➶ NEVER MISS

DRIVER PICKS THE MUSIC, SHOTGUN SHUTS HIS CAKEHOLE! ... #PICKSMUSIC, an independent dean winchester from the cw's supernatural.

"Shit... that means this is pretty serious." Feet get to pacing. It all seems very natural, despite being put-on. With a little sleight of hand it almost seems like she just picked up the creased paper she's holding from the ground near his door. "Wait, what's this? Oh my god, look." Free hand rises, shielding her mouth as she gasps. "It's a letter from Lucky."

" a letter from ... ? " accordion brows squeeze in. he's across the room in two long strides to snatch the piece of paper out from kate's upturned hand. the look he throws her is dark & disbelieving before he so much as glances at the misshapen, misspelled mess on the paper ( that's totally not a dog's handwriting ). SINTS YOU DONT KARE stares back from the paper pleated over & feathery at the furrow. " aw, c'mon. "

knuckles dusted in a series of slashed scrapes & mottling bruises in shades of violet to chartreuse bite into the high peak of his hip.

" you don't really expect me to believe the pizza dog wrote me a note explaining why he ran away. "

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎“boomerang arrow,” ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎she echoes, voice and face blank as she processes every single life decision that has led up to this. ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎( and clint is not kidding her, to top it all off. ) ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎“congratulations. ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎just when i thought i couldn’t think any less of hand bows, ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎you pull off the impossible, barton.”

LESS OF HAND BOWS? skepticism, in a world where gods drop from the sky hurling hammers while haloed in blue, scorching streaks of lightning is ... rare ... but healthy. after decades of leveraging only the sinewy measure of muscles structured to the pinnacle of their potential & a wiry craftiness, clint is habituated to being looked at as lesser than. being underestimated is its own wealth.

" hey, would you say that to green arrow? " ravages his mouth into a twisted, put-upon kind of scowl. as he summons the cycle via a quick tap to his stark-tech hearing aids & a voice command clipped, clint hikes a heel up onto a nearby fire escapes rust-bitten hinges. hauling up the rungs hand-over-hand, the telltale shape of his preferred vehicle ( newly refurbished ) dips down from between the buildings to settle on a neat landing.

DRIVER PICKS THE MUSIC, SHOTGUN SHUTS HIS CAKEHOLE! ... #PICKSMUSIC, an independent dean winchester from the cw's supernatural.

he's staring at the empty space at his feet before he snaps to attention again, the thin line of his lips halfway between manufactured amusement and genuine thoughtfulness. now he's finally looking at the arrow, curiosity piqued. he slips his hands into the pockets of his pants, shrugging slightly in airy amusement.

" so, then. " the wire creaks as it stretches, touching back to his cheek. clint doesn't loose it, not yet, just lets the periphery of his sight capture all the corners of the room, all the potential projectiles & cubbies to make his stand. " guess things are gonna get worse? "

the dizzying impossibility of spells & wizardry might elude a mortal hand, but clint's craftsmanship & tactical know-how have scraped him through more than a few slim spots.

coarsely ushered sentence structure wheels toward slavic, yet the soldier responds to a deep-seated command shivering through their core: use english in america. off pries their grip, a careful doe-legged stagger relinquishing a modicum of their cattle fear alongside a full extrication of their compatriot, their.. what was he to them? shades of maladroit in comparison to the soldier's lethal nature, the ontological evil of a hybridized weapon. sweet. he was sweet.

a shower sounded.. nice. or, rather, the abstract sensory concept of scrubbing the potent notes of iodine and morphine and saline off sounded as relieving as food, water, and sleep. a tenuous exhale to stave sparking nerves and soothe reflexive panic, james gives, a silent succumbing to desire fostered deep. they hover awkwardly center-wise his living room, false arm capturing natal in a harmless cradle. a once over concludes:

CLINT KNOWS WHAT THIS IS. the digits crushing his shirt's fibers & choking its collar up under the hollow notch of his throat are no threat, but a desperate, self-preserving response to one. all hurt anyway. surrendering shock crumples his brow, his mouth, his entire expression collapsing into one of agonizing empathy.

" i'm not like them. " it lands while the soldier is huddling away, closing in, fetal coil, around himself. prey fright still blinks, inky-pupilled, tremulous, within those dark, adrenaline star bursts for eyes. undulating, tacky-throated, clint swallows around his own words & realizes that it is a promise in its heavy, permanent way of rolling out of him.

" you're safe here. "

" no shooting to kill. " clint's voice lances, sharp as his arrow's point. it's a bold stroke to make with their backs pressed up against the proverbial & literal wall.

he isn't calling the shots, just making them.

" i'm not exactly searching for another showdown between the two of us tonight, frank. "

CLINT WATCHES SPIDER-MAN'S MOUTH MOVE beneath the peel of his mask, cataloguing the words muffled by a pocketed bite of doughnut. *donut stuff* his brain helpfully supplies as he sinks his teeth into the glaze-crisped rind of his own. a pouting, powdery frown works one side of his lips. " aw, no bear claws? guess it is kinda late in the morning. " he thumbs at a fleck of frosting where it's clinging to his stubble-dappled cheek before meeting peter's hand in an open clap. then, mirroring his fellow avenger, clint gives a sheepish wave at the onlookers.

hey, someone shouts. is that iron fist?

" I FIGURED THAT WAS JUST PART OF ... us. " trust between the two of them is an unconditional thing, born of a beginning settled on the wrong side of right & wrong & given longevity over time by an enduring pattern built up by an unwavering shoulder when it comes time to lean. any rakishness that clint tries to weave into his lopsided grin is too thin, worn through by his already near admission that if things look bad, it's because ... they are bad.

he ambles over his collection of aches & pains in their various states of bloom to paw a hand into the freezer. unearthing a bag of frozen peas, triumphant, he holds it aloft. " who needs ice when you've got one of these puppies? "

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎HE USED TO THINK it was easier to brush this off. the shudder of someone actually complimenting him. as if this wasn't simply what he did, what he was made to do. archery was the same as breathing.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎he hadn't been doing much breathing lately.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“ only if i won't get in trouble for splitting some arrows. ” roy shot him back a grin. false bravado, despite entirely knowing he could and would do exactly that. the act is natural, all part of the show that came with recovery. doubly so when aforementioned recovery felt so slow.

in spite of the meditative time spent shaping an arrow, there is seldom a stronger satisfaction that the sensation of watching a nock splice the feathering of the one in front of it. clint rolls a hollow-spined shaft between his palms, considering, before he shags a nod chin-first. sometimes that deep-won sense of fulfillment beats out the time commitment.

" no one's getting in trouble here. " like a baton passing, he offers out the arrow, fletching first.

a beat of consideration passes, spent studying the pockmarked set of targets staggered out in front of them on the opposite side of the room. " but ... y'know, there are some other bullseyes to hit. in case they catch your eye. "

i didn't want you to go alone.

i can't do anything without you.

could you ever imagine us together?

how long have you been sitting here?

sorry if i fall asleep on your shoulder.

you're not like everyone else.

is this a date?

you have no idea what i'd do to keep you safe.

i brought you a coffee, just the way you like it.

could you not see i was flirting?

i should get going.

you're the only one i can turn to.

they thought we were a couple.

they were playing that song the night we met.

let's cook something together.

you're special to me.

i think i'm falling in love.

when did you get here?

i missed you more than you know.

you take the umbrella. i'll be fine.

i'll come pick you up. stay right there.

you're my missing piece.

let me see the menu. we could just split something.

i deleted all my dating apps.

there's only one bed.

i won't let anything hurt you.

i'll walk you home.

you said you were hungry, so i brought you something.

there's something i've been meaning to tell you.

you smile when you're nervous.

i get it. you're not interested.

have you ever considered... us?

nothing will ever be the same.

you're the only person who understands me.

was that flirting?

it would mean a lot to me if you stayed.

do you need a hug?

it's all right. i was happy to do it.

do you remember how we met?

i'm here for you. whatever you need.

do you need a lift?

never leave me again. do you understand?

you're my best friend.

you take the bed, i'll take the couch.

maybe i'm already interested in someone.

i'm on my way over. be there in ten minutes.

i don't want to overstay my welcome.

that looks amazing on you.

i'm not going out with them anymore.

i'm just a phone call away.

yes, i was flirting with you.

keep it. you need it more than me.

it was just one kiss.

you changed everything.

you can lean on my shoulder if you want.

i hate it when you leave.

can you walk me home?

you mean so much to me.

stay right there! i'm coming! i'll help!

i'm in love with you! i've been in love with you this whole time!

maybe i could make us breakfast in the morning.

you could hold my hand if you'd like.

wish you didn't have to go.

call me when you get home? so i know you're safe?

i forgot to tell you. we broke up.

check your front door. there's something waiting for you.

you could spend the night.

we're alone now.

need a ride?

that meant a lot to me, you know.

i don't know what i'd do without you.

do you feel the same way?

you... love me?

do you want to come inside?

you deserve better than that.

here, take my jacket. it's freezing.

this song reminds me of you.

are you dating someone?

i didn't know who else to turn to.

do you really have to go?

i don't understand what you do to me.

i won't let anyone lay a hand on you.

were you flirting with me?

i hate saying goodbye.

what happened between you two, anyway?

they shouldn't talk to you like that.

all this time i've been in love with you.

i won't say anything if you don't.

i remembered your order, by the way.

they think we'd make a good couple.

guess we have to share.

i brought you soup.

did you just say i love you?

it's just us now.

i could use a hug.

you are the single most important thing in my life.

i don't know how i survived for so long without you.

we could go on a date.

' i think i could do with that, yeah. ' the brief touchdown of a thought beyond chaste feels as scalding and ripe as if it had been clint's perusing hands greedily clutching his flanks, or a sweet greeting of twinging bruises to the soothing margin of his stubbled jaw. he imagines his only hand cupping the fuzzy swath of short cropped sandy hairs at the nape of clint's neck, digits spidering his occipital bone into the lazy shag of hair.

THIS TWINING OF THEIR HANDS COMES WITH a similarly tangled knot of confused emotion that cinches his stomach. to be cared for ... by bucky ... of all people is at odds with the rampant, roughshod way clint has shackled himself to lately. repelling off rooftops, shattering windows with the glass dazzling his hair & shoulders while rubying a scuff along his cheek? the edema hindering his joints is par for the course.

( what else does he have? )

still, the reverberating twang snapped around the lattice lines of his battered ribcage lands somewhere close to ... nice. it's nice to have someone to come home to, again. someone who gets it, against all the odds.

" c'mon. " clint's grin shears wide, jaw still an asperous shadow skimmed alongside bucky's own. sidestepping any conversation leading to the inherent self-destruction that comes with strapping on vest or slinging a bow across a wingspan is a safer, happier bet than where they're otherwise headed. " can't have you worrying about me. the stress'll give you wrinkles. "