Weekend Free-for-All!

[cyphersushi.livejournal.com]

Greetings and sorry about the missed post for yesterday, to make up for it we are running a weekend Free-for-all instead, so prompt away!

Remember the rules:
*No more than five prompts in a row
*No more than three prompts from one fandom
*NO spoilers in prompts. If your fill contains a spoiler please warn accordingly.

Format your prompts as such:
Avengers, Hawkeye/Bruce Banner, Nightmares
Wolverine/Firefly, Logan, Memories of Earth that Was

Enjoy!

Comments

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Clint has always been good at living with his kills.

So good, in fact, that it probably doesn't speak well of him.

Until his mind is not his own, his hands are not his own. Until his violence is alien to him, literally and otherwise.

Blood on his hands. Not his fault.

He wasn't himself.

It's impossible to explain that it's so much worse to live with it if it's not your fault.

With Bruce, he doesn't have to explain.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Clint wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and panting, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, Bruce always notices. He's usually too tired to speak, so he moans to remind Clint that he's there so Clint doesn't react to a surprise caress by pinning Bruce to the floor in a painful hold (this was the closest Clint had come to waking up the other guy, and they weren't keen to repeat it.)

Bruce would move slowly then, a hand softly gliding under Clint's T-shirt to rest a hand on his stomach, an invitation to lie back down. He never asked if Clint wanted to talk about it (that wouldn't have gone well). But he leaned into Clint, filling Clint's space with warmth and scent and soft. Bruce's hair, Bruce's skin, even his body, was soft, inviting, and Clint would focus on it, concentrate on the textures of the man next to him, on his heat. He would try to fill his mind with the wounded crackle of Bruce's voice whispering "I know. I know." Because Bruce did.

In the morning, they always pretended that nothing happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Clint never gave Bruce solace after a nightmare. Bruce didn't have them any more. At the first hint of strong emotion, he woke up and ordered his subconscious to shut it down. At least, that's how it looked to Clint.

Clint wondered what it would be like to have that much control over yourself. To will yourself to cope. Part of him resented that Bruce could do it, even as the saner part of him knew that Bruce had no choice.

But Clint had long stopped believing that people choose to be the way they are. Even before Loki, Clint hadn't believed that.

~~~~~~~~~

One night, Clint dreams that he kills his team. He wakes up and can't stop himself from screaming.

Bruce sits up next to him and asks. He reaches a hand toward Clint, slow and soft.

Clint shoves away. "Don't touch me," he says as he gets out of bed.

Bruce, luckily, doesn't get angry. He watches as Clint leaves, sad. But somehow not confused.