Forever With You(Science Bros)

Clint Barton

Hey!

Sorry this took so long. Sadly, because school is beginning again, my updates will be even more infrequent...

Oh, and remember

Flashback = Italics

Have a great day, or night,

~ImmortalLionWarrior1

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     I trudge through the streets of bustling New York City, my whole body aching. Glancing down, I look at Bruce's still form, draped over my arms. He moans slightly, but doesn't move. Damnnit! What did I do? Bruce was hurting, and I've hurt him more. He's always been teetering on the edge of sanity. What if I'd pushed him over the brink? I know that he's been suffering from PTSD, dissociative identity disorder and depression, but what is there's more? Bipolar,  survivor's guilt, and I've just added to it. I remember the fear, the despair in his eyes. How could I have done the to him? I remember the look in his face as he slipped into unconsciousness. Fear, fear of me, and despair. My knees buckle and I sank down to the ground. The grounds of foot traffic just swept around me, to busy to care about another random scene. What have I done? My mind begins to spiral, and I memory I had tried so hard to bury floats up to the front of my mind. As I sit on the cold pavement, cradling Bruce's limp body, the world around me fades into a blur of motion and noise. My thoughts spiral, uncontrollably dragged back to that dark day in the Avengers Tower—a day I've tried so hard to forget, but that now feels all too close.

     It was late, and the rest of the team was out on various missions, leaving just Bruce and me alone in the tower. He'd been unusually quiet all day, but I didn't think much of it at the time. We all had our demons, and Bruce's were particularly fierce. Still, I should've noticed the signs that something was wrong. The silence that hung over the tower was thick and unsettling, almost palpable. I was in my room, tinkering with some arrows, when a sound reached me through the walls—the unmistakable click of a gun being loaded. My heart leapt into my throat. Bruce was just next door in his room, and the sound was enough to send me sprinting through the hallways. I reached his door, my pulse racing, and carefully pushed it open. What I saw inside froze me in place. Bruce stood by the window, a gun pressed to his temple. His eyes were vacant, staring out at the city below. He didn't notice me at first, he just looked out of that damn window. I had panicked.

     "Bruce!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. He flinched at the sound, turning his head slightly. Our eyes met, and I saw everything in them—despair, exhaustion, guilt. But what terrified me most was the resignation, the acceptance that this was his only way out. "Don't," I had pleaded, my voice trembling. "Please, don't do this."

     He looked at me, really looked at me, and I saw him waver. But then he shook his head, a bitter smile forming on his lips. "Clint, you don't understand. I can't keep living like this. I can't keep risking everyone's lives. I'm a danger to all of you. To the world."

     "You're not a danger," I argued, though I knew he didn't believe it. Some days, I didn't believe it either. But I wasn't about to let him go through with this. "You're part of this team. You're my friend. We'll figure it out, together. But this? This isn't the answer." He closed his eyes, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I'd lost him. I was ready to rush forward, tackle him if I had to, but then his hand began to shake, the gun lowering slightly.

     "I'm so tired, Clint," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I just want it to stop."

     I took a cautious step forward, then another, never breaking eye contact. "I know, Bruce. I know you're tired. But this isn't how it ends. Not like this." When I was close enough, I reached out slowly, making sure he saw my movements. I gently took the gun from his hand, my fingers shaking as I set it down on the dresser, far out of reach. Then, without thinking, I pulled him into a hug.

He stiffened at first, startled, but then he collapsed against me, his body shaking with silent sobs. I held him tightly, feeling his pain and desperation, wishing I could take it all away. All I could do was be there for him, hold him, and let him know he wasn't alone.That night changed everything. It was the closest I'd ever come to losing Bruce, and it terrified me. 

Now, as I sit here with him unconscious in my arms, the fear is back, tenfold. What if this time, I really have lost him? What if this time, there's no coming back? Tears blur my vision as the memory fades, leaving me with the cold reality of the present. I tighten my grip on Bruce, willing him to wake up, to give me some sign that he's still in there, still fighting. I look up to see Natasha standing over us, her expression a mix of concern and determination. Relief floods through me.

     "Nat," I manage to choke out, "he's not waking up."

     She kneels beside us, her sharp eyes scanning Bruce's pale face. "We need to move, Clint. We have to get him to Stark Tower. We need to get him to Tony."

     I nod, struggling to my feet, still cradling Bruce in my arms. "Can we make it?"

     "We don't have a choice," she replies, already taking charge. "Let's go." Together, we navigate the busy streets, keeping our heads low and moving as quickly as possible. Every step feels heavier than the last, but we push on, the towering silhouette of Stark Tower finally coming into view. Relief washes over me—it's not far now. But as we draw closer, something's off. There's an unusual amount of activity around the tower—more than just the typical hustle of New York City. Then I see them: soldiers, heavily armed, stationed around the building, their vehicles parked haphazardly on the streets.

     I stop dead in my tracks, my heart stopping. "Nat... they've surrounded the tower."

     "S***," she curses under her breath, her eyes scanning the perimeter. "Ross is here. He's not wasting any time."

     Panic rises in my chest. "We can't let them take Bruce. Not after everything—"

     "I know," she cuts in, her voice firm but laced with tension. "We need to think. There's got to be a way inside."

     We edge closer to Stark Tower, every step feeling like a gamble. The military presence is unmistakable—Ross's men are everywhere, their uniforms a stark contrast against the gleaming glass of the tower. My heart pounds in my chest as I scan the area, trying to figure out how we're going to get Bruce inside without being spotted. Then I see him—Tony, standing at the front entrance, locked in a heated argument with General Ross. Even from a distance, I can see the tension in Tony's posture, his hands gesturing wildly as he tries to hold his ground. I pause, trying to gauge the situation, but then Tony's eyes lock onto mine. His expression shifts from anger to shock as he registers the state Bruce is in. His mouth opens slightly, as if to call out, but then he quickly shakes his head, a subtle but firm "no."

"Get the hell out of here," he mouths silently, his eyes flicking toward the cluster of military personnel surrounding the tower. There's no mistaking the urgency in his look. Natasha and I exchange a glance, and without a word, we veer off into an alleyway, ducking into the shadows. The reality of our situation settles over me like a weight—we're cut off, with nowhere safe to go.

     "Where now?" Nat whispers, her eyes scanning the streets for any sign of pursuit.

     "Follow me," I say, a plan forming in my mind. I remember a place nearby, one that's been left empty for years now—a little shawarma shop, the one we celebrated in after the Battle of New York. It's been abandoned for a while, but it might be just the kind of forgotten place we need right now. We make our way through the backstreets, slipping into the rundown shop. Dust coats the tables, and the air is stale, but it's quiet. Safe, at least for now. I gently set Bruce down on a bench, his breathing shallow but steady. Natasha paces the floor, her mind clearly racing with a thousand different thoughts.

     "This will have to do for now," she says, though there's no real comfort in her tone.

     We sit in silence for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts, when suddenly the door creaks open. Natasha tenses, her hand instinctively going for her weapon.

     But it's not Ross's men who step into the dim light.

     It's Captain Steve Rogers.