Medicin
It feels like his head is going to explode at any moment.
It's not just the effort of the fight - which took longer than expected - but everything else too. The sounds of the Quinjet and the banter between Steve and Tony, while Thor talks happily poetically in victory, tries to separate the two Gamecocks. He can quickly turn off the noise and his hearing aids end up in his pocket.
He can't stop the other things so easily. Like the smells of sweat, oil and Bruce's sage tea or the essential ointment that Natasha smeared on one of his wounds or the lavender scent sticks that Wanda deliberately placed throughout the jet so that it trumped the other scents and take some of the adrenaline away from everyone. It would work better with a witchspell.
He's already sitting in the far corner, hunched over with his head between his legs because he's afraid that the next jerky movement of the jet will bring out his breakfast coffee again and he doesn't necessarily want anyone to see that.
Some time passes and he manages to doze a bit when Bucky sits down next to him. He doesn't have to look up to know it's Bucky, that the deodorant Bucky sprayed himself with after the mission is enough to identify him. Bucky's presence is enough to bring him out of this hell of sensory overload. He just tries to focus on Bucky. The body heat. The smell.
He feels Bucky's pinky connect with his pinky.
Clint takes a few deep breaths before looking up.
The light back here isn't as bright as in the front area, but he still wishes it were off. His vision flickers a bit and it takes him a few seconds to get used to it. Clint blinks and squeezes his eyes shut several times, but the flickering stays in the corner of his eye and a frustrated sigh escapes him. He grabs one of his hearing aids and puts it in his right ear to partially understand Bucky.
“Just a headache,” he says and Bucky grimaces. With sympathy. With compassion.
“Did you take a pill?” Bucky asks and hands him a bottle of water. Clint takes a few sips. He knows the water isn't enough to take away the pain. “They’re home,” Clint replies after a moment. He knows he should always have the pills with him, especially for moments like this when the pain comes suddenly, but like with everything else, he is forgetful when it comes to his own health. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Bucky pulling something out of one of his many trouser pockets.
A little bottle.
A pill is shaken out and Bucky hands it to him. Clint doesn't know whether to be amused or worried that his friend is lugging around his medication just because he can't. Bucky seems to read his facial expressions and presses the pill into his hand with a gentle grin. “You’re not the first blonde jerk I’ve watched,” Bucky murmurs, loud enough for Clint to hear, but Steve, with his super hearing, can’t. "You shouldn't. You-" "It's just a bottle of pills, Clint. I have enough storage space in my pockets to fit other things, and you also carry things around for me," Bucky explains, gesturing with a hand to indicate that he should take the pill now.
With a sip of water, Clint takes the pill.
“That’s different,” Clint protests, resuming the conversation. "It's not. If you didn't have a bag full of hair ties because I keep losing mine, I'd cut my hair with a knife in the middle of a fight, or the chewing gum you always have with you, or a-" "Okay-" Clint says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I understand it". “Really?” Bucky asks skeptically, but with a grin. “I have a whole list of things.” “At least wait another twenty minutes for the pill to take effect,” Clint sighs, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder.
"Fine. But only because I don't want your pretty head to explode," Bucky replies, pressing a small kiss to Clint's head.