prove a point
Clint sat cross-legged on his bed, a box of pizza resting on his lap, the dim glow of the TV casting flickering lights across the room. He wasn’t really watching—just flipping through channels aimlessly, not settling on anything for more than a few seconds.
His head still ached, and he was exhausted, but sleep wasn’t happening anytime soon. Too much noise in his head.
Baldie’s words wouldn’t shut up.
They won’t notice you’re gone.
You’re the weakest Avenger.
They won’t come for you.
Clint exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face before grabbing another slice of pizza. It was lukewarm now, but he didn’t care. He just needed something to do—something to focus on besides the ugly thoughts curling around his brain.
A knock at the door barely gave him a second to react before Natasha let herself in.
He huffed, glancing at her. “You know, knocking usually means you wait for an answer.”
Nat raised an unimpressed eyebrow, shutting the door behind her. “Like you were gonna tell me to go away.”
Clint didn’t argue.
Because she was right.
She crossed the room and dropped onto the bed beside him without a word, eyeing the pizza box before reaching in and grabbing a slice for herself. Clint didn’t bother stopping her. He knew better than to stand between Natasha Romanoff and free food.
For a while, they just sat there.
No talking. No forcing words.
Just the occasional sound of chewing and the low hum of the TV.
This was how they worked—how they’d always worked. They never needed to say much to know when the other was drowning.
Nat was here because she knew.
She always knew.
Clint sighed, flopping back against his pillows, pizza still in hand. “Y’know, Baldie really had a lot to say about how useless I am.”
Nat didn’t react right away. Just chewed slowly, then swallowed.
Then:
“You believe him?”
Clint opened his mouth—then hesitated.
He wanted to say no. He really did.
But the words stuck in his throat.
Nat must’ve seen the struggle because she set her pizza down and turned to look at him fully, expression unreadable. “If you do, I’ll have to beat your ass.”
Clint snorted. “Not exactly an encouraging pep talk, Tasha.”
“Don’t need to be encouraging when the truth should be obvious.”
Clint exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “Guess it just… got to me, y’know?” His voice was quieter now. “I mean, I know I’m not Thor. Or Hulk. Or Cap.”
“No, you’re not,” Nat agreed, leaning back beside him. “You’re Clint Barton. And that’s enough.”
Clint swallowed.
“Besides,” she added, “if you were really useless, you think I’d stick around?”
Clint let out a small, tired chuckle. “Guess not.”
Nat shrugged, stealing another piece of pizza. “Guess not.”
They lapsed back into comfortable silence, the weight on Clint’s chest a little lighter than before.
Tony sat at the interrogation table, arms crossed, fingers tapping impatiently against his bicep. Across from him, Baldie—real name Robert Langston—slouched in his chair, hands cuffed to the metal table, a self-satisfied smirk on his face despite the bruising along his jaw.
Steve stood behind Tony, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with that signature Captain America disapproval that usually made people nervous. Unfortunately, Baldie didn’t seem to care.
"Let’s cut to the chase, Chrome Dome," Tony drawled. "Why’d you go through all the trouble of grabbing Barton? You don’t exactly seem like the mastermind type."
Robert snorted. "You don’t need to be a genius to figure out weak links, Stark."
Steve’s eyes narrowed. "Clint isn’t a weak link."
"Please," Robert scoffed. "No powers, no tech, just a guy with a bow? C’mon, we both know you only keep him around for the PR. Makes the team look relatable or some crap."
Steve’s jaw tensed, but Tony held up a hand, forcing a calm he absolutely did not feel.
"Alright, let’s say for a second that you’re not a complete idiot—tough sell, but I’ll try." Tony leaned forward. "Why now? Why him?"
Robert tilted his head, like he was considering. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he said:
"Because I wanted to prove a point. And I was right, wasn’t I?"
Tony’s fingers curled into a fist. "Elaborate, before I let Cap have a very stern, un-American conversation with you."
"You were slow," Robert taunted. "You hesitated before realizing he was gone. You all went about your day like nothing happened, because no one noticed. And you wanna know the best part?" He leaned in, eyes glinting with something cruel. "He knew it. That’s why he cried."
Steve saw it before Tony even moved.
The sudden, violent shift in energy.
The way Tony’s entire body tensed, muscles coiling like he was about to lunge.
Steve was justfast enough to catch him.
His arm shot out, grabbing Tony around the chest, yanking him back before his fists could connect with Robert’s smug face.
"Let go, Steve." Tony’s voice was deadly.
"Can’t do that, sweetheart," Steve muttered, tightening his grip as Tony struggled. "Kinda my job to stop you from committing treason."
Tony let out a low, seething breath. "Five minutes. Just five minutes alone with him, I swear—"
"That’s all it would take," Robert goaded.
Tony lunged again.
Steve yanked him back harder.
"We’re done here," Steve said, voice clipped as he bodily dragged his furious husband toward the door.
"You better hope I don’t get clearance to finish this conversation, Baldie!" Tony snapped, still thrashing. "Because if I do, I’m gonna make sure you regret every single—"
The door slammed behind them, muffling Tony’s enraged rant.
Steve sighed, still holding onto him. "You good?"
Tony exhaled sharply. "No. You?"
"Also no."
A beat.
Then Tony grumbled, "I should’ve let Nat handle this."
"That’s why I dragged you out."