so i'll keep going till we've run out of road

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Who| Sam Wilson and YOU (prompts for specific characters in the comments)
What| Back from the arena and fresh from a canon update, Sam’s dragging people into blind spots and trying hard not to lose it over Steve and Jet
Where| The Speakeasy, various Capitol blindspots
When| After the end of arena 14
Warnings/Notes| Discussion of death, PTSD, will update as needed


It’s likely a surprise to no one that Sam isn’t doing so great right about now. With both Steve and Jet not coming back from the arena, Kurloz stuck as an Avox, and Albert and Bucky unreachable in District 13, the number of people left that Sam’s started to think of as part of his family is… not all that high. He’s working real damn hard at not letting himself end up the way he had when he lost Riley, but there are times when it’s a close call.

Playing along with the Capitol and getting sponsorships and ad campaigns gives him something to do with his time, gets him the money he needs to survive now, and hopefully takes some suspicion off of him, that he’s willing to follow what the Capitol says - but it doesn’t exactly do a lot to take his mind of off things. And he’s got a lot of things on his mind, especially with whatever the hell this is that’d gone down between when he died in the arena and when he woke up here with an extra year or so’s worth of memories. For the most part, when he’s not working, he sticks close to what’s left of his team, because he knows it’s a bad idea to let himself be alone right now.

Still, every once in a while he can be found alone in the Speakeasy, nursing a drink and people watching.

Comments

[cognitived]

It is, it is. It helps, even if Clint's still caught up in the not so long ago horror of it. For an archer, it was the worst fate he could have imagined, one Clint wishes he'd have never experienced. He's fucking grateful that he didn't make it, that he woke up whole and healthy once more. And maybe he's a bit ashamed of that, that he would have rather died than live if the life he'd have was one without his arm.

But god, it's overwhelming.

So he focuses on the here and now, on Sam's fingertips softly over the back of his hand, and lets that fade quietly into the background. Relaxes a bit when Sam does, even if he can't, not completely. This will never be easy, it goes against his very core, speaking about Laura when his entire life has been built up to keep her safe. To keep the kids safe, so that they might have a life he'd wished for when he was young and stupid and running from foster homes.

He gets it, he really does. If he hadn't started babbling about her, Clint would have never asked Sam about his family, about the people he loves. They're not safe here, not even in a blindspot, and he knows what it means to have that added security of silence. But it's nice, having Sam shoring him up, having that stage set.

"Yeah," He says, achingly fond, "Two of 'em."

There's a pause, head tipping to the side to give Sam a wry look. One that speaks of far too many conversations on this very same topic.

"Three, if you're counting the dog."

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Yeah. Yeah, Sam knows. And he's grateful as hell that Clint woke up whole, that he's not going to have to figure out how to deal with what happened permenantly, but he still knows. He knows exactly what it's like to have a part of you that would rather be dead than keep going the way things are.

But he feels better now, having talked it out. Maybe neither of them can stop something like that from happening again, but Sam's got faith in them handling it a little better the second time around.

And at least they can sit here like this, and Sam can do the best he can to help him be at ease.

Even if what they're going into is probably treading on the most dangerous territory they have so far, and god, Sam is pretty sure he knows just how much Clint has to trust him to actually talk about this, even just the little bit that he has.

"You always count the dog," he replies, flashing him a smile.

He pulls his hand from Clint's, then, but only so he can switch to signing.

'You don't have to tell me anymore, cupid, I'm not gonna ask. There's nothing I'd like more than sitting here trading stories with you about the shit our nieces and nephews get up to, but I got a feeling neither of us have mentioned them for the same reason.'

[cognitived]

They haven't really talked it over, but Clint's got some idea of why Sam's so good at this sort of thing. Sure, you can emphasize, you can understand this lose at a theoretical level -- but there's a gulf between understanding and living through it. Clint could see it in Sam's eyes, back when he pinned him and snapped at him, the fight in his eyes not quite hiding the sheer terror. At the time, he hadn't quite realized, too far gone under the fever and the agony. But he does now.

Hopefully there won't be a next time, but if there is, they'll know how to handle it. In any case, Sam's always done his best to try, and Clint knows that, he appreciates it so much. For now, he's trying to remember that and trying not to focus on the phantom ache he knows is all his mind playing tricks. It's hard, but he's had enough time to figure it out.

And Sam joking and smiling with him does everything to help with that.

He finally relaxes all the way, shoulders slumping, a relieved breath escaping him. Not for the first or last time Clint is so fucking grateful that Sam's here, that he's found a partner in him. This is dangerous territory, territory that only Natasha and Coulson and Fury have ever been privy to. Three people in twenty years, and hell -- one of those is dead and buried, another likely following him.

It means more than Sam will ever know, telling him about Laura and the kids. Except, except Sam does know, and that's one of the reasons Clint doesn't laugh it off and deflect. Instead he lifts his own hands and signs right on back, head ducked but thankful as he taps his fingers to his chin and away.

'Maybe one day, angel.' Something fond and aching crosses his features, a little smile curling up at one corner of his mouth. 'They'd love you though.'

[sizeofyourbaggage]

It’s not something that Sam likes talking over. This is the closest he’s ever come to admitting it, at least outside of his therapist, and in a way he’s so fucking grateful that he doesn’t have to say it out loud. That Clint can just look at him and know, that they can see it reflected in each other’s eyes and not have to say a damn thing to understand.

And now they know, and they can keep an eye on each other - not that they weren’t already, but this is a little different, this is specific, and something in Sam eases up at that knowledge. Maybe it’s one more thing that drew them into being partners, that they both have that tendency buried somewhere within in them, but Sam can’t be anything but grateful right now.

He knows he made the right move when Clint relaxes against him like that. Because Sam does know, and the faith that Clint’s putting in him right now is almost a little overwhelming. Sam wants to reach out again when Clint ducks his head like that, to cover his hand again - but he doesn’t, because he wants to keep signing.

Instead he does the same thing he’d done the first time he and Clint were sitting in a back alley, splitting open wounds and letting each other patch them back up, and Clint’d signed thank you at him. He lifts up his hand, holding up one finger and moving his arm in a circle. Always, and he’d meant it back then, but fuck he means it even more now.

Still, he can’t help but return that smile. ‘Hell yeah. I’ll take yours flying and you can teach mine to shoot and their moms will hate us until we sweet talk our way out of it.’ Sarah likes to think she’s immune to his sweet talking at this point, but it still works on his sister-in-law, and he knows Clint could charm both of them.

[cognitived]

Yeah, he gets it. It's a wordless, acknowledged thing now, nestled beneath his breastbone. Clint's gaze is sharp, and he won't let it slip his notice. He can't afford to, when there's a huge part of him that knows what losing Sam would do to him. He's already lost Coulson and Natasha; Sam's right up there with them, and he can't bear that. He'd try though, guilt eating away at him like an unwelcome old friend.

But Clint can't help the way he smiles, suddenly, a tiny little thing, there at the corners of his mouth. Sam signs and it's a fucking beautiful thing, because yeah, Clint remembers. How could he not? Something locked behind his ribs throbs with a sudden fierce ache, love for this man who's given so much for him when he didn't need to.

He doesn't know what he did to deserve Sam, but God he's so fucking grateful.

Especially when it comes to this, spilling his guts and tremblingly settling his most precious secrets in Sam's hands. His breath steals from him, caught in sudden laughter, because hell -- Clint can picture it so easily. Laura never complained, but he knew she was lonely sometimes, missing the bonds they'd had as kids, in the homes and in the circus. He's been gone for decades, and even now he's barely there. The fun Uncle who comes with the change of the wind.

God he misses them so much it hurts.

'That a promise?' He asks, something lighthearted curling in his smile that doesn't quite meet the blue of his gaze. Clint knows odds -- theirs aren't the greatest.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Maybe this conversation started out tense, practically a continuation of their fight in the arena, but they've eased back into each other now. And even though yeah, all right, part of Sam is still scared of losing Clint to himself, it's better now. He's not gonna change it just with the words he'd shouted in the arena and the quieter ones now, but maybe

And somehow, the fact that Clint knows that Sam's got some of the same things, the thing that Sam's never really told anyone - it doesn't even trip him up a little. Maybe it's because he still hadn't really had to tell Clint, maybe it's just relief that he knows and isn't judging him for it; he doesn't really care why right now.

It's too damn easy for them to get back into sync with each other, and it's only now that Sam realizes that he's come to count on that.

Even when Clint plays dirty. Damn, he knows as well as Sam does that there's no way to guarantee that they're gonna get to go back home, even if they do manage to break out from the Capitol.

'Not fair to ask that when you know it's hard to say no with you looking at me like that.' It's teasing, but also damn, Clint knows it's cheating when Sam hates it when he smiles and it doesn't match his eyes. They do that too much as it is.

'Yeah, it's a promise. No way in hell I'm not gonna be there for that. Or for whatever else we got coming our way.' He pauses to shove Clint's shoulder with his. 'I gave you a chance to back out, man, and you didn't. Now you're stuck with me, in the arenas and in this goddamn secret war and when it goes public and when it gets done. Partners.'