#deaf!clint barton

   He sighs and kneels down, peering under the dumpster. Huddled in the dark is the shaking borrower, who stares back with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. They look like crap: covered in dried blood and dirt, their clothes torn and ratty. But the little guy is stubborn as hell, and hurls a pebble in his direction. They miss by a long shot. He would’ve laughed if the city wasn’t on fire.

   “C’mon out, bud,” he says. A faint boom! rattles the world behind him. “It’s not safe under there. Are you lookin’ to be caught? A rat, an alley cat… God forbid, there might be a human who ain’t as nice as I am.” With a nervous glance behind him, he sees Kate dart past, notching an arrow and letting it fly. “Not to mention that the city’s comin’ apart.”

   They shout something back, and Clint can barely piece together the words leave and alone. It’s not helpful, though, that they’re so small and covered in shadow. And the fact that he can see their teary eyes in the dark is not helping his conscience. Another explosion shakes the earth, and the borrower lets out a wail that he does hear. 

   They’re both getting frantic. He softens his face, puts a pleading look into his eyes. “Please,” he calls. “I can keep you safe.” 

   The borrower doesn’t get to respond. A scream rips through the air, and he’s made up his mind. He jumps to his feet and drags the dumpster back, only getting a glimpse of the sheer terror on their tiny face before he scoops them up in a fist and tucks them into a jacket pocket. It’s not ideal, but if it means they won’t be crushed or eaten, he’ll take it. 

   They’re writhing, and he ignores it. The feeling of them shaking against his chest forms a pit in his stomach. They’re scared, but at least they’re safe.

   The rest of the battle zips by like a blur. Clint spends it shielding the borrower, dodging rubble, and praying to whatever gods present for this little guy to not be so terrified of him. Their shaking has stopped for now, but they’re stiff as a board and flinching with every move he makes. When the fight dies down, he’s left nursing a wound on his shoulder and cupping his hand around his pocket. He’s gotta get out of there, and fast.

   His free hand finds his comms, and he sends a quick farewell message to Kate. She responds quick, familiar beeps filling his ears: Get home safe. See you soon, Hawkeye.

   The message brings a smile to his face, but it disappears when he remembers his job. His day isn’t over yet. 

   He runs his way home. 

   The apartment greets him with blinding fluorescents and a mess on his coffee table. Things that are normally hangover-induced nuisances are now pushed to the far corners of his mind as he limps to his counter. 

   His fingers dive into his pocket, and he does his best to be gentle, but with the little guy swerving away from his hand, he ends up tangled around their limbs, pulling them out in a quivering heap. They’re a pitiful sight; their tiny face is tear-stained, and once they lock eyes, the poor kid flinches back into their protective huddle. 

   They’re speaking, and fast. That much he knows. Their voice is buzzing away. But he can’t understand anything that's coming out. He gets the gist of what they might be saying: there’s a pleading look in their eyes, and their lip is quivering. He doesn’t like this feeling.

   “Hey,” he whispers, cupping his hands closer around the tiny body. “Hey. Look at me.” He nudges their shoulder. They’re practically humming with anxiety. “C’mon, calm down, buddy. You’re okay.” 

   They aren’t making any progress like this. Clint lowers his hands to the countertop and the borrower stumbles off, clutching their chest and scrubbing the tears from their eyes. “Look,” he says softly. “Not touching you anymore, see? You’re fine. You’re okay.”

   He watches with a pang in his heart as they cry for a bit, hugging their knees to their chest, and takes the time to look them over. Their hair is dark and matted, their clothes patchy, their face young, but thin and gaunt. This isn’t the same stubborn little guy he’d met an hour ago; this is someone who is absolutely-fucking-terrified of him. He can barely deal with crying people at his own height; he can’t even begin to comfort someone who’s three inches tall.

   Reasoning sets in as they clear their eyes of the last of their tears. Even if he was well-intentioned, he did sorta… take them. Grab them up and stick them in a pocket. If some giant had done that to him, he’d be pretty scared, too. 

   “Do you understand me?” he tries. The tiny head snaps up, and the kid babbles something that vaguely sounds like sorry and don’t hurt. “No, no, I promise I’m not gonna hurt you… Fuck. I was — I was just tryna keep you safe!” It’s hard to read lips on such a small face, but he gets the gist of it, and it hurts like hell.

   This isn’t working out so great. “Let’s start over, okay? I’m Clint. Clint Barton. And I — I can’t hear you all that well.” 

   That gets them to shut up. The fear disappears from their face, replaced by sheer bewilderment.  (Yeah. As if they’re the one that should be surprised.) They scrub their eyes and stare at him in awe, and Clint can’t help but chuckle. “Weird, I know. But we can figure somethin’ out, alright? You okay to talk? Or just… shake your head, yes or no.” 

   That gets a timid nod. “Great. Good. Not hurt, are you?” A shake. “Thank God for that.” Now we’re getting somewhere. But Clint needs to ask them questions, and he needs to get answers. How is he supposed to talk to someone smaller than his finger?

   His mind is racing. Sign language! It’s a long shot, but just maybe he can get through to them.

   “Do you understand this?” His hands move slow, just in case. But it doesn’t go the way he’s hoping. The borrower shrieks and falls back, and they’re both back to square one. “No, hey, wait! It’s okay!” He signs while he speaks, and the kid watches every move he makes with terrified eyes. “Look — it’s a language! My name is Clint. C-L-I-N-T.” Each letter is deliberate, and with each second, the little guy uncurls from their protective ball. “Now that I’ve told you my name, will you tell me yours?”

   They both fall silent. He holds his breath and watches the tiny face with a furrowed brow. It’s small, almost impossible to see, but there’s a hint of hope in their eyes. He’s so overcome with joy that he doesn’t notice them open their mouth.

   “...ig.”

   He freezes. “Sorry, what?”

   They wither back. “Brig,” they say, louder this time. Their voice is muffled and nervous, but it’s there. And Clint can’t stop himself from smiling. 

   “Brig,” he repeats. “That’s B-R-I-G. See?” He grins. They’re still cautious, but they watch his hands with curious eyes as he signs their name. “It’s nice to meet you, Brig.”

   Good! This is good. Clint can see them coming out of their shell, little by little. They look unsure, but their hands twitch in time with his. “There’s so much you can say with just your hands! This is hello, and this is goodbye. Yes, no, please and thank you— I can teach you, if you want!”

   The magic is gone, and Brig snaps back into their defensive huddle. “T-teach me?” they squeak. “But… would mean…” They glance around the kitchen, eyes widening as they take in the sight. They’re so small compared to everything else. “What about… home?”

   He’s overstepped his boundaries. He kneels to get closer to their level. They reel back, a gesture that goes unnoticed in his concern. “Was that where you live?” he asks. “Near where the fight was?”

   They’re quick to nod. “Left… a bit,” they say. “Rats.” The last syllable is loud, clear, and bitter. “Got caught… the fight.” Brig shrugs, looking nervous and embarrassed. “And by you.”

   Clint frowns. A place like that is dangerous for someone of their size, but he’s in no place to argue. “Is there anyone you stay with? Any family or friends you can go back to?”

   Now they’re silent. His heart plummets when they grimace and look away, a sadness creeping into their eyes. Realization crashes over him when they shake their head.

   He hadn’t thought of that. 

   “You don’t have to stay,” he says gently. Guilt lingers in his chest as he leans back, too, suddenly self conscious about his hands. “I-I can get you back home if you need me too — I can’t imagine it’s all that safe, but if that’s what you want…” The borrower is tense, and Clint is cursing himself for being so hopeful. 

   Finally, after a minute of mulling it over, he gives a resigned sigh. “Damage Control is cleaning the place up,” he tells them. “They should be done in a week or two, okay? You can stay with me, but when they’re done… I’ll bring you back.” Every word hurts more than the last. “Only if you want to. How’s that sound?”

   The kitchen falls silent. Clint’s heart is beating fast, and he bites his tongue as conflicting emotions flicker across the tiny face. “I-I can bring you back now, if you like,” he stammers. “Ya don’t have to stay. A-and you don’t have to tell me exactly where you live, but I can just drop you off and you can be on your way and we’ll b —”

   “I’ll stay.” 

   This time, the little voice comes out strong. “You — you will?” he says.

   They nod shyly in response, and he can piece together what they say next: “Just… back… my feet.” Just until I’m back on my feet. 

   He can live with that.

   Clint’s heart swells with triumph. He can’t remember the last time he was this happy. There’s no explaining why he feels this way. “O-Okay. Awesome. Welcome home, Brig.”

   He glances back at the mess in his apartment, then to the mess of his clothes, too. They’re both covered in dust and blood, but neither care about it as Clint laughs. “We should probably get cleaned up first, though. What do you say?”

   He’s smiling. And for the first time all day, Brig is smiling, too.

Clint was staring; he was trying hard not to but the sound of your tongue clicking every time you started to speak kept distracting him from his morning coffee. He sat quietly at the kitchen island, while you chatted away with Steve about something he could not make out. Clint left his hearing aids in his room and he was regretting it now because he desperately wanted to know what Steve and you were talking about. He wasn’t jealous, just a little, but everyone knew the two of you had this platonic friendship; Steve and you were constantly at each other’s sides and that made it difficult for Clint to get any alone time with you.

“Clint?” His eyes jerked away from his cup of coffee to see you standing near the kitchen island, a soft smile on your face. “You don’t have your aids on, do you?”

He shook his head and smiled. “I needed coffee more than hearing when I got up this morning.”

Steve laughed and said he was going to hit the gym, asking if you wanted to come along. You said yeah, but you wanted to eat first. “Alright, see you in a bit.” Steve pointed a finger at Clint and grinned. “Barton, get those hearing aids on.”

You watched as Steve left the kitchen and turned to Clint, watching as he took a long sip of brew. “Do you want to go out to the bar tonight?’

“Depends on what bar – Kenny’s tap is crap and the dive near the pizzeria is overrun by hipsters who have beards down to their ankles.”

“You are so grumpy,” you laughed, pushing away from the counter. “We’re all going to Pete’s on 7th.”

“We?” Clint tried to hide the disappointment in tone, because like an idiot, he thought you meant just the two of you. He thought it was so obvious, how much he liked you – every chance he had, he would try to spend time with you. He loved making you laugh but his favorite past time with you was watching Netflix in the living room while everyone slept. Each of you would pick a movie to watch late into the night and eventually you would fall asleep, head on his shoulder. He never moved, even when you started to snore – it felt nice and usually he would wait until the movie was over before laying you down on the couch and covering you up with a throw blanket before he left to his room. In the morning, you would look so cute with bed head and sleepy eyes, asking for a cup of coffee – which he had ready every time.

“Yeah, Rogers, Romanoff, the whole gang. So, you in or what, Grumpy Pants?’

Clint smiled then and said yeah, that he’d be ready at seven. You grinned and reached over to playful smack the side of his face. He laughed and pushed your hand away, telling you to go and work out with Steve.

“Fine, I know when I’m not wanted,” you teased, giving him a wink as you moved away from him. You started to walk out the door, but he said your name with a sigh. Turning, you smiled sweetly at the man, hand on your hip. “What was that?”

 “I said you want some bacon and eggs?’

You loved Clint’s cooking; it was downright sinful – that man knew his way around a kitchen, and he was always making you food without being asked. There were times when you would find a great book and spend hours in your quarters reading, living off tortilla chips until Clint would knock on your door.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“I’m not dead, I’m just lost in fiction.”

Clint smiled at the way you barely glanced up from the book, just enough to see the tray of food he had brought. It was enough for you to put down the book, asking him what he had.

“I know I’m deaf, but I didn’t know you were blind,” he teased, moving over to the bed. He asked if he could sit and you nodded, smiling when he placed the tray down – it was all finger foods you could eat while reading. “Figured you could use actual food; Natasha said all the smut you’re reading might make you hungry.”

“I hate her,” you grumbled, reaching for a baby carrot. “I’m not reading smut; I’m reading Little Women.”

“Never read it.”

“I’ve read it a dozen times; I can start over and you can listen?” Clint’s eyes widen for a moment, until you leaned back into the headboard and held up the book. “Or do you have something better to do?”

He pretended to think about it and shrugged. “Sure.”

You waited for him to get comfortable next to you, his shoulder against yours and the tray of food on his lap. He passed you another carrot and you grinned, clearing your throat as you started the book all over.

“Make it French toast and you can enjoy my company.”

Clint rolled his eyes but got up from his chair. “Fine, you little brat.”

….

Clint sat next to Natasha, watching as you played pool with Steve and Sam. His eyes fixated on the corner of your mouth, the way it lifted every time you laughed. He smiled down at his lap, unable to contain the joy he felt from seeing you enjoying yourself.

“You should just tell her; you are obviously in love with her.”

“If I tell her how I feel, I lose her as a friend and that’s just not worth it.”

“Come one, Barton,” she chuckled, scooting closer to him. “I know how you feel about her, I see it every time you look at her.

His eyes wandered back to you, Steve was twirling you around to the music and pissing Sam off because the two of you kept bumping into him as he attempted to take his turn at the pool table. Clint sighed and glanced over to his best friend, her eyebrow up in amusement.

“What else can I do? I’ve tried everything in my power to show her how I feel, but it’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Maybe she’s just not seeing it, you have to be upfront.”

Clint snorted and took a drink, eyes glued to your back as Steve and you left the pool table and walked toward the back bar. He followed the pair of you for a few seconds before sighing and tipping his head back, eyes squinting at the lights above. The bar was too nosey or maybe he just wanted to hear nothing but his thoughts, either way, he reached a hand up and turned off his hearing aid.

He had been as upfront as he could, maybe you just weren’t into him – maybe the two of you were better off as friends, at least then he could still be in your life.

…

The bar was roaring with voices and music, Steve had his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walked over to the bar to order a round of beer. You were already a bit buzzed from the shots you had taken with Natasha and Sam, and Steve being all huffy puffy when someone bumped into you made you laugh.

“Relax, Captain America. I don’t want to have to defend you in another bar fight,” you said.

“That was a misunderstanding,” he laughed, slipping his arm off you. He asked the bartender for two more pitchers of beer and nudge you with an elbow. “So, when are we going to talk the bedroom eyes Barton’s been giving you all night.”

You snorted and gave Steve a confused look. “I thought you couldn’t get drunk?”

Steve smirked, pulling out a few bills when the bartender placed the pitchers on the counter. “Thanks, man,” he said, turning to you. He passed one pitcher to you and shrugged. “Come on, everyone knows Barton has a thing for you, why do you think he follows you around like a puppy?’

“HE DOES NOT.”

“You know, I thought you were smarter than that,” Steve said, motioning for you to follow him back to the table. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked.”

“Maybe you should stop being rude to your best friend,” you snapped back playfully. Steve stopped walking and grabbed you by the elbow, pulling you off to the side. He told you to open your eyes and see what’s been right in front of you for years. “And what is that, Steve?”

“All these years, Clint’s been the one that’s always there for you. Remember when you got drunk at Tony’s birthday party?”

“Yeah, I threw up on the side of the yacht.”

Steve chuckled. “Clint was the one that took care of you for the rest of the night, he cleaned you up and sat with you while the rest of us enjoyed the party. Or that time your grandma got sick and he flew back home with you, stayed with you the entire two weeks.”

“My family loved him…”

You remembered those two weeks, it was awful – in and out of the hospital for days, until your grandma had passed.

Clint never left your side, especially that night; he held you as you sobbed into his jacket and took you back to your childhood home. Your parents had set the two of you up in your old room, even when you insisted the two of you weren’t dating. Clint had offered to the floor, but you said it was silly and you shared the bed. That night, after he had brought you home from the hospital, he took off your shoes and coat, got you into bed. He was going to go downstairs to make you some coffee, but you called out to him.

“Don’t leave me, Clint.”

It broke his heart that night, hearing the sorrow in your voice, so he closed the bedroom door and got into bed with you. He waited for you to say something but all you did was scoot closer to him, your back into his chest and he held you through the tears until you pass out.

It wasn’t just that time, there were countless times Clint had been there for you, even the late-night movie sessions that ended with you waking up the next morning alone and feeling disappointed for some reason. Now, as Steve went on about Clint and you, it hit you like a tequila shot.

“Oh, shit,” you yelled over the sound of the music and voices, and Steve raised an eyebrow at the outburst. It all made sense now, the trembling in the pit of your stomach whenever Clint was around. You never thought much of it, because Clint was your friend and had been for so long, but now, now it all started to click. Sure, you had dated here and there, but nothing ever lasted. You always found something wrong with the person, ending things quickly and going home to binge watch movies with Clint – it was always him.

“Realization is a real son of a bitch, isn’t it?”

You looked at Steve and smiled. “Only if what you’re realizing is bad, but I just got my head out of my ass, and I feel like I’m breathing for the first time.”

“Thanks for the image,” Steve muttered. “Come on, let’s go delivery these beers.”

Feeling a wave of nervousness as the two of you walked through the crowd back to the table, but your heart dropped when you saw that Clint wasn’t around. Natasha and Sam were sitting at the table talking, and when you asked where Clint went, Nat sighed.

“Wasn’t feeling so hot, he said he’d walk home.” She must have noticed the way your face dropped because she said he had just left. “You probably could catch up to him.”

You glanced over to Steve, who nodded with a smile. “Go on, we’ll still be here.”

Handing over the pitcher to Sam, you winked at your best friend and took off through the bar. You exited out to the street, it was busy with people flowing in and out of the bar, but you knew the way back to the Tower. Taking a left, you hurried down the pavement and ran down the street, hoping to spot Clint. When you got to the corner, you saw a figure crossing the street – he was wearing a leather jacket and just by the way he was walking, you knew it was Clint. You called to him, looking both ways before chasing after him.

“Clint!”

He didn’t even flinch and the thought that he was ignoring you crossed your mind, and it made you want to go back to the bar but there was no turning back now – you weren’t a quitter. So you ran faster and when you were close enough, you grabbed him by the shoulder. He whirled around quickly, eyes wide in surprise as you laughed and said something.

“WHAT?”

Taking a breath, you laughed and stepped up to the mind, reaching a hand to his ear. He stood still as you turned on his aides and grinned. “I’ve been chasing you down 7th, Barton.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, asking what you were doing.

“I don’t know, I mean…” you fumbled around with your words, until you took a deep breath and calmed the nerves rattling in your stomach. “Listen, I don’t know how much what Steve said was true, maybe it was obvious to everyone but me – I just think subconsciously I didn’t want to mess up our friendship, because you’re such a great friend, Clint – “

“- I get it,” he interrupted, lips pursed into a small smile. “We’re friends, we’re really good friends.”

‘I don’t wanna be friends,” you blurted out, laughing when his face fell. “I mean, I don’t want to be just friends. I – I mean, the thought of kissing you doesn’t gross me out.”

Clint laughed than, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you. “So, I don’t gross you out, that’s great.”

“It is,” you assured him, lifting your hands to his face. “It’s really great.”

His eyes, warm and inviting, stared in yours – a wave of relief flushed over your body and when his head moved closer to yours, your eyes closed. His lips were warm against yours, like his body that night he held you tight and he let you cry until there was nothing left in your eyes. Clint had been such an important person in your life, that you hadn’t realized you were longing for him as much as he was for you. All that time wasted, but it didn’t matter now.