I Thought You Were Different

Useless

"Clint, what are you doing?" Steve bolted from his chair to your side, positioning himself between you and the archer, who had released you from his grip as soon the Captain was there. "She's doing the best she can."

"No, Cap, she's not. She's putting more energy into complaining and feeling sorry for herself than she is towards recovering." Clint stood, looking down at you but not extending a hand to help you rise from the hard mat. "Get up, (Y/N)." Steve immediately reached out to help you, but Clint pushed his hand away. "Steve, don't. She can do it."

Leaving you where you sat, Steve stood to face Barton, now fully angry at the interference and insistence that he was taking over. He pushed up as close as he could without contact, both men standing face-to-face with their arms tightly folded and their jaws set in resolve. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" the Captain growled quietly, doing his best to maintain his composure but quickly beginning to fail.

"I'm doing what you're obviously not able to do."

"And what is that, might I ask?"

"I'm not wallowing in self-pity and guilt over something that was an accident. She needs you to step up and be strong for her, because she needs all of her strength and more to do this." Clint paused and glanced back at you with a frustrated sigh. "I said get off the goddamn floor, (Y/N)."

Your primary therapist reached for you as Steve had done only moments ago, but your new guardian and drill sergeant gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks. You were being forced to find a way back onto your feet on your own. With a push of your hands, you were able to spin your body to the side and scoot your way closer to the parallel bars, grabbing onto the legs of the apparatus.

"I'm not pitying myself, Barton," Steve snapped, pointing sharply into Clint's chest, pushing him back a step. "And I don't recall anyone asking you to stick your nose into this. Sam, do you recall that?"

"I don't recall wanting to be a part of this discussion," he replied quietly, looking anywhere but at the two men.

"No one had to ask, Steve. But I can't just sit by and watch anymore if you're not going to be her-"

"Hey, asshole," you panted, drawing their attention away from each other, "now what?"

Clint's face changed to a smile immediately at the sight of you standing between the bars, holding yourself in place. Steve's shoulders dropped in defeat, and his expression followed, sadly realizing that maybe Clint was right. Maybe he wasn't the right one to push you through this. He was too close to the situation and couldn't give you the strength you needed. He realized that he wasn't what you needed, and it tore him apart.

~~~

No matter how many times Steve tried, no matter what liquor was poured for him, he couldn't get drunk. No matter how much he needed to just escape the moment, it would never work. A row of empty beer bottles now lined the edge of the bar; an empty whiskey bottle was resting in one hand and an empty glass in the other.

"Where the hell is Thor when I need him?" Steve groaned, standing to take another bottle from behind the bar of the tower, eyeing each type of alcohol to see what might be the strongest or fastest to work before his regenerating cells stopped its effects. He finally settled on something blue that looked really expensive and decided it was his best bet.

"Stark will kill you if you open that," Natasha called out from the doorway. "Unless you have about a grand to drop for it."

"He can afford it," he shrugged, opening it and taking a long drink directly from the ornate bottle. He took his seat again, tapping the chair next to him for her to join in his pointless efforts. "Grab a glass."