Light Up The Night

Clint hated lying to the people he cared about but what he hated the most was how easy it was for him. His entire life there had been things he’d had to hide, whether it was trying to cover up the shit happening at home so that his teachers wouldn’t know, whether it was pretending that he was old enough to be on the street or in a bar, or whether it was the months of playing the role of a normal college student when he was doing all sorts of shady stuff on the side.

Even now, when he tried to be more honest with the people who already knew details about his life, he slipped. He’d done that with the details on his conversation with Barney way back before the holidays, he did it with the details of the night Pietro had gotten shot, and now he was doing it again because that was just the kind of thing that he did. When he couldn’t determine whether he was taking the right course of action or when he didn’t want anyone else to get sucked into his mess, he kept his mouth shut and justified his actions to himself. Problem was that it always seemed to bite him in the ass sooner or later.

The fact that he’d had to wait a few days for this to happen had been hard enough. It had given him way too much time to think and weigh the potential benefits and consequences. But there hadn’t been another choice. Between trying to explain his absences to his professors, visiting Pietro to make sure he was still breathing and to see how he was healing, and taking care of Sam and Natasha – mostly Sam, if the truth were to be told - there hadn’t been time for anything else. Sam had managed to resume classes after about 24 hours and requested off from work for the rest of the week. Natasha also worked with him to help him find a local psychologist – not hard to find in DC - and have an urgent appointment before the week’s end.

Which was where the two of them were right now. Clint felt guilty about not being there to support Sam, but Sam had Natasha and she was pretty accustomed to acting as the emotional support for anyone going through therapy after her months of helping Bucky. Clint had used the excuse of having classes – which he did; he’d just skipped them like he had all week – in order to sneak away. Classes and work hadn’t really been in the cards. While he’d felt bad for calling out on Shield several days in a row, he’d justified it with the excuse of not having full range of motion in his shoulder and not wanting to cause any problems.

The ongoing deception with Natasha and Sam made him all the more guilty but he wasn’t ready to share this with them, not yet. He’d been lucky that they hadn’t yet asked him any follow-up questions regarding what had happened that night with Pietro. There was plenty he’d left out and he was back to deciding that the less Natasha and Sam knew, the better. Everyone was already too far in already and Clint wasn’t willing to let one more person get hurt on his watch.

Still, he hesitated before knocking on the door. The recent trading of text messages had been one thing; this was something else. This could mess up everything or fix everything and the only thing that made Clint think it might go in the direction of the latter option was out of a probably misplaced sense of trust. That exact same trust had gotten him into trouble multiple times before because that was what he did. He trusted people he shouldn’t trust and was then shocked when they stabbed him in the back.

More appropriately, he trusted the same person he shouldn’t trust multiple times and never seemed to learn his lesson and wondered why there was a knife jammed into his spine yet again. But that’s what you did when it was family, wasn’t it?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked on the door. A few moments later there were the sound of footsteps moving closer. For half a second, he contemplated running, knowing that this was his last chance to get the hell out of there before going through with this, but his feet remained solidly in place. He’d already made the decision, now it was just a matter of going through with it. Besides, before he could run, the door cracked open and his brother’s tousled red hair came into view.

“Hey, uh, it’s me,” Clint said – obviously it was him, who else would it be? - running a hand nervously through his hair.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Barney said, opening the door fully and stepping back. “Last I checked, you didn’t have an identical twin. Come on in.”

Clint stepped inside and leaned against the wall closest to the door, looking awkwardly around at his brother’s meager belongings, some still in the open suitcase on the floor, others spread about on the bed and furniture. Everything looked unnervingly familiar, bringing to mind thoughts of their room while they were growing up, where neither one of them was ever particularly good at keeping things neat and orderly. The room was even reminiscent of their childhood home, with the dents in the furniture, worn bedding covering a lumpy mattress, and the dresser with the crack in the fake wood paneling. Granted, the main difference was that he didn’t know what had made all of those dents and cracks in here. These didn’t hold the same history the ones in their childhood room.

“So, what’s up?” Barney said, when Clint failed to form words for longer than appropriate. “You said some stuff has been going on?”

“Yeah. Lots of stuff has been going on. I’m not even entirely sure where to start. I guess it would make the most sense to start where things come in for me. Still though, it’s a long story. I mean, I’m involved in some shady stuff but it’s different this time. It’s for better reasons than the usual ones.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that before, Clint,” Barney said mildly.

Barney took a seat on the edge of the bed and picked up a beer from the nightstand, despite the fact that it was barely afternoon. Granted, when Barney nodded towards the small room fridge in a clear offer for Clint to take a drink of his own, he didn’t argue and just grabbed one of the cans. It might have barely been noon but he wasn’t about to get all preachy about drinking too early on a weekday The type of conversation the two were having probably required some alcohol to manage.

“And you’ve heard me say that it’s different before but this time it really is.” Clint took a sip of beer. “I know, I know, that’s not the first time I’ve said that. But it’s true. I’ve gone straight and narrow. I’m even working with a cop.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Barney said, with an edge of sarcasm. “Because cops have never done anything fucked up before and they’ve always helped us out when we needed it. It especially doesn’t sound fucked up that you’re telling me you’re in over your head again.”

“I’m always in over my head,” Clint murmured. “You should know that about me by now. I legit don’t think that my handler expected things to get quite this bad for me. I was just supposed to be paying attention to the drug trade but then there was some mob related bullshit and one thing led to another and then another and it’s gotten worse lately.”

He debated whether or not to say anything further. As much as he wanted to trust Barney, there was something inside of him that made him wary to openly discuss things about the twins. He could start with his own shit, then move into that once he had some assurance that his brother wasn’t about to double-cross him again. At least if he only focused on himself, if his brother fucked him over, he was the only one who’d get hurt.

Clint could live with that.

“I don’t know if you already have your ear to the ground here,” he started, then paused as he tried to figure out how to say this. “But right now there’s a lot of activity in the streets. I’m guessing you’ve heard some shit already, although I’m not gonna say too, too much if you haven’t. Let’s just say that anything you’ve heard about, I’ve probably been in the middle of a lot of it.”

“How about we just cut to the chase here,” Barney said. “What’re you asking for from me?”

“You’re going to be in town for awhile, right?” Clint waited until his brother nodded to continue. “Alright then. You’ve always had a knack of getting info and that’s all I’m asking from you. Just give me a heads up about what’s going on. If you can warn before something goes down, great, because I’ve got some friends who are in trouble right now and I don’t want anything to happen to them.”

“Just so I’m clear on this, you’re asking for me to find out information that might concern some friends and also might be about you. Then you’re asking me to warn you before something happens if I possibly can?” Barney confirmed.

“That’s about the long and the short of it,” Clint agreed. “At least for now. Look… these friends… I feel for ‘em. They’re in a similar situation to the one we were in growing up except in their case, the stakes are a hell of a lot higher.”

Barney nodded slowly and took a long gulp of beer. “And you trust me to do that?”

Clint considered how best to respond to the question. On the one hand, he trusted that his brother would come through with some information since he wasn’t asking for that much. Then again, the fact that he wasn’t sharing everything with his brother clearly indicated that he didn’t trust him entirely.

“I do,” he settled on after a moment. After all, Barney wasn’t asking him about the stuff he wasn’t asking him about but the stuff he was, and he obviously trusted Barney enough to share those details with him. “It’s just information I’m asking for. I’m not asking you to put your neck on the line, just give me whatever you hear. You can call or text me when you have something and I’ll come right on over. Alright?”

Barney nodded once more. “Alright. I can do that. Anything else?”

“Nothing else.” Clint finished his beer in one long gulp. “Just stay in touch and, uh, let me know if you need anything.”

Clint offered his brother a half-smile and headed for the door. He was grateful that the trip to see him hadn’t taken as long as he’d feared it might. Now at least he wouldn’t have to worry about explaining his longer absence to Sam and Natasha. By the time he got back, it would make sense that he’d just returned from class. They wouldn’t have any reason to question why he was out.

Now it was just a matter of hoping that he’d made the right choice.

-~-

“Hey, Bucky.” A beat. “Bucky?” Another. “Can you hear me?”

Fingers snapped in front of his face, far too close to be comforting, and his heart lurched at the same time he leapt to his feet and shoved himself back, stumbling over something behind him and falling back against the wall.

A voice immediately encouraged him to calm down as Bucky tried to focus his attention back on the room he was in and what was happening. A dark haired girl stood about a foot in front of him, looking unnerved and maybe a little worried. He struggled to remind himself of her name – Wanda? no, she was too young to be Wanda – and managed after a few awkward moments to connect the dots.

“Sorry about that, Kate,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair as though that would allow him to stall for time. “I guess I was a little lost in thought.”

That was one word for it, at the least. Completely dissociated and detached from everything was another but he wasn’t about to admit that to a kid he barely even knew.

“Yeah, I noticed. I said your name about ten times and you didn’t respond. You must’ve been thinking about something pretty hard.”

Or nothing, as the case were, but again that wasn’t information to share. Swallowing hard nearly led to choking and didn’t ease the knot in his throat but he did that once, twice, until he was able to figure out what to say. He also took the time to straighten the chair he’d all but fallen over and returned to his seat at his desk

“You know, sometimes you just find yourself daydreaming,” he finally said, because that was a normal thing that most people did and if he were lucky, she wouldn’t ask for further information.

Luck was on his side, given that she started with, “What were you daydreaming about?” and then wrinkled her nose and said, “Wait, no, never mind, I probably don’t want to know the answer to that, do I?”

“Probably not,” he said with a forced chuckle. “Anyways, what’s up, kid?”

Kate shrugged and took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest and looking around his office. His office, that was right. Bucky was in there because he’d been at work all day and not only there but actually working and he’d just sat down for a minute since the shop was closed. A glance at the clock indicated that it was about 15 minutes past closing time. Bucky couldn’t quite account for what he’d been doing during that time, though that also could have been because he just wasn’t looking at the clock and tracking how much time passed from moment to moment.

“Clint’s still out, I guess,” she finally said. “I’m not ready to head home and Steve was doing boring stuff with the finances, so I figured I’d come back and harass you.”

“Harass away.”

Given the state he was in, he couldn’t quite decide whether spending time with her would help to take his mind off of everything or whether he’d just end up all the more drained of energy. Remaining functional throughout the work day was hard enough as it was – this was only his second day back since everything happened – and he’d ended up passing out on the couch around the same time he got upstairs the previous evening.

“It’s not harassment when you’re cool with it,” she pointed out. “Which makes you a lot less fun to harass than Clint.”

“Hmm, good point. I could try to act offended. Would that help?”

“Nah, I’d know it wasn’t genuine,” Kate replied, with a grin.

“You sure about that? I’m a pretty good actor.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Bucky wouldn’t have made it through the past two days back at work if he weren’t damn good at acting. Hell, Kate wouldn’t be talking to him right now if he weren’t being pretty convincing in this act. If she had any idea that he was this close to unraveling, he doubted she’d be in his office, joking with him and instead probably looking at him like a ticking time bomb.

“I’m sure,” she insisted. “I know all about good acting. Theoretically. I’ve taken plenty of classes over the years, and everything else my parents wanted to make sure I was well versed in. Plus any day spent with my family requires acting if you want the dinners to be civil.”

That was something Bucky didn’t quite know what to do with. It was clear that there were some things going on with Kate’s family – nothing abusive from what he’d gathered in their few conversations, which he supposed really amounted to nothing because who would disclose that kind of information early on? – and that was her reason for visiting the shop as often as she could. He probably should have offered Kate a safe place to talk but that would mean having to be there for her and he doubted he could do that effectively.

He didn’t realize he’d been quite for too long until Kate exhaled slowly and said, “There I go halting conversations in their tracks. No worries, Barnes. You don’t need to fix my whole screwed up life. I’m not asking for that.”

And just like that Bucky found himself asking, “What’s going on, Kate?”

“Like I said, it’s nothing to worry about. The usual poor little rich girl sort of thing. Nothing you could fix and nothing you need to worry about. I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself, is all, and that means that I’d rather not talk about it because I don’t sit around feeling sorry for myself ever. How about you tell me about you?”

Now there was a topic he definitely did not want to discuss, especially not with a kid who was evidently deflecting from her own issues. Still, talking was better at keeping him focused, so from that standpoint it was definitely a positive.

“Not much to say about me that you don’t already know. I’m a vet. I’ve got a metal arm and I shove metal through people’s bodies as a living. I’m dating Steve. That’s really about all there is to me.”

“Is it? Nothing else I should know about? No awesome super secrets? What about super powers?”

“Nothing all that awesome that I know about,” he said with a semi-forced grin. “I mean, I guess my metal arm’s a little stronger than most people’s arms. But I’m not Clint with an amazing archery ability or anything like that and despite Natasha’s best efforts, I’m not a dancer like her.”

“Natasha tried to get you into dancing?” Kate asked, sounding intrigued. “Like, what kind of dancing?”

“Nat does ballet, has since she was a kid,” Bucky said, finding it easier to slip into this topic. “She never tried to get me to do that, thank God. But she taught me enough about dancing that I could probably handle being an escort to a debutante ball.”

Kate made a face. “Ugh, don’t even mention that sort of thing. That’s far too close in my future.”

“Then strike that comment from the record.” He made a half-hearted attempt to look at his calendar for the next day, only to abandon it when flipping the page and taking in the hours he’d blocked off to work made his eyes refuse to focus. “Alright, kid, as fun as it’s been…”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I’ll be heading out.” She took a step towards the door, hesitated, and glanced back at him. “You want me to let Steve know you’re done in here? It’s just… you’re looking a little pale.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to sigh. “Sure, Kate, if that’ll ease your mind. I’m fine, just tired.”

“Yeah, well, take care of yourself, alright?” Instead of turning to the door, she crossed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See you tomorrow, Barnes.”

Once the door closed behind her, Bucky used his right arm to pillow his head against the desk and closed his eyes. The appointments throughout the day were exhausting but at least he’d had something to focus on. Now without that, he found that his battery was close enough to empty that it made it hard to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. It had been stupid to leave Winter upstairs after lunch. For some reason he’d decided managing alone proved he could handle things and he’d felt so sick of being dependent on everyone else for his stability.

All in all, he was a mess and as much as he tried to hide it, he was failing.

With effort, he convinced himself to raise his head, scan the room to see if there was anything glaringly not done yet. Bucky tried, he really did, looking around to see whether everything needing to be sterilized was being sterilized and whether there was anything he needed to toss out or stow. Nothing stood out to him and the mere thought of trying to think any harder about things made his head pound. The best option seemed to be to stumble to his feet. Anything else could wait until tomorrow morning. The important thing now was to make it upstairs while he still could.

Steve met him in the hallway, shooting him a worried look that Bucky brushed off, just as he did Steve’s offered help to make it upstairs. Focusing on one foot after the other worked well enough to keep him moving. Just like he’d learned in physics, an object in motion stayed in motion, or something like that, which meant that if he kept walking, he’d reach his destination. At least that was what he thought it meant. He probably should have remembered those laws a bit better given that the science classes were always his favorites.

Bucky left the door to the apartment open, certain Steve would close it once he came up, and went straight to collapse on the couch. Moving to the bed probably would have made more sense but that felt like giving up to him. At least on the couch, he could pretend he wasn’t abandoning any and all attempts at functioning for the night. A few seconds – or maybe minutes – passed before a cold, wet nose pressed against his hand. He automatically went to scratch Winter behind the ears and murmur, “Good dog.”

Perhaps the most frustrating part was not being able to determine his level of functioning. Was he about to get a migraine? Maybe. Probably. That seemed likely just based on how much strain he’d put his body through. He hadn’t yet gotten hit with one of the awful, crippling and blinding ones. Somehow he’d managed to hold that off over the past several days and just suffered through more constant minor ones.

What about dissociating again? That also seemed a strong possibility and he hadn’t been able to hold that off over the past few days. Everything was still too raw, too fresh, and too close to the surface and he didn’t have the coping resources to handle those thoughts and memories. He remembered being taught that dissociation was a coping mechanism, albeit an ineffective one in the long term, but he hated the fact that he kept falling back into those patterns.

He still didn’t know what to do. Maybe it made the most sense to schedule an appointment with Dr. Jones but then he had to navigate how to talk about everything with Pietro without disclosing all of those details, and he had a feeling that regardless his psychologist would be pretty disturbed by the thought of a kid getting shot. He could always lie, omit, all of that good stuff but that just made him feel dishonest. The one thing he knew was important when forging a therapeutic relationship was to be up front about stuff. After all, Dr. Jones probably wouldn’t be able to do too much to help if Bucky didn’t give him all of the gory details. In his experience, most trauma processing meant actually talking about the trauma.

But he needed something. He couldn’t keep going on like this, trying to pretend to be normal and functional and a productive member of society. Just being back at work for two days had shown him that the energy required to complete his responsibilities while trying to hide how he was actually feeling was burning him out and fast. Sure, it distracted him but that wasn’t worth the hell he was putting himself through, mentally and physically.

He tried, he really did, to not view it as a failure. Clint hadn’t been back yet and no one – meaning Steve – had a problem with that. Therefore Bucky wasn’t the only one struggling. Therefore he wasn’t a failure. Except for the fact that Clint also had some physical injuries. Sure, Bucky had his migraines but he hadn’t even had one of those in the past couple of days. He couldn’t use that as a justification for why he couldn’t work.

No, this was all mental strain. That much was evident. He kept reminding himself of the things he’d learned in therapy, of the importance of taking care of himself, of recognizing when he needed to take a step back to focus on himself instead of pushing himself harder. At one time, he’d been okay with that, or at least more okay than he was now. He’d recognized that sometimes if he had a rough therapy session or when he pushed his super rigid boundaries out the slightest bit by going out to a new shop or restaurant, or even if he walked in an unfamiliar part of the city, he’d take it easier afterwards. He wouldn’t fault himself if he weren’t up for going out to the bar that night or if he needed to take a nap.

And, hell, even Steve had agreed to Bucky’s original limitations when Bucky acknowledged some of the difficulties he faced. Steve was the one who told Bucky he could sleep upstairs or rest upstairs if he was having a rough day, mentally or physically speaking.

Maybe if he reminded himself of that enough times, he’d believe that it was okay to take a few “mental health days.” Maybe if he believed it, he’d actually take care of himself properly.

Or maybe he’d just force himself to keep functioning until physically or mentally something gave out. If he were lucky, it wouldn’t be anything worse than a migraine. If he weren’t… well, suffice to say he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the possibility of ending up inpatient again.

Maybe the only saving grace at this point was that he didn’t think that would happen. No matter how bad things got, even if he ended up nearing the point of a complete breakdown, he doubted he’d get to the point of wanting to hurt himself again. He was exhausted and drained in every way that could imply but he knew this was temporary and all linked back to the events with Pietro. At some point, the nightmares would decrease and he wouldn’t feel on edge to the point of paranoia constantly. When that changed, he’d have more energy to cope with the events of daily life. It was only a matter of time.

A hand rested on his shoulder and the world slowed. Bucky’s heart lurched, his metal hand curled into a fist as he prepared to defend himself, and then, perhaps most unnervingly, he felt himself all but slip out of his skin. Then it was as though he was watching from a distance, as Steve tried to get his attention and Bucky geared up to lash out at him.

He didn’t know how to stop himself.

Then he felt a pressure on his legs. That yanked him back to his body full force. Somehow he managed to change the direction of the blow he’d prepared for Steve – to unclench his fist and instead bury his fingers in Winter’s fur as his dog leaned against his lower body. Despite that, the fear in Steve’s eyes was like a punch to the gut, and he recoiled, almost falling back.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed. “Bucky…”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said immediately. “I didn’t… I’m sorry. I just… I wasn’t focused… and it startled me. You startled me.”

There came the shame, boiling in his stomach. He’d worked so hard to get better control over himself and he’d just nearly struck his boyfriend for the crime of startling him. How fucked up could he be?

“It’s okay,” Steve said, just as quickly. “I should’ve given you more warning than that. I know you’ve been on edge since everything happened.”

He had his opening, right there, all the opening he needed. It wouldn’t take more than admitting to Steve that he needed some time off, time to collect himself, and it would be done. Steve was understanding, far more than Bucky deserved. All he needed to do was be honest with him.

But the words jammed in his throat when he tried to say them. By the time he’d swallowed enough times for the words to come out, Steve had already straightened up and taken a step back. For some reason, that translated in Bucky’s mind to the conversation being over and the moment being gone.

Now it seemed too awkward to say what he’d been thinking and instead he settled on awkwardly asking, “So, I’m guessing Kate’s gone and the shop’s closed up for the night?”

Steve nodded and then, in a clear attempt to steer the topic in another direction, asked, “You hungry?”

The last thing Bucky wanted was food. His stomach remained in knots, despite the fact that the immediate moment had ended and not as disastrously as it could have ended. Still, eating was normal and he was trying to pretend that he was normal, right? That meant trying to eat dinner, if nothing else.

“I could try,” he said, rather than lie through his teeth.

“You mind one of those frozen pizzas? I’m not sure we’ve got much else in the fridge.”

Bucky tried not to consider the fact that Steve seemed far too eager to move away from him under the guise of going into the kitchen. Not that Bucky could blame him after what had just happened.

“That’s fine,” he said, a beat later than was probably warranted or expected. “Like I said, I’ll see what I can do to eat something.”

“You can rest until then,” Steve offered. “I don’t mind handling it.” A few beats of silence passed as there was the sound of the freezer door opening and closing, the ripping of cardboard, the crinkling of a wrapper being removed, and then the beeping of the oven as Steve set the temperature. Then Steve spoke again. “You know, if you need a few days off, you can take ‘em, Buck.”

One moment his heart was still trying to beat its way out through his throat, the next it felt like he’d been stabbed right in the center of the chest, which meant his heart hadn’t gone anywhere. Almost at the same time, his eyes were suddenly filming over and blinking too fast meant being in danger of crying and this was all just ridiculous. Hadn’t he just wanted to ask Steve if he could take a few days off? Hadn’t he just been thinking about that? Now Steve had made everything easy for him. He didn’t have to take the initiative and act and somehow that was completely and utterly worse.

Now he knew Steve had seen the cracks appearing all along, especially just now when Bucky had almost fucking punched him. The worst part was it wasn’t as though that hadn’t happened before. There had been more than a few nightmares where upon waking up, Bucky had been struggling to defend himself, but those were nightmares; that wasn’t in the daytime when he was awake and aware. Now he knew Steve was worried about him and didn’t think he could handle things.

All the more frustrating was the fact that he fully knew he wasn’t being rational. These would be thoughts that Dr. Jones would label as unhelpful in a heartbeat and if Bucky just took the goddamn time to stop himself and think about where he was letting his mind go, he would probably be able to find a more balanced perspective.

But that took energy and energy was one thing he was severely lacking at this point.

“Maybe I should,” he finally said, and the stabbing pain in his chest only intensified.

Bucky tried to focus on the positive side of that. If he weren’t working, he could schedule an appointment with Dr. Jones for whatever time he had an opening for an emergency session. Maybe talking through everything that had been going on, while omitting some of the details about the others, would help enough for him to relearn or gain new coping strategies. Then he wouldn’t be this exhausted. Then he could handle all of this stuff.

Instead of letting his mind go there, he shifted his attention to Winter. Focusing on the sight and texture of his dog’s fur, of the sound of him breathing and the rise and fall of his sides with each breath. That helped steady him, although plenty of thoughts were still coming unbidden. So he repeated to himself that he wasn’t falling back into bad habits, he wasn’t losing ground, and he wasn’t a complete and utter failure.

Maybe he could get himself to a point where he actually believed those words.

His phone vibrated at that moment and he welcomed the distraction, despite the fact that he startled enough for his heart rate to jump into overdrive once again. He was damn lucky he hadn’t had a full on heart attack yet given how easily startled he’d been over the past several days. He tugged his phone out of pocket and pulled up his texts when he saw he had a message from Natasha.

This was a welcome distraction, as far as he was concerned. Probably one more thing for him to deal with and something he’d be regretting getting involved in soon enough but at least it would take him away from the shame of needing time off, of almost hitting Steve, of being a goddamn disaster.

“Hey, Steve?” he said, glancing up and waiting until Steve peeked his head in from the kitchen. “Nat’s wondering if we could come over in the next hour or so. Said that she and Clint want to talk to us about everything.”

-~-

Sam’s entire life seemed to follow the “one step forward two steps back” routine. At least that was how it had been since he’d gotten back from his last deployment. Somehow, he’d managed to balance getting the treatment he needed to handle everything he’d seen and done, while also supporting Bucky through his hospitalizations, surgeries, and recovery.

During his own treatment, he’d been constantly commended for his willingness to practice techniques outside of session, to complete his homework, and to attend weekly appointments regardless of the rest of the bullshit going on in his life. He’d thought that meant something, that he was progressing and processing everything. Especially when he’d completed his requirements to become a peer support specialist and worked more on the other side of the desk, when he was the one helping others. The Masters program fit right in with that and he supposed, if he were to be honest with himself, that he’d believed he’d been cured.

All of which made him feel ridiculously stupid now. Between his own treatment, supporting Bucky, and helping others, the one thing he knew about trauma was that nothing changed those experiences. They stayed with you and while things always had the potential to get better or easier or symptoms would come less frequently, they never disappeared, which meant you were never cured.

Somehow though, despite all of the knowledge he had to back up his experiences, he didn’t seem to stop feeling disappointed in himself. He’d done a little better after the tough part of the last semester, when life and work had been kicking his ass, and seeking out treatment of his own had helped. A few appointments and he’d felt better, which of course he’d taken to mean that he was back to where he’d been before, but now, after all of the recent events, he felt back almost to square one.

The most frustrating part of it was seeing himself fall back into old habits. To find his sleep interrupted because he wasn’t able to settle down at night and when he did sleep, it was light sleep, designed to last a short amount of time and for him to be easily awakened in case he needed to be responding to a threat. Unfortunately that also meant that when sharing a bed with two partners, it was pretty easy to wake up multiple times throughout the night between tossing and turning from them, one of the two getting out of bed, or other things like that. It also meant that when he did actually manage to fall into a slightly deeper sleep – usually because he’d popped a sleeping pill when really desperate or taken Benadryl or Nyquil when less desperate – the nightmares got him. It was a lose-lose situation.

Despite his limited sleep, he’d done a pretty damn good job at remaining functional. Aside from the initial lost time, he’d been back to work and school and doing a pretty damn good job given everything else going on. For that, at least, he was able to give himself some credit and recognize that it hadn’t been easy for him to do continue functioning, but he had and based on the responses he’d gotten from the groups he ran and his supervisors, he’d been doing a pretty damn good job at helping others even when he wasn’t doing the best at helping himself.

All of that aside, he somehow had a feeling that the conversation they were abut to have wasn’t exactly going to be a pleasant one or do anything good for him. Truth be told though, he was less worried about himself, since he already knew most of the details that Clint and Natasha had been discussing sharing with Bucky and Steve, and much more worried about how Bucky was going to handle hearing all of that. He hadn’t seen that much of Barnes over the past few days, given that Clint hadn’t been back to Shield yet, but from the bits and pieces he’d gotten from text and from talking to Natasha – who had spoken to Bucky – it was pretty clear Bucky wasn’t doing much better than Sam was, in terms of coping with everything.

These were the times when Sam had to wonder about the choices he’d made in his life. There was a part of him, a very small part granted, that wished he’d never gotten himself involved in this mess – or, more specifically, that he’d never gotten as involved as he had with Natasha and Clint. Between each of their respective connections with the mob and then having the twins staying in the townhouse and how that impacted things, it had definitely made his life much, much more complicated than he’d ever expected when transitioning into the civilian world.

On the other hand, he was certain he was right where he needed to be. He had plenty of skills that would be beneficial if things continued to escalate. After seeing Pietro with a bullet wound, he figured it was good that they had a medic around. Even beyond that particular skillset, if things continued to escalate – as seemed to be likely – he’d be able to protect the people he cared about.

Or at least he hoped he would be.

When the doorbell rang, he left Clint sprawled out on the couch, using Natasha as a pillow. Sam checked first to ascertain whether it was Bucky and Steve – which it was, of course, he was getting paranoid at this point – and unlocked the door to let them inside. He tried not to worry about the dark circles beneath Bucky’s eyes and the fact that he looked like he would rather be anywhere but at the townhouse. He also tried not to notice that there was a gap, albeit a relatively small one, between Bucky and Steve in a way that spoke volumes. Thankfully, Bucky had Winter right by his other side, one hand resting on the dog’s head.

Still, Bucky forced a smile as he stepped inside. “Hey, Sam. How’s it going?”

“About as well as it can be,” Sam said. “How about the two of you?”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a fairly tense look and then Steve said, “Ditto to what you said. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“Well, we have alcohol and all sorts of other stuff out and ready. This is the kind of conversation that might require some of that and, as always, you can crash here if you need to.”

“I’m not sure alcohol is what I need right now,” Bucky admitted. “I’ve been having a hard enough time functioning already.”

“I might be interested in some alcohol though,” Steve said. “Not much, low tolerance and all, but after everything…”

He left that statement hanging and Sam didn’t bother to question it. No one who’d been there that night was coping well, Steve obviously included, and he wasn’t about to highlight that anymore than Steve just did.

“Nat’s drinking vodka, naturally, but we’ve also got beer,” Sam offered. “I can grab you one if you want.” Steve nodded his agreement. “Natasha and Clint are in the living room right now. I’ll meet you guys there with the refreshments. Want me to grab you a soda, Barnes?”

“Yeah, I think I can manage that,” Bucky said with a half-grin. “We’ll meet you in the living room, I guess.”

Sam took his time in the kitchen, popping off the tops of three bottles of beer and struggling to balance all of that and a can of coke between his two hands. He passed them around, then, upon seeing that Natasha’s double shot of vodka was already gone, took the glass from her and went to refill it.

He also took the opportunity to knock back a shot of it himself and immediately felt disgusted with himself. He wasn’t the sort of person who used alcohol to cope, at least not usually, not anymore. That was one of the many bad habits he seemed to be falling back into. Granted, he gave himself limited credit for not going back to the days when he’d drink to take the edge off at night and until he fell asleep. The Nyquil and Benadryl as of late had been a step in the right direction from what he used to do.

When he returned, he found everyone more or less comfortably settled. Steve and Bucky sat on the beanbag chair, perfect for keeping Bucky close to Winter, who was sprawled out on the floor. Clint had already knocked back his entire beer – and in anticipation of this, Sam had grabbed another one in addition to refilling Natasha’s drink - and Steve had taken in a significant amount of his own.

“Somehow I’m getting a bad feeling about all of this,” Bucky said. “But I guess I should have expected that, huh?”

Sam looked to Natasha and then to Clint, to see which one of them – if either – were intending on speaking first. He could always try to describe the situation but he didn’t know for certain just how much Natasha and Sam planned on disclosing to Bucky and Steve at this point. While he had no doubt that informing them of further details related to the twins would be necessary, he wasn’t quite as certain that they needed to know the details of Natasha and Clint’s own dealings with the mob.

Natasha drained the double shot of vodka in a long gulp. “I wanted the two of you to come over because there are things about the twins we never shared with you. In light of the recent events, it seemed like it was time you both knew a little bit more.” When Bucky and Steve only looked at her attentively, she continued after a moment of silence. “I’m guessing the two of you are aware that the twins’ relationship with their adoptive father was… not good.”

“No shit, Nat,” Steve said. “I saw the scars. I knew they were homeless. Most kids don’t end up on the street when they have a loving, supportive family.”

“It’s more than that,” she said bluntly. “You probably figured some of it out, given the secrecy we had when bringing the twins to and from Shield. There are a lot of bad people looking for them, sent by their father. People who have connections to a variety of dangerous organizations.”

“What are we talking about here?” Bucky cut in. “Like, gangs, things like that?”

“Various branches of the mob,” Clint said. “Multiple branches from what I’ve heard.”

Before Bucky or Steve had a chance to question why Clint would have heard that type of information, Sam added, “That’s what happened with Pietro.”

“What do you mean, ‘That’s what happened with Pietro’?” Steve asked.

“He got grabbed by the Irish,” Clint said. “I don’t have all of the details about what went down, since it all happened before I found him. But they were planning on giving him back to his father. They’re also the ones that shot him, which I wasn’t expecting since the word on the street is that the money Talbot’s offering for their ‘safe’ return is pretty substantial.”

“Why does Talbot want them back so badly?” Steve asked, looking shocked.

“Because he’s a sick fuck who wants what he wants when he wants it and throws a fit when someone defies him,” Sam said darkly.

“The problem is, he’s put out such a high reward that everyone wants it.” Clint paused long enough to drain half of his beer. “Therefore, all of those different mob branches, from the Irish to the Russian to fuck knows what else, who’ve come in from Boston and New York and all kinds of places, are gunning for the kids.”

“Sam, Nat,” Bucky started. “Clint, I mean… this isn’t something for us to be handling. This is something for the police or someone with much higher authority to act than what we have.”

“There’s a problem right there,” Clint said darkly. “You think these branches haven’t infiltrated the police department? You think that going straight to the police wouldn’t cause more problems than what we’re already dealing with?”

“I hate to say it, Clint, but that sounds kinda paranoid to me,” Bucky said. “And, seriously, that’s saying something when I’m the one talking here.”

Sam looked to Clint and raised an eyebrow and Clint sighed heavily and drained the rest of his bottle before giving Sam a plaintive look that clearly meant he wanted another one. Sam didn’t argue and instead went back to the kitchen, grateful that he could still hear the discussion from in there.

“It’s not paranoia when you know it,” Clint responded. “I’ve been working as a narc for awhile now. I’ve shared the information I have with my handler in the police force and he’s the only one I trust at this point. There are some people in there who would help out in capturing the twins. No one’s exactly said that directly but there were definitely people there the night they got brought into the police station, before they came to the townhouse, who got in a fuckton of trouble for letting them slip away.”

When Sam returned, he saw Steve’s brow furrowed as he reflected on something and a moment later he said, “You said that you found Pietro after he got away from the Irish but you were also injured when you came to Shield. What happened to you?”

“Oh, that was the Russians,” Clint said easily, then murmured thanks to Sam as he handed over the bottle of beer. “That’s a long story that you guys really don’t need to know about right now. Probably the less you know the better. Like I said, I’ve been working with the cops and sometimes that leads to getting in way too deep with the Russian mob. You know how it goes.”

“I really don’t,” Bucky said bluntly. “Seriously, guys, what the fuck? This isn’t the kind of stuff you should be dealing with.”

“Maybe not, but that’s what’s happening,” Natasha said directly. “If there was anyone else who could handle this, I’d be contacting them but from everything I can figure out, there isn’t. We’ve talked to the only individuals in the police that we trust. Now we’re on our own.”

“Why haven’t you talked to your father about this?” Bucky asked, the full weight of his gaze on Natasha. “I mean, shit, Nat, given his position, couldn’t he help you?”

Natasha hesitated at that and Sam wondered what her response was going to be. That hadn’t been something he or Clint openly asked her about over the past few days but it was a question that had been on at least Sam’s mind. He didn’t know exactly what her father could do but someone as high up as him in rank had to be able to do something.

“It’s exactly because of his position that I can’t tell him,” Natasha said, after a long moment. “If he knew what was going on and the danger I was in, he’d act and he’d use whatever resources he had at his disposal to make certain I was safe. That would lead to him being in all kinds of trouble if anyone found out because he can’t exactly be using his power for personal reasons, even if those reasons to involve branches of the mob. It’s not as though the personal connection wouldn’t be found out either. I can bet that someone would make sure the powers that be knew my own involvement and if nothing else, that would be enough for an investigation. It could ruin my father’s career and I’m not about to do that to him.”

Steve and Bucky both looked displeased by Natasha’s response. Sam couldn’t blame either one of them. Hell, he’d hadn’t exactly had the best reaction when Natasha and Clint first started telling him about all of this.

“This is getting more complicated by the moment,” Steve said, his tone grim. “We had a visitor a couple of days back, the morning after Pietro got shot. He wanted to schedule with Clint. Said his name was Cyril. That’s sounding pretty Irish to me and with that timing, I’ve gotta to wonder if he’s got some ulterior motives for scheduling that appointment.”

“Good,” Clint said, his expression darkening. “Let him schedule with me. I’d love to see the bastard face-to-face.”

“You’re not shooting or otherwise harming him in my shop,” Steve snapped. “That’s not happening here. You want to have him come in the hopes of getting some intel off of him, that’s fine, but I am not having my shop turned into a crime scene. Again.”

“Fair enough,” Clint replied. “I can control myself. I’m more interested in finding out what he knows and what he’s coming into the shop for. Anything I can find out to keep the twins safer is something I’m willing to do.”

Steve grudgingly said, “I guess that makes sense. Tony’s also following up on the footage I got when Cyril came into the shop. He told me earlier he’d be getting back to me in the next couple of days. I’ll do everything I can to make sure we know everything we can before the date of the appointment. Forewarned is forearmed and all of that, right?”

There were a few moments of silence while everyone who still had an alcoholic drink in their hand indulged – and those who had finished their latest drinks went for a refill – and Sam sat silently. There was nothing he could add to the conversation at this point. He wasn’t involved as deeply as Natasha and Clint were or, hell, at this point even as much as Bucky and Steve were seeing as everything seemed to be going down inside of Shield. He was just there to try and pick up the pieces when things fell apart.

Bucky finally broke the uneasy silence to ask, “What about the twins? I mean, if – I mean when – Pietro’s healed, where will they go? It seems like having them come back to the townhouse will be putting everyone in danger but I’m also guessing they don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Tony might have something,” Steve pointed out. “I mean, he already found the hospital for Pietro. I’m guessing there are more things like that he can pull out if necessary.”

Clint looked quite unhappy with that thought as he returned to his seat, another beer in hand. Sam stifled the urge to comment on just how much he’d drank over the past couple of hours, especially since he knew Clint had been popping Vicodin on and off since incurring his injuries at the hands of the Russians.

“We’ll figure that out when Pietro’s been cleared to leave the hospital,” Natasha said smoothly. “For now, I think it’s best not to plan too, too far ahead.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look at that. Sam figured that at least the two of them seemed to be more on the same page than they had been when they’d arrived. If nothing else, they were acting as more of a team now.

“Alright, so, I guess I’ll let you know when Tony gets back to me about Cyril,” Steve said. “Otherwise, we’ll keep going as though nothing ever happened.”

Except that something had happened and more would happen, Sam was certain of it. It wasn’t as though he could argue against Steve’s words though. There was nothing else to be done at this point except keep moving forward. Whatever would happen would happen and Sam just hoped there wouldn’t be too much damage left in the aftermath.

-~-

Tony Stark was never frazzled. That just didn’t come with the job territory. Sometimes he was a prick and a dick – and, yes, those had two different meanings despite both being terms for a certain part of male anatomy – and other times he was a fuck up but he just didn’t do the whole frazzled thing. When things got to a level that was beyond his ability to handle, he defaulted to drunk. That prevented him from getting frazzled more often than not.

This time though, he was frazzled. There was no choice except to own up and admit it. Who could see the aftermath of a kid being shot without being a little on edge or overwhelmed? Who could be running background checks on sketchy individuals and finding out about mob connections and wondering just how deep this entire messed up situation went? He wouldn’t be human without having some sort of reaction to this entire mess.

Unfortunately, this time his stress showed because Pepper continued to be far too attentive and supportive and intent on keeping him remarkably sober. While he’d manage to sneak a few shots on the night all of this started when he finally got back in the early morning hours after making sure his shop was clean and secure, he’d been caught in the act and read the riot act when Pepper came to wake him up way too early because he had a meeting, and discovered that he was in that awful stage between still drunk and hung-over.

In retrospect, taking 5 back-to-back shots of vodka to chase down an Ambien hadn’t been the brightest idea but it had gotten him to sleep – and could have killed him, which Pepper had no problem reminding him of multiple times as though he hadn’t heard her the first time – and she’d cancelled his meetings for the day and blamed it on a stomach bug. When Tony had explained the full situation to her, she’d been a bit more sympathetic, although she continued to berate him for his potentially disastrous and deadly choices.

Pepper hadn’t been quite as sympathetic when he did another round of shots following his visit to see Pietro in the hospital. That might, in retrospect, have been a less than strategic choice. After all, he hadn’t been quite as bad off then, as he had been after seeing the blood and guts component. He’d also been working through the footage Steve had gotten him from the visitor to the shop earlier that day to see if he could run facial recognition software and get a positive ID. He’d watched the pieces falling together and that in and of itself made him feel sick and desperately in need of something alcoholic.

After that, his stash of liquor had been removed and safeguarded, which he insisted was unnecessary because he had at least a few weeks of sobriety under his belt, at least until all of this started, and could be trusted to handle himself despite his recent fuck ups, but Pepper wasn’t listening to reason and truth be told, he didn’t exactly have a valid argument for why he needed to have unlimited access to the liquor cabinet if he truthfully didn’t intend to be drinking. The lack of alcohol hadn’t done much to improve his mood or make it easier to sleep, although at the least she hadn’t taken his stash of sleep medications or tranquilizers. He was working hard to ensure that she didn’t feel the need to even notice the fact that he was on them because he was taking them as prescribed.

When Pepper wasn’t around to supervise, JARVIS took it upon himself to call Rhodey on Tony’s behalf two or three times, which made Tony reconsider the fact that he had programmed his operating system to make its own decisions and act independently of Tony’s control. On the other hand, calling Rhodey was helpful when it worked. Tony had someone to talk to for a few hours and then going out for drinks in a bar setting rather than drinking alone in his lab. Somehow that never ended disastrously, despite Pepper’s insistence that he remain sober, because Rhodey managed to more or less moderate Tony’s intake when they were out together. However, the calls to Rhodey were much less helpful when he only reached voicemail.

It was reaching the voicemail for the fourth time in a matter of hours that made Tony decide he needed to be anywhere other than alone in his lab. There wasn’t exactly a fully formed plan in his mind when he hopped into the car – a drive with music blasting in and of itself seemed like a positive step. An even better option was to hit up a bar alone since he didn’t have Rhodey to go with and hope he didn’t drink enough to do something stupid that Pepper would inevitably find out about - but after pulling out onto the street and making a few turns, he knew exactly where he was heading. Thankfully, this was an option less likely to infuriate Pepper when or if she found out about it in the morning.

The chances of actually finding who he was hoping to find at this hour were about 50-50 – well, no, probably closer to 70-30 because he was talking about grad students in the midst of various projects. The one thing he knew about grad students from his years of being one of them was that they were never out of the lab for any length of time and that sleep was for the weak and uncaffeinated. While he wasn’t sure showing up unannounced, in the less than calm, cool, and collected state he was in was the best life decision, it was the only decision he could come to at this point.

Tony parked as close as he could to the building, in a highly illegal parking spot that he doubted anyone else would need at this hour. The fact that it took him less than two minutes to bypass the card swipe security on the building didn’t speak highly for the school’s ability to keep things – students and equipment alike – safe. Perhaps that explained the shooting in the library those months back. Tony made a mental note to inform the university of their lapses in security before someone much less ethical than him figured it out and created a disastrous situation by breaking into the labs.

The building was quiet at this hour, with no classes being held and very few, if any, students still around. His footsteps sounded far too loud, echoing down the halls. He did his best not to think about that for any length of time and fought the urge to look over his shoulder. There was no reason for him to be paranoid. As far as he knew, there was no one trying to come after him. Just because a kid – Pietro, he had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t just some kid, this was a kid he knew – had been shot, just because Clint had gotten himself shot not too long ago, didn’t mean Tony was in any danger. No one knew of his involvement and he had plans to keep it that way. No one knew the type of information he’d uncovered based on the security footage from Shield.

From down the hall, Tony could see that the lights in the lab were on and once he reached the door, there was clear movement inside. Standing in front of the door, he weighed his options. He could knock, which would likely startle whoever was in there and could cause some problems if any of the four figures in there were doing something super scientific and important – or working with something that could cause a disastrous situation if dropped - or he could open the door, which was likely to have the same effect.

He settled on knocking, which surprisingly did not seem to startle anyone, at least as far as Tony could see through the frosted glass. Certainly, there were no sounds of surprise or distress. He eased the door open and stepped inside, to find two familiar faces and two people he had never seen before. When he’d seen that there were four people in the room, he’d assumed that like last time, he’d find Bruce, Betty, and Jane – accompanied as always by Thor – working in there. But this time there were two others, a man and a woman – more of a boy and a girl, to be honest, since neither one of them looked old enough to be graduate students. Not that Bruce or Betty looked particularly old themselves, if he were to be honest. He really wasn’t in a position to judge though. After all, Tony hadn’t looked old enough to be a grad student when he was working on his degree, mostly because he hadn’t been.

“Hello, Mr. Sta - ” Bruce caught himself, barely. “I mean, Tony.”

“Hey there,” Tony replied, his gaze still on the other two. “Are you guys multiplying in here? Is it a cloning study or something? There seem to be more of you every time I visit.”

“Oh, that’s FitzSimmons,” Betty said, barely glancing up from the calculations she was working on.

“Which is FitzSimmons?” Tony inquired, looking back and forth between the other two to get a clue for what was going on here. “Are they both FitzSimmons? They don’t look like they’re related.”

“We’re not,” the man replied, and Tony caught what he was pretty certain was a Scottish accent.

“He’s Fitz,” the woman supplied, gesturing towards her companion, and that was interesting because she had a decidedly British accent.

“And that’s Simmons,” the one named Fitz added.

“That is endearing and creepy all at the same time,” Tony said, before turning his attention back to Bruce. “Should I be calling you two RossBanner? BannerRoss? I can keep going all night if necessary.”

“Definitely not necessary,” Betty assured him. “We are separate entities.”

“And they’re not?” Tony inquired, nodding towards the duo known as FitzSimmons. “I don’t see them being connected like Siamese twins.”

“We’re not,” Fitz said.

“At all,” Simmons added. “We just have a long history and we came up through school together.”

“Which explains why you seem to be finishing one another’s sentences. Okay. That all sounds fascinating but I’m not particularly interested in a life history tonight,” Tony responded. “I am interested in what the two of you are working on over there though. What are your backgrounds?”

“She’s bio-chemistry, I’m mostly in tech,” Fitz said, not even looking up from his work.

“I have so many questions about what the two of you are doing up here where the astrophysicist and nuclear physicist work but I’m beyond the point of asking questions about what the hell goes on in this lab. I mean, seriously, this is either the start to a really bad joke or a potential catastrophe. Or both. Just think about it. Two nuclear physicists, an astrophysicist, a bio-chemist, and a guy who’s into tech walk into a bar…”

“Thankfully we’re only sharing our space with them for this week,” Bruce chimed in, though he quickly added, “Not that we haven’t enjoyed having them around. It’s made the lab a bit more interesting. They’re here for an upcoming presentation, not for the long term.”

“An upcoming presentation, huh? Maybe I’ll have to stop by to find out exactly what the two of you are working on,” Tony mused. “If I’m not able to get the time off to attend, though…”

Tony patted his pockets to see if he could track down one of his cards. Naturally, since he wasn’t heading out for a meeting, he hadn’t brought them along with him. He didn’t typically keep his cards in anything other than his business attire. Thankfully, he did keep a few in his wallet, which he found with relative ease. He sifted one out to hand off in the general direction of the two of them. A nearby table ended up being the best place to leave it, since they were both busy look at samples of something or another and moving around the lab table in a ridiculously synchronized fashion.

“Just in case, and since I’m not asking a whole lot of questions now, I’m going to leave this here. Feel free to get in touch one day. I can always use some new blood working for Stark Enterprises.”

Tony wasn’t entirely certain they’d heard him since they didn’t respond, although he attributed to the fact that clearly growing up in places other than America because that was the only explanation for why they wouldn’t be leaping at the opportunity to get involved with him and his company. That was the last detail he focused on that before heading over to where Bruce and Betty stood.

Bruce seemed less standoffish this time, which was nice to see. His shoulders weren’t hunched and he looked relaxed, or at least as relaxed as he ever seemed to look based on Tony’s limited interactions with him. What was interesting was that over the few moments before Bruce and Betty realized that Tony returned his attention to them, the two of them were working together almost as seamlessly as FitzSimmons. Despite the protestations the last time he’d met with them regarding their relationship status, he had to wonder if there was more going on with them.

Bruce glanced up as Tony approached. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you out here this late in the evening?”

Now that was tricky. While he should have anticipated that question, it wasn’t as though he had a good answer. He had decided to head to the lab pretty much spur of the moment but he couldn’t say something like that. That would beg more questions… too many more questions.

But what could he say? Something simple, that would make sense and wouldn’t have anyone questioning him.

“My schedule tends to be all over the place and I just got a few moments to myself,” was the story he went with. “I told you that I was invested in your education and development, so I figured now was as good a time as any to stop by and see how things were going over here.”

That sounded a whole hell of a lot better than admitting that he had a head that was far too full of thoughts and that if he had stayed by himself all night, there was little chance of him successfully making it through the evening without tracking down a bottle of alcohol. Pepper might have hidden his supply but she sure as hell couldn’t keep him away from all of the shops in the area. It also meant not having to admit that he was in the process of involving himself in some seriously shady shit, even more shady that the usual stuff he found himself caught up in.

Bruce just nodded. “I would guess that a man with all of your obligations wouldn’t have much time for little visits like this.”

The statement was just close enough to self-deprecating that Tony wished there were a way he could challenge it without acknowledging that his visit was about more than just checking in on Bruce’s progress. He honestly liked Bruce, from the few interactions he’d had with him. His only reason for hesitating in building a friendship was out of the fear of having Bruce caught up in everything – mob and otherwise – currently surrounding Tony.

“Hey, none of that,” he said. “I just told you that I’m invested in you and your progress.”

“Or at least how his development and progress might benefit you and your company?” Betty questioned sweetly.

“Betty…” Bruce said.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony quickly replied. “I gathered during our last meeting that she isn’t exactly fond of me. I’m not taking offense here. I know there are plenty of people I’ve alienated over the years and even more that my father managed to alienate. It’s just passed on down the line.”

He met Betty’s gaze unwaveringly as he added, “And it’s also clear to me that she’s saying these things because she’s worried about you and wants to protect you and maybe she’s right to do that.”

Tony had to admit that this night, of all nights, wasn’t when he needed to be reminded of the potential harm that could come to Bruce through their friendship. He’d been worried of that the first time they’d met– or second time, really, he couldn’t keep them straight at this point. He was worried about it now, especially in light of the recent events in his life. Tony caused enough of a wave of destruction on his best of days. Now people around him were getting shot and almost bleeding out in the shop he owned.

His reaction seemed to have placated Betty, who gave him something that was almost a smile and nodded in response to his words.

“Which I appreciate but she doesn’t need to do that,” Bruce said, glancing over at her. “When push comes to shove, I can protect myself, and I don’t get the feeling that you mean me any harm, Tony.”

“I never do,” was the only response Tony could give to that. “Anyway. I’m here to check in, so here’s me checking in. How’re classes going? Everyone treating you well here?”

“Everyone’s treating me fine,” Bruce replied. “Classes are going well, as is working in the lab. I’m in my second semester as acting as the TA for several undergraduate courses, particularly for the lab component, and there’s been some talk of moving me into a teaching position next year, although I’m not entirely sure I can handle the stress.”

“You don’t handle stress well. That’s good to know. I’ll definitely keep that in mind if you ever come to my lab.”

Bruce gave Tony an uncertain look and Tony realized that his words might have had an accidental mocking quality to them.

“I’m the kind of person who likes to work with a lot of loud music going and plenty of other distractions. I just figured that if you came by and stress was an issue, I could keep things quieter and limit the distractions for you. Especially if you’re coming by to get away from here where it isn’t so quiet and there are more distractions.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Bruce said after a long moment that he spent carefully studying Tony’s face, presumably for any sign that Tony was still mocking him. “But I get by here pretty well for the most part. It gets a little chaotic every so often but it’s not too bad. Definitely not enough to cause the kind of stress that I’m worried about from teaching.”

Tony made a mental note to do everything he could to ensure that if Bruce did not want to take that position in teaching, there would be others available for him. He’d done his research enough to know that Bruce was on a full-ride in terms of tuition but that didn’t mean his living situation and basic necessities like food would be covered. It wasn’t surprising he needed to take on other GSA and TA type positions in order to have the money for those types of things.

“Just know that the offer stands and that if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”

As much as Tony didn’t want to go back to his empty place and try to curb the impulse to do something self-destructive, it was clear that he was nearing the point of wearing out his welcome. Given that he’d already made the decision at least once or twice to distance himself from Bruce’s life unless Bruce made the choice to seek him out, it would seem that he was having trouble maintaining that choice when push came to shove.

“I know I interrupted your work and I don’t want to keep you away from that too long. I’m not so far removed from school myself that I don’t remember what it’s like to have a late night in the lab and be living on coffee and Red Bull and no sleep the next day.”

Bruce chuckled at that. “In my case, I don’t even have the caffeine to fall back on. With the stress concern I mentioned earlier, let’s just say that my heart can’t handle it without bad things happening.”

Tony made another mental note to fall back on that. Getting medical information wasn’t exactly easy – or ethical or legal – but if there was something medically going on with Bruce, he wanted to know. Actually trying to breach confidentiality would be his last resort – he’d ask Bruce more about that in the future first and see if he could get the answers that way – but if he couldn’t, he wanted to know what was going on one way or another.

Tonight, however, definitely wasn’t the night to be asking.

“In that case, it seems all the more important for me to let you two get back to work,” he said, stepping back to the door. “It was nice to see you again, Bruce. Good luck with this semester and let me know if you need anything. It was also good to see you again, Betty, and to meet FitzSimmons over there.”

The collective entity on the other side of the room barely nodded in response, to the point where Tony was reasonably certain they hadn’t even heard what he’d said. Betty, on the other hand, waved goodbye, though Tony had to admit that she seemed a bit relieved that he was heading out. Bruce said his goodbye as well, with what was almost a genuine smile coming from him. Tony took that moment to head out.

Now the only question became where he’d go from this point. Going back to his office seemed like a recipe for disaster. Going home didn’t seem much better. Half of the time his office and home were the exact same thing, to be honest, and the lines between them were blurred more often than not given how many nights he spent at the office and the fact that one of his labs was in his home.

If he took a sleeping pill, he supposed he’d fall asleep sooner or later. That would prevent him thinking too much about other stuff. At the moment, that seemed to be the best decision he could make.

Tony could deal with everything else tomorrow.

-~-

He made the call late that night, once things were quiet and he’d had the time to collect himself. He would have, should have, could have made the call immediately after he saw Clint. Then he wouldn’t have had the hours and hours of weighing the pros and cons and giving himself the chance to consider the ramifications of his actions.

He just didn’t see any other choice. It wasn’t as though he was doing anything drastic, not really. Clint had already gotten himself into this mess. He was just being given the opportunity to get himself out of his own mess. They’d both made their choices already. It was much better for one of them to be able to make it out then having them both fall.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. He contemplated whether it would make more sense just to hang up. Clearly he was being given a way out of going through with this, wasn’t he? But if he hung up now, he’d have to explain why he’d called in the first place. That would be more difficult than going through with it now.

Before he could determine whether or not to hang up, the other end of the phone was picked up and a familiar voice inquired, “Any updates for us, Barton?”

He exhaled slowly. “I saw my brother today. He’s learning to trust me. Give me a little more time and I’m sure he’ll tell me everything I need to know.”