can't ask for help, and face the consequences, risk judgment for this part of him being seen. It's a disease and he'll stay sick. FACE JUDGEMENT.

Tomorrow. . . . maybe tomorrow he. . . .

Clint doesn't go to touch Peter, or go kiss him because he knows (the drink tonight wasn't enough, he needs more, needed more) and he knows and he knows. He tries to go lay down, and give Peter the sorriest eyes, quietly begging for him to just let whatever time it was rest and maybe tomorrow, when he's clearer headed he'll TRY AND TRY AND TRY BEFORE HE FINDS WHATEVER THIS NEW ROCK BOTTOM WOULD LOOK LIKE.

All those years and he took them away from himself.

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SHOULD HE BE CONSIDERING THAT ⸻ MARRIAGE ⸻WAS ON THE TABLE?

⸻ or should be?

Considering, he got married to Bobbi Morse after nine days, and half the reason he had agreed was that hi hearing had been blown out and hadn't come back. NOT THAT HE EVER HAD GREAT HEARING. He's been deaf since he was a little boy, things over the years had just made it worst, made him lose more until he wished he could hear music like he did he was twenty.

So the fact that he and Peter had mad it two years, in arguably one of his better (possibly best, and at the very least, healthiest) relationship and he's crazy about the guy. They've managed to make it work, find a rhythm with their lives and what's the future to hold for them? Clint could see himself going on INDEFINITELY with how their lives were.

Should he give a call to Bobbi and ask her to coffee, ask her what he should do because marriage was kind of this whole thing? Plenty of (admittedly younger) couples got engaged at two years as a reasonable time frame. SHOULD HE PUT HIS OWN HUNGS UPS DOWN AND CONSIDER IT SERIOUSLY ⸺ TAKE A LEAP OF FAITH WITH PETER PARKER?

Peter's crouched, like the gremlin that he was. One of the typical Spider On A Perch poses, that even Clint knew if he sat like that without stretching in the morning, for long periods of time his old man thighs would start to burn. SHOW-OFF. (it would take a while for it to burn for him but that's besides the point). HE'S TO, AND HE'S GOING TO, CUP THAT STUPID PRETTY PETER FACE.

He's getting distracted, and he turns to do exactly as he thought about and cup his jaw, kiss him. Whine to him later that the mayor's office will be sending a complaint later, (sorry helen and luke, you try having spiderman as your boyfriend ⸻ actually didn't peter say, though he's not sure if it was a joke, that luke cag had a man crush on spiderman apparently?) for Clint ditching paperwork he's already avoided for a few days now. SORRY DUTY CALLED FOR SOME ARROW SLINGING.

LIPS PRESS TO PETER'S, A SMILE AND A LOOK INT HIS EYE ⸻ "Liiiiisten, a catch like you? Can ya blame a guy for wanting to make double sure before he gives up the lease to his apartment next month?" ⸻ GODDAMN DORK.

❝ Yeah, sure, Peter. ❞ He says, not fully certain of what he was agreeing to getting a little distracted by HIM. Could his lips convince Peter to make dinner tonight, because he really should ⸻

WAIT A MINUTE. That needed some interruption, carefully considered thought. LEASE ⸻ WAIT A DAMN MINUTE. What lease whose lease? HIS, which coming from Peter means, Peter. Peter's lease. GIVE UP ⸻ LEASE ⸻ NEXT MONTH. Was his lease really coming up, he thought that Peter liked his place pretty well. It was nice place, no loft bedroom and it's not in Brooklyn where arguably the better food places were; or at least the places with good grease. WHY WOULD HE ⸻ OH

⸻ ❝ Oh. . . oh. . . OH! Uh, you mean that ⸻ like you, in Bed-Stuy, all the time. ❞ MOVE IN IS WHAT HE MEANT. Like Clint hadn't thought about it, because really it's so much of a mess now going between place to place. Double double the groceries, and sometimes they were messy and forgetting stuff at the other's. ❝ There's an apartment identical to this one, on the top floor, still vacant. I figure either the neighbor next door to apartment H ❞ ⸻ he knows Peter will cringe at how Clint still label apartment ⸺ ❝ might be convinced to move up a floor, but come on, I think the better bet is I convince one of the neighbors up a level, to move down to here, and we move H up, cause like who wouldn't want less stairs for getting groceries up. . . Knock a wall down, somewhere. Room for Mayday. ❞

The reaction, if not obvious, is that he's all for Peter moving in with him and has even been thinking about A BIGGER PLACE. Namely an apartment with at least two, maybe three, bedrooms, so Mayday would have her own.

@oceansfirst I'm just gonna come in here and [ Cont. ]

OH HOW HE LOVED HIM...

Peter squatted in his weird little position as he looked at the older man he was so DESPERATELY in love with. Things were going good, SO GOOD?? like Peter actually felt like he could breathe?? and like things weren't just going to EXPLODE in his face and that was really nice.

He wasn't ALWAYS a complete idiot, he knew that they were dating. Hell they just had an anniversary not that long ago.. but the two of them were NOTORIOUSLY BAD when it came to talking about their feelings in any real way, and that INCLUDED saying the labels like boyfriends out loud to one another or to other people while in ear shot of one another.

But it had been TWO YEARS, and it was safe to say that they could do it right? Say it out loud? Maybe it was a little silly that Peter wanted the extra confirmation. So he had come up with the silly little idea of ring pops. It was WILDLY on the nose and almost kind of subtle all at the same time.

"Liiiiisten, a catch like you? Can ya blame a guy for wanting to make double sure before he gives up the lease to his apartment next month? " That's how normal people ask to move in right? It was a GAMBLE and he knew it.. but there was just SOMETHING about Clint that made him want to just DIVE OFF head first into BIG decisions.

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He's giving in The Look now, the all too proud of himself because he's got Peter Parker bending to give him a sip of coffee. No way, he was drinking that entire cup himself. Peter is arguably not as much of a coffee addict as Clint was, at least in Clint's opinion. ❝ No, not at all⸻ My funeral would suck. ❞ He further jokes, and ⸻

He wasn't expecting that Peter would still be holding the cup, babying him even as he's laid out in a bed with casts because Hawkeyes were human and breakable. Clint sighs in contentment as that bitter liquid, still hot enough for his liking (although he's an addict, any temperature of coffee would feed the habit and starve off the caffeine headaches).

GOOD LITTLE BIRD, Peter was probably the only guy who could call him little bird and not annoy him. ❝ HEY THERE, you should put a nurse's costume on. . . . You make quite a handsome one, better one too ⸻ More soft, kind, and caring than the Day Doctor Grouchy over there. ❞ Clint's leaning his head back to beg for a kiss.

"We definitely can't have THAT.." there is definitely a little bit of eye rolling as one hand moves to cup JUST UNDER Clint's chin to help him lift it just enough, while his other lifting the cup to his dork of a boyfriend's lips.

"Alright baby.. SLOW sips for me.." he is CAREFUL, oh so CAREFUL... making sure Clint could get a good long GULP of the sweet nectar that was COFFEE. After awhile he carefully pulls the cup away, not letting a SINGLE DROP spill, before leaning down and kissing the top of Clint's head.

"That's a GOOD LITTLE BIRD... all better?"