Lover, | Winterhawk shorts stories

Runaways

[im trying something different, feed back is appreciated]

They slept in motels for no more than 3 nights, then moved on. The scenery blurred past them. Maybe they'd been here before, maybe they hadn't. A lot of places tended to melt into each other these days. Clint picked the music, james picked where they would eat. Sometimes their phones would ring but neither of them checked who called, never bothered answering.

Miles passed and neither spoke a word. The radio whispered songs for them to fill the silence and time. Clint drove with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around James's over the center console. James leaned his head against the window and watched the trees turn to crops then turn to open meadows dotted with flowers. Eyes without focus.

Sometimes they'd switch who was driving, sometimes they'd just pull over and nap on the side of the road. Sometimes they'd find a hidden patch of land and sit on the hood of the car and watch the stars make their way across the sky. Clint still held James's hand. James's eyes still didn't focus.

Sometimes the world kept everything quiet so they could just enjoy each other.

It had been 3 weeks and they didn't need anything else but this.

-
The diner James had picked was quiet. The sun had barely cracked the horizon and the world, most of the world, was still asleep. They sat across from each other in a booth that had worn out faux-leather seats and one of those table Jukeboxes that didn't actually work anymore. Each nursed a coffee, not quite ready for food but working their way up to it.

Clint hooked his foot around James ankle the moment they sat down and hadn't moved it since. Just a reminder. James was folding little origami animals out of the empty sugar packets he'd used. The waitress came by and filled their coffee cups again, giving Clint a questioning look. He looked at James then back at her and shook his head. She offered a small smile and left them be again.

It wasn't until 3 hours later and a new waitress that they ordered food. It wasn't until 3 hours after that that they finally got up to pay the bill and leave.

August was spilling into September and the leaves were already changing. Clint started the car and decided this time they would go south. He held James's hand and he drove.

It had been 2 months and James still wouldn't talk about it. Clint would wait.

-
The stopped in New Orleans because Clint had good memories here. They found a motel that was just this side of too campy hoodoo and settled in. James commandeered the washroom and Clint settled on the bed. He checked in with Natasha and Steve because maybe they didn't answer phone calls but he wasn't going to let them wonder and worry.

Clint Barton
Still safe. Still moving. xx
seen.

There was nothing good on the TV every time Clint turned it on. He still checked. Made sure New York was still whole and standing. Made sure his friends were still alive. Made sure they didn't need to go back yet. They would if they were needed, but Clint didn't think they should until James was alright.

James came out of the washroom freshly showered. He'd shaved, and Clint smiled against the smooth skin of his jaw when he joined him on the bed. The sun was setting behind closed curtains and they wrapped themselves together. Let fingers travel over scarred skin and metal plates and through hair that was maybe getting too long.

They kissed slow and gentle. They kissed fast and rough. Breathy sighs ghosting across bare skin and fingers threaded together and bodies moving in sync. Words swallowed whole with needy kisses.

'I love you.'

They fell asleep tangled up in limbs and sheets, safe and warm and content.

It had been 2 months, 17 days, and 20 hours. James felt alive again.

-
They went to Iowa for Halloween. Clint was okay with it, had years to emotionally distance himself from the life he lived here. James helped him pick out flowers to bring to a row of three graves. They're all empty, everyone in Clint's family had been cremated. He paid for Barney's headstone, the state had given one to each of his parents.

They sit against the headstones and Clint recounts stories about a father he hated, a mother he loved above all else, and a brother who tried to kill him and ended up dying to save him. James holds his hand over the freshly cut grass until the sun has set and the stars are out.

James doesn't really remember his parents so he makes up stories he thinks are true. Some of them are things Steve had told him before, so there must be some truth to it.

They walk hand in hand through the streets of Waverly, Iowa, smiling at all the kids in costumes. James is particularly fond of the multitude of miniature Captain Americas, Clint gets overly excited about a tiny Hawkeye and Black Widow walking down the street together and asks if it's okay to take a picture. If the parents recognize him they don't say so, they just smile and nod.

James suggests they buy a bunch of junk food and watch scary movies. Clint thought he'd never ask. They spend the night curled up in a king sized bed in an overpriced hotel room so they could order movies through pay-per-view and pick out all the things wrong with them. They fall asleep with limbs askew and candy wrappers covering the floor. They don't even wake up when someone in the movie screams.

It had been 3 months and 3 weeks. Jame knew he was ready to talk about it.

-
Hydra had him again. They had Steve. They were unstoppable and they wanted to teach their Asset a lesson. He was theirs and theirs alone. He had no rights, he was not human. He was a weapon and weapons did not feel. Did not love. While Captain America destroyed everything the Avengers had worked so hard for, the Winter Soldier found his own target.

Designation Hawkeye. Human. Armed and dangerous. But not as dangerous as him.

Three days and fifteen hours of torture until finally he bled him dry. Clint Barton was no more.

In his haste to escape the nightmare he'd gripped Clint so hard he'd sported the bruise on his arm for a month. He'd torn the pillows. He'd run to the bathroom to throw up. He'd cried and heaved and wanted to die.

They were pulled over on the side of the highway, just having crossed from Iowa to Illinois. James covered his face with his hands and couldn't get any more words out, his shoulders shaking with his silent sobs. Clint brushed his hair back, rubbed his fingers in soothing circles on the back of James's neck, and waited.

Nightmares had plagued them both throughout the years, they'd adjusted, they'd learned to cope. Sometimes they felt too real, they hurt too much. Sometimes they needed to run away. Sometimes it felt the only safe place was on the road.

James leaned into Clint, pressed his face into the crook of his neck. Murmured against his skin. Whispered his fears, his love, his devotion. Clint filled the silence in between with soft hums of reassurance and trust and love.

Snow began to drift down to blanket the world in white. Cars drove past them without a glance back. Clint took James's hand and pressed his phone into it. Smiled at him, kissed his forehead and his nose and his lips.

'Tell them we're coming home.'

It had been 4 months. It was time.

-
Clint bought James new pillows for Christmas. James bought Clint a souvenir from every city they stopped in.

They were okay. They were safe. They were in love, and best of all, they were home.

'I love you too'