When it Rains it Pours || Bruce & Clint

betterthaneinstein:

It was bad enough they had to share an elevator, The few seconds they’d shared the ride, Bruce spent looking at his shoes like they were the most interesting things in the world. But the universe wasn’t done with them there. 

Bruce wasn’t sure what it was about this start of the art university that decided there was no need to invest money in operating elevators but here he was again standing in the dark and not moving. Which wasn’t to say he lifted his eyes from his shoes. All Bruce did was move closer to the wall and say “I’m not going to fix it. We’ll just wait the ten minutes it takes to get it going again.” 

Having been in this position before Bruce didn’t appreciate the pressure applied to him to fix things. Knowing it wouldn’t take long for them to get the thing running on their own, he wasn’t going to deal with trying to make it happen himself. 

@hawkofheart

Ah, yes. You hear that sound? It was the awkward tension building in the air, filling the space much like elevator music would. Normally, Clint Barton would have commented on the quiet. Cracked a joke or two about it, but it was the company that made him think otherwise.

When an elevator breaks, it makes it almost unavoidable. He places his hands into his front pockets and leans against the wall, partly turning to him. He scratches at his cheek, rolling the tension with his shoulders. This was definitely his luck at play. Because of course, he’d be stuck in an elevator with Bruce Banner.  "Wasn’t gonna ask ya to.“ But it’s not a statement coated in malice or anything of the sort. It’s almost bland and neutral with its sentiment. He offers a quiet smile as he taps his fingers on the handlebars into the elevator.

But ten minutes turned into twenty and Clint had to actually talk to the guy. He is now sitting on the ground and he turns his head to him.He leans his head against the wall and almost laughs, "Just our luck, right?”  

The Past Can Hurt || Bruce & Clint

betterthaneinstein:

Desperately, Bruce needed someone to tell him it was all going to be okay. It wouldn’t fix anything and he didn’t want it to happen but it was a need. He missed his family, someone who’d tell him the hollow words. 

When Clint put his arm around Bruce, the scientist curled up tighter, he’d have tensed his muscles but that would have hurt more. None of his injuries could be seen but that didn’t mean everything didn’t hurt. 

It takes everything Bruce has to look up at Clint. This isn’t the sad, kicked puppy that Bruce usually is when he’s visible broken. It’s sadness but there’s life and spirit missing. “Yout don’t have to say anything,” Bruce tells him. His throat still sore, his voice cracking. Say it’s okay, say we’re okay. Don’t make me go. 

Bruce starts to blink rapidly, trying to hide the building tears. He’s not even sure why he’s crying but he knows not to. “We don’t have to talk, I just want to be here. If that’s okay?”

Okay, so the silent act was starting to look bad ( starting or was it already there…? ). Clint wasn’t good at this sort of thing. In fact, he’s like the terrible sequel you wish was never made when it came to comforting people. Maybe he should start wearing a sign that stated that…? But don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t like he didn’t care. Because he did, especially about the individual beside him. He gives him a squeeze to the shoulder to reassure. He only wanted to spare him from this. 

Bruce Banner was remarkable. He had a brilliant mind, sure. But he was also more than just the scientist locked away in his quiet lab; He was funny, braver than an impossible equation on a whiteboard, and he picked who he cared about carefully ( a quality Clint could learn from ). And for some funny reason or another, he chose him. Repeatedly believed in the likes of one Clint Barton.

So why was this terrifying for the archer…? There were no bullets clipping his arms, no robots falling from the sky, no bom-… Why couldn’t he just let it out? Say it. Say it, Barton. The words repeat as he stares at the flapping of his lips. He wants to listen. Hear the words of a friend in need and help that dead stare by bringing some life into it. He takes a deep breath and considers his options; Considers the tentative beating of his chest while the nerves over his reaction.

With a heavy breath, he begins to move his hands into the familiar rhythm of his childhood. The method he and Barney practiced in the dead of night and in between the other lessons Barney had given him. The words he is saying are ones of concern. His brows knitted with their worry as he looks over him. But when he finishes, he carefully tilts his head.

“Banner, do you understand?”

The Past Can Hurt || Bruce & Clint

betterthaneinstein:

It was his hope that Clint was asleep or at least pretended for his sake but really, truthfully, Bruce was happy he wasn’t Hearing his name called felt odd like it was for someone else. He knew he was Bruce but it didn’t feel right. 

Curling up tighter for a few moments, trying to come to terms with his own name, Bruce waited it out. Finally saying. “Please don’t make me leave.” He had no idea what was going on with Clint, he didn’t stop to the red the chart like he would have any other time. Worst case, Bruce thought it would be a broken bone or stitches. He certainly thought he’d be heard. 

The archer tilts his head in order to get a better look at the scientist. The man beside him looks much like a child, small and in need. He wants to reassure him, say it’ll be okay. But truthfully, Clint Barton wasn’t sure about either of those things. He just doesn’t have it in him to lie. Not right now. 

The beat he takes is… Probably longer than what would be considered the ‘normal’ amount. The bright side of being deaf? Awkward silences weren’t a problem anymore. His arm drapes itself around the man’s shoulders, pulling him into a friendly embrace. “Bruce…” He says again because he can see the movement, feel the rumble of a voice. Clint just can’t… He’s too rusty. He can’t remember how to read lips or how to even sign ‘where is the bathroom?’ underneath that stare of Banner’s.“I really don’t know what to say here, Bruce.” 

The Past Can Hurt || Bruce & Clint

betterthaneinstein:

Bruce didn’t know what was going on anymore. He didn’t feel right, he knew that much. There was a dull pain all over his body, something he’d call an annoyance because he wasn’t one to be a problem. Still everything hurt and he had no explanation. Thankfully, he’d managed to figure out he was in the medbay. Based on his assessment, though, there was no reason. 

No cuts, no broken bones, just an unidentifiable pain. Thoughts were betraying him, nothing was working right and worst of all no one was battling to come forth and protect him. That was the worst pain of all. There was always someone in Bruce’s head that came to protect him. Now that was gone. He was lost and all he could think about was how much he wanted his mom. 

Of course that wasn’t possible. The staff was too busy to pay attention to him, he wasn’t life or death. Bruce tried to get them to get him anything but it didn’t happen. Wandering slowly to find his way out, Bruce found something better. A friendly face. Never mind all their agruments, there weren’t any problems now. Not in this time. 

Bruce wanted some comfort and while he couldn’t have his mom, he’d found a friend. It didn’t matter that Clint was asleep just like it didn’t matter than Clint said he didn’t want Bruce as a friend. Bruce climbed himself into the bed and laid down in a tight ball at Clint’s waist. It hurt to lay like that but it was comfort for Bruce. Hands around his knees, Bruce did what he could to fall asleep. 

@hawkofheart

On any given day, the archer would have no trouble sleeping. He often found a solemn comfort in the quiet it provided. He leaned on it, relied on it when he would need the call of still before he released the nock of the arrow. His target aligned with his sight. The anticipation building and swelling.

But this was vastly different. It was unsettling to be met with a complete wave of utter restful noise while he was restless. It had been immediate. The cut off from the world of music-makers placed him in a state of not truly being. It brought him into an echo of his legs dangling off an examination table, lips flapping about and the scribbled note of his condition. ‘deafen partially and I hope temporarily.’ words of a notable professional donning a Ph.D to his name.

Clint wasn’t surprised then. It was hard to feign shock when you got knocked on the head a couple of times. He can’t stop replaying it; the dust, the sound of distance feet, and the screaming. That when he feels the presence of something curled next to him, his hand reaches out. He needs something to be real. He needs something to keep him grounded. His brows are furrowed – not in a manner that’s questioning but rather apologizing. Thankful, the mad scientist was here. “Bruce…?”

taserbeanie-archive:

That otp that calls each other by any other name but their first names

And then one of them gets hurt.