Before the avengers became a thing, before the battle of New York and Loki and Coulson, Clint despised Tony Stark. He was drunk and rich, and powerful, and he reminded Clint of his dad in all the worst ways. He had heard the stories, through Natasha, and the news. His wild parties and the women and that poor Pepper Potts having to do all the work while some ungrateful, immature trust fund baby gained all the glory. Clint knew just the type of man Tony Stark was, and it was the type of man Clint hated.
Except, Clint was wrong. It happened more than he'd like to admit, but Clint had misjudged the great Tony Stark.
He was kind where he should be cruel, and warm where he should be cold. He was paranoid and anxious for reasons no one seemed to know. He kept his family close to him and did all he could to keep himself. He loved soccer and made everyone watch it when it was on, even going as far as buying tickets to watch the world cup final live. He kept boxes upon boxes of drawings from little kids, hanging as many as he could on the fridges scattered throughout the tower. He barely slept and there had been more than one occasion where someone, usually Steve, had to drag him to the nearest bed so that he'd sleep a little longer than an hour. Clint had majorly misjudged Tony Stark and he decided that he'd never allow anyone to assume Tony was anything but good. Flawed in areas, but still good.
Following Clint's realisation, he'd built a pretty good friendship with Stark. He became the brother Clint wished Barney had been. He could read him as quickly as he could read Natasha, despite it being just as difficult. That's how he knew that Tony was hiding something. Not just from him or the rest of the team, but from Happy, and Pepper, and even Rhodey.
It was 3:57am, and Clint had just arrived back at the tower from a SHIELD debrief. It was the kind of mission that you didn't sleep after, and Clint didn't intend to. He knew Tony was awake somewhere in the tower. When he'd left for the mission last week, he had seen the chaotic plans for some new suit messily scribbled on the kitchen worksurfaces. Like, physically written on the work surface. He'd also seen the look of a broken man on Steve's face and decided that now was probably the best time to get out of the tower before Steve started lecturing on graffitiing the furniture. It was a lecture he'd witnessed Tony receive before, and his only defence was that he owned the entire tower. It was a pretty strong defence, in Clint's opinion. He'd also claimed that inspiration could strike anywhere and that he simply couldn't ignore it. After that, Steve left notebooks and pens in every room, which Tony happily ignored in exchange for the kitchen work surfaces.
Clint dropped his gear into his room, pulled off the tight jacket all the agents had to wear and made his way down to Tony's lab, ready to be distracted from his terrible week by the genius rambling equations at him. He strolled around the corner and through the glass door, expecting to see the other man feverishly working away at something. Instead, he was met with an unsettlingly empty lab, with a complete new suit laying on one of the tables.
"Tony?" Clint walked slowly into the lab, hoping not to miss Tony if he was passed out on the floor somewhere again. He found him in the corner of the lab, sat crosslegged with his head pressed back against the cold wall. Clint slid down the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"What's bothering you, Tony? Don't try to tell me it's nothing because you've been like this for a couple of weeks now." Clint crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He was a sniper, after all. He could wait for Tony to crack and talk to him. Surprisingly, it only took three minutes and thirteen seconds.
"How'd you even know something was wrong?" Clint unfolded his arms, resting them on his legs.
"We both know that you prefer to write your ideas on paper, not kitchen work surfaces. You've been winding Cap up so that he'll leave you alone. Which means you're hiding something and you don't want to see Steve's 'let me help you' face."
"I never want to see Cap's face anyway."
"Stop deflecting Tony, and tell me what's going on. Talking won't kill you." Tony sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. It made him look small and scared, and Clint hated it more than he expected.
"What does it matter to you, Barton? Why can't you just go away like the rest of them?"
"Because I don't want you to hurt yourself, Tony! Why won't you let anyone help you with this?"
"It isn't something you can help me with, Clint!" Tony stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans and walking across the lab. He sat down at the bench in the centre of the room, his back to Clint. Clint pushed himself up from the floor, silently wincing at the ache in his ribs. The mission had been rough and Clint had not escaped unscathed.
"Tony, c'mon. This isn't helping anyone, especially not you." Tony turned to Clint, ready to scream and shout. His mouth stayed open as he scanned Clint up and down, concern in his eyes. Slowly, Tony stood from his chair and walked over to Clint. He reached for the hem of his black t-shirt, lifting it up before Clint could ask him what he was doing. Clint saw the look on Tony's face morph from concern to fear.
"Clint, did you know you've got a decent-sized bullet hole in you?" He asked calmly. Clint glanced down at his exposed torso, stunned that he hadn't even noticed the bullet wound. The pain hit him with the realisation, and he slumped forwards into Tony. Tony lowered him to the floor, taking note of the bloodstains on the wall they'd sat at.
"J, gonna need some assistance here." Tony pressed his hands firmly over the now steady flow of blood, glimpsing at the archer's face. He hadn't made a sound but his teeth were gritted in what Tony imagined would be a painful way.
"We aren't done talking, Stark." He gasped, "I'm gonna help you with this."
Tony nodded, willing help to move faster than it was. As if by magic, the rest of the team rushed through the glass doors of Tony's lab. They swarmed Clint, checking for any more injuries before Steve pulled him up off the floor. They made their way to medical, speeding up halfway there when Clint passed out. It wasn't the first time this had happened, especially not to Clint, but every time it happened it shook the whole team. It was worse when it was Clint or Natasha. They went out defenceless every time the avengers needed to fight and no-one even mentioned it. Tony made a point to create something for the two spies that made them less vulnerable. Hell, he'd send it to SHIELD to dish out to all of their agents if it meant he didn't have to hold the blood inside one of his friends ever again.
Three hours later, Clint was stable and sleeping in the medical wing. Tony and Natasha sat at either side of his bed, Tony scribbling in one of the notebooks Steve left lying around and Natasha reading a thick book.
"You know Stark, if you need someone to talk to about your dad, Clint is probably your best option. You might have had vastly different childhoods but asshole fathers are something you have in common." She hadn't even glanced up from her book, whereas Tony had stopped in his tracks as soon as he heard the d-word.
"How'd you figure that one out so fast?" he asked quietly.
"It's his birthday tomorrow, right?" She put her book down on Clint's bed and looked him in the eyes. "It's not wrong to be sad about it. He may have been a piece of shit, but he was still your dad."
Tony looked down at his notebook, where he'd been designing some everything-proof under armour for the two assassins. Natasha stood up, pressing a kiss to Clint's head and strolling over to the door.
"He's been awake for 10 minutes already. Talk to him." She closed the door behind her, leaving Tony and Clint in somewhat awkward silence. Tony shifted in his chair, closing the notebook on his lap.
"She's right. One thing I have infinite wisdom about is crappy parenting." the archer moved to sit up, careful not to rip his fresh stitches. Clint knew the conversation could get heavy, and he needed to see Tony's whole body to read him properly. He needed Tony to know that he was here in every way. He could scream, shout, cry, throw things, break things and Clint still wouldn't leave. Natasha had been there for him when he needed to vent, so he would be here for Tony. He promised to help him with this and he would keep that promise if it killed him. That's what you do for the people you love, and for the first time since meeting Natasha, Clint had people in his life that he could love.