Last chapter! Sorry for being late, I kept writing and couldn't find things to cut so I cut some things anyway and it just got too much and I went a little insane and watched too many Jeremy Renner movies then and, yeah, sorry! :P

But, like, it's not really REALLY last chapter! Cause this is Hawk-guy series 4.5-ish! Set somewhere in my Hawkguy series part 4! I dunno, it was a weird random exam mind decision to write this before I wrote 4 and, yeah!

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Reviews!

Niom Lamboise; Glad you liked it! Last chapter now, so hope you enjoy it! :)

AleuStark; I know, right!? Very tempted to order pizza after that one myself! :P If they were very different, then yeah, I'd definitely post both! But I always have starts and ends in mind when starting a fic, so they're never terribly far off eachother if I have more than one! Gooooood question about Kitty Kate! Emmmmm, at the start of Young Avengers Volume 2, as far as I remember, she's 20. I'm taking this as Fraction's Kate, so I'm assuming 24/25? A fair bit younger than Clint, that's all I know! :P Glad you enjoyed it! :)

AllenFredrickson; You are very welcome my dear! Thanks for the review, I'm glad you liked it :)

Disclaimer; Alright, Clint did a good job last chapter, but I'm back and it's the last chapter so. I own all of it. Everything. I own all of Marvel, all the characters, all the stories. It is my official decree that Clintasha is now movie cannon and Kate shall be in the movies and he'll be deaf and it'll be perfect. Is my sarcasm on this getting better at all? Because fuck it, I don't own any of Marvel but come one! Those three little ideas can't be THAT hard to implement!

This was getting annoying.

Seriously so.

There was a time in his life, not too long ago, where lying in bed all day would be a god send.

Maybe, when he's better, it would be the same again.

But there's a difference between having to stay in bed and wanting to stay in bed.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside cabinet and let out another sigh, using both hands to rub at his face.

4:23am and not an ounce of sleep to be found!

It had been like this for a week now for Clint. He was fine, he really was. He was a little sore, a little stiff. The holes left by the arrows were scabby and sore occasionally, but none of them warranted this long a bed confinement!

Maybe the whole dying in the middle of a circus tent did.. But come on! That was just one time! They had to stop going on about it each time he tried get out of the bed!

Mentally, he was a little fucked. No one knew that, no one but Natasha because, lets be honest, when could he ever lie to her? The nightmares were back in full force, and he even had to stop his mind from wandering during the day aswell. He kept thinking he was back in that tent, back to being tied to that ceiling. He had such horrific things done to him over the years, since he escaped the circus the first time. He was taken and beaten, he was tortured to within an inch of his life. He had burns all over his body from one method that involved lighting him on fire each night and letting him simmer until the morning. He'd be mentally beat down then built back up again. And each time, he'd take it in his stride and just walk through like nothing happened.

This was different.

This was personal.

This was a nightmare that kept him awake for years actually coming true. This was something he thought he escaped, something he swore he'd never go near again, coming back to bite him in the ass and take away any little sanity he had left.

This was his weakness. This was his downfall. This was always going to be what killed Clint Barton.

He should take some pride in the fact that it didn't kill him. He should take pride in the fact that he survived it relatively alright. Natasha told him that each day when he'd have a breakdown. She'd hold him and tell him she was proud he didn't give up to his demons so easily. When it got too bad, she'd let Sam give him a shot of something that would put him into a dreamless sleep for a while.

They had this odd schedule worked out. He never liked people waiting by his side, so no one was allowed into the room except Natasha. Though Steve still managed to sneak in every now and again, and sometimes he'd wake from a nap to see a sandwich by his bedside with a note 'Eat or your bow gets it!' written in Kate's chicken scratches ontop of it. Pepper would poke her head in every evening around 5pm to see if he wanted to come out for some dinner, but he never really had the appetite for proper food so he'd politely decline. Romanoff would stay for a little while at a time, talk to him, just normal stuff. Then around 2am each morning she'd say goodnight and leave him to rest.

He never really rested though.

The only one to respect his wishes of staying out of the room was the one person he actually really wanted to break that rule.

He hadn't seen Tony in a while. He came in with a pizza a while after he woke, the two of them made sure the other was alive and semi-ok, then they hadn't really seen each other since. It was odd.

Clint had this feeling in the pit of his stomach each day that they were hiding Tony from him or something. That Natasha told him personally not to stop by incase it set Clint back or something. Reminders tended to do that. Little subtle mentions of the place over the years would set him off. Romanoff knew this better than anyone after a mission a few years ago where he just caught a passing glimpse of a circus and had a full on panic attack. So maybe she thought that it was better for the pair if they just stayed away from eachother.

But Clint found himself in this position each night, wondering how the billionaire was actually getting on. Clint was used to this, used to the aftermath of a botched mission, used to the regret and the pain, used to the sleepless nights and nightmares. But he doubted Tony was. As far as Barton could remember, the only time Tony was taken properly was when he was held in that cave. And even then he wasn't tortured or watching a friend getting killed, he was given things to build with, noted to be well fed and watered. It was like some twisted summer camp more than anything.

He sighed roughly when he realised that there was no chance of sleep again tonight, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, going to his closet to grab his bow and quiver. The nights he got too bad, this is what he'd do. He's sneak out, down to the range, down to his own personal recovery room to let his mind wander and feel nothing other than the string digging into his fingers.

It was tricky though.

He's been down three or four times already and he found it difficult to find the will to shoot a single arrow. He'd nock the arrow, he'd have it lined up and ready. He'd go through his ritual, he'd be ready, then his hand would just lock. His fingers wouldn't move, they wouldn't allow him release the arrow. Because each time he tried, the dummy target at the end of the range morphed into his dangling figure, a target painted across his chest and his eyes wide with fear.

It was pathetic. And each time he felt like letting the arrow fly anyway, get rid of that mess in his mind. But he just couldn't. Fear had him too wary to let it go, and it seemed like it may be a while before that changes.

Tonight might be the night, Barton! Just don't think about your sorry ass and it'll be fine!

Totally..

He sighed once more and slung his bow and quiver over his back, leaving his room then to start the all too familiar walk through the tower. He liked the stairs more. He always avoided elevators as much as possible. Healthier to take the stairs and, honestly, alot less claustrophobic. For a guy who nearly died in a tiny hole surrounded by the remnants of a building, the more space the better!

Dammit, you're one broken son of a bitch, Barton!

The training centre in the place was on the very bottom floor. Below all the lab spaces, below the living quarters. It was below the offices, below the underground secret lab (that Pepper is most definitely not allowed know about because it's where Stark makes all the arrows and special weapons!), even below the parking garage for Tony's favourite cars. Why, in New York city, the worst place in the world for traffic, he had so many cars was still a complete mystery to them all.

Long story short, it was one hell of a walk just to not shoot some arrows and climb all the way back up.

But it was the walk that helped aswell. Being in bed all day every day kind of got tiring, so a change of scenery, even something simple and boring like stairway after stairway was better than whatever day time tv show was on or the crystal whiteness of the roof.

DVD's helped. Even if Pepper's collection was a little off his taste, it was better than nothing!

"I put my hands up, they're playing my song, the butterflies fly away. Nodding my head like yeah, moving my hips like yeah.~" He sang to himself as he skipped down the steps, the words trailing off though when he noticed some light streaming from the door jam of the lab.

That was never on. The past few night's he'd come this way that light was never on. Pepper had a ban on Tony working at night after about two months ago he was working too late and electrocuted himself from tiredness. Yes, on purpose, to stay awake!

"J, my buddy, am I allowed in?" Clint asked Jarvis, knowing using nick-names actually annoyed the AI and he wouldn't be Clint Barton without annoying everything and anything he could!

He hated these aids. They were the clunky kind he wasn't used to, the mass manufactured kind you can pick up for $80 most places. People were easy to hear, but Jarvis was such a soft spoken programme that it was near impossible for Clint to catch his words most times. And, honestly, he really missed Stark's ones! That built in MP3 would make bed rest a million times better!

The door of the place popped open anyway, so even though he didn't catch Jarvis' words, he knew he was allowed. He assumed as much anyway. This was just as much Clint's lab as it was Tony's. This was where he tested out all the crazy arrow's the billionaire built, where he tried some armour or a new weapon, because Clint was the only tower resident crazy enough to agree to be a test subject, when Thor wasn't here at least. But for that reason, he just always had clearance to the lab.

"Got my hands up, they're playin' my song, and now I'm gonna be okay.~" He continued his song as he entered the lab, it was a big place, and making noise was always the way to get a feel as to where Stark was! Singing especially, because as if on que, AC/DC blasted from the far corner of the room.

"I never thought I'd actually miss your country songs." The billionaires words floated over to the archer, and he had to smirk a little.

"Well, you do sing a beautiful version of Country Roads.."

"That was one time and I thought we agreed to never bring that up!" Clint finally found the guy sitting behind a work bench, and Stark instantly pouted at him for bringing up the memory.

Clint smirked and held his hand up in defence, pulling up a stool then on the opposite side of Stark. "Alright alright, you're right."

"Always am!" Tony shrugged, looking away from Clint then and back down to whatever new little gadget he was working on.

Sometimes being as stubborn as those two were was a pretty damn good thing. Neither wanted to talk about what happened, neither wanted to be weird around eachother, so they acted like it didn't actually happen!

Not healthy, but that's fine. Right now Clint didn't need healthy. Right now, Clint needed normality. And he guessed Tony did too.

That didn't mean Barton wasn't curious. It didn't mean that he didn't want to know why the hell Stark thought a good resolution to their fight was to go join the circus. He was dying to know, but just like Natasha and Laura would have to do with him, he'd have to approach Stark in the most sneaky way possible.

If they were really alike, then just get him talking and he won't shut up.

"Can't sleep?" Clint eventually asked, three songs later and an age of awkward silence. He had no idea what Tony was working on, but he hadn't seen the guy this focused since they were trying to perfect the net arrow. Man, that was a long few days!

"Difficult." Stark sighed, dropping the little device onto the bench so he could use his hand to rub at his face. Clint frowned a little, not knowing if he meant the device was difficult or if sleeping was difficult. Probably both.

He didn't seem comfortable with the topic though, and Clint understood that. He never saw the billionaire shuffle so uncomfortably before, it was actually kind of nerve racking.

To put the guy at ease a little, Clint just reached across the bench and picked up the discarded device. He rolled it over in his hand and gave a surprised sound when he realised it was a new kind of hearing aid.

"It seems like it is." Barton hummed, and he could just feel the tension in the air lifting.

Don't wanna talk about the issues, that's fine by me!

"Trying to upgrade them.." Stark said quietly, gaining Clint's attention. He watched as Tony tinkered with the other one on the desk.

"They were pretty damn sophisticated already." He laughed with a shake of his head, noticing that it got a little smile from Tony.

"Yeah, well, next time I don't want you having to rip them apart to make a taser."

If Clint's eyebrows could physically hit the roof, they would have. He eyed the device in his hand a little more carefully before dropping it in shock, realising what he meant by that comment and there was no way in hell that was happening!

"Tony, no." He said sternly, Stark meeting his gaze with an equally stern one of his own.

He can't make them into weapons. That's basically what he was doing, he was adding a weapon to the already long list of functions these little devices hold.

"Clint, what happens if next time.."

"I've done fine without them thus far." Barton cut him off with a growl, slamming his hand down to crush the aid sitting infront of him.

"For fuck sake you idiot, you have any idea how long that took me!?" Stark yelled, standing now with his hands on the table to lean closer to Clint.

Barton, never one to back down from a challenge, mimicked his behaviour.

"I am NOT walking around with weapons in my ears!"

"What if it happens again though!?" Stark countered with a frown, arms being thrown in the air in annoyance.

"Then I'll get out of it like all the other times!" Clint countered with a frown of his own, not believing he was actually having this conversation.

"You fucking died!" Stark suddenly yelled, causing Clint to completely freeze up. Tony must have realised he hit on something raw, because he suddenly sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You died on that floor, Barton. And there was nothing I could do about it. So I'm making you these, and you can either accept them or use the chunky fuckers you have on right now. But I won't be able to sleep at night unless I know I did everything in my power to keep you safe."

Clint wasn't really listening anymore. His mind was going to mental to, and it wouldn't calm down.

It was an unspoken rule not to mention death. It was just a general consencus around the tower that you can ask Clint about anything, get him to spill his soul about whatever you wanted, wife, kids, divorce, hell even the circus. But no one was to mention the dying part, becasue it still haunts him too much and always will.

And it was the one thing that always made the fight drain from the archers bones.

So, he just turned on his heels and headed for the door, not one more word uttered to Tony, not an acknowledgement of his calls or pleads for Clint to stay. He just left the lab and walked back up the un-natural amount of stairs.

Never mind the shooting range, when something got to him this bad, he needed to clear his head. He needed space, he needed away from people, needed away from Tony and his stupid asshole comments.

He needed the roof.

This was his church.

This was his church, and people may tell him off for saying it, but this was his place of worship, pure and simple.

Most people, when things got difficult in their lives, when a situation got too much to handle or they needed guidance, or even when the needed absolution from whatever sins they have on their souls, they would go to church and seek whatever deity they believe in.

Sometimes, they didn't even believe. Sometimes, they went to make themselves feel better. Some did it around Easter or Christmas, to show the world that they are devoted to their religion without pushing it or going out of their way. He was never Catholic, nor Christian. He was never Muslim or Jewish, nor was he protestant or Buddhist or anything.

He was an archer.

For an archer, this was church.

The slide as an arrow was pulled from it's quiver was grace, the creak of a bow as the right amount of force was applied to its string was gospel, the breath slowly escaping as the shot was lined up was the prayer to the higher form, and the whoosh of the arrow followed by the solid thump as it embedded itself into whatever target it was aimed at were all the hymns needed to bring peace upon his soul.

And really, there was alot of that needed in Clint Barton's soul.

Tony avoided him. Hasn't come in contact with him at all since their little blow up the other night. Maybe Clint shouldn't have gotten angry at him. The guy was obviously struggling, obviously feeling like he had to find some way to keep Clint safe, and he just exploded at him for no reason.

Kate brought a pizza and a little box containing proper, non weaponry, hearing aids into him the following evening, saying they were gifts from Tony but that Tony thought a friend would be better suited to deliver them, and that just pissed Clint off more than anything.

Clint scoffed at the memory, sending another arrow flying into the poor dummy target at the end of the range.

Friendly face. Because he so risked his life for someone he didn't think as a friend! Seriously, how stupid was Stark!

Very, Clint decided. He might have some fancy degree from some fancy college, but if he thought people got captured and tortured for someone they didn't think a close and personal friend, then he was the biggest idiot on the planet.

"Y'know.." Speak of the devil.. "I could probably put some targets in your room. Save you having to sneak out each night."

"Natasha would never agree to that, Stark. You know that." Clint sighed, maybe a little too angrily letting another arrow fly across the room.

"Hmm. Suppose." Tony hummed, Clint could see him from the corner of his eye moving across to lean against the wall. He was studying Clint, and it threw him off a little.

It was 4:12am. Something was wrong. It had been three nights since he saw the light in the lab on, so this was an off night for the billionaire, a night when he couldn't find sleep. He let the arrow he currently held go a little slack so he could take a proper look at Tony.

The guy looked alright, just leaning against the wall watching Clint with his arms folded across his chest. But Clint has seen that look in Starks eyes before. Not on him, mind you. But in the mirror after seriously bad missions.

"Still can't sleep?" He asked through a sigh, looking back down the range at the dummy as he drew the arrow back once again. Maybe he should give the guy a little slack. If Clint was struggling with it all, and this was no where near his first time being taken and tortured, then he could only imagine how Tony was handling it.

"Not really." Stark replied after a minute, Clint had three more arrows in the dummy by the time he spoke again. "Find a bit, then it leaves again."

"Regret's going to be there for a while." Barton said softly, walking the length of the range to retrieve his arrows as he continued on. He didn't care about boundaries tonight. Not after their last conversation. The air had to be cleared and things desperately needed to be said. "That's the main bitch of recovering from this sort of stuff."

"I don't think I'm there yet." Stark replied with a shrug, and Clint just smiled a little. Besides being held against their will, this was the longest the pair had spent together, not let alone talking about anything other than hearing aids or trick arrows. "Natasha gave me a run down of what to expect too. Still at the angry nightmare part."

"Yeah, that's not nice either." Clint laughed, checking his arrows to make sure they were fine to fire again.

He was finally over his stage. Last night, he just let the arrow fly, regardless of what nightmare was infront of him. Now, it was just a dummy there, no longer his own dangling and beat up body. So it was only right that he help guide Stark through this thing.

"Well, I'm here each night." Barton simply said, placing all his arrows back in the quiver slung over his shoulder before walking back to his mark. "Y'know. For those angry nightmare times. Can just sit here and watch, yell, give out, I dunno. Whatever makes you feel better."

"Might just take you up on that, Barton." Tony smirked, hitting a button on the wall that made the targets move then like it would throw Clint off.

He just smirked and let the arrow fly anyway, the tip of it finding dead centre like all the other times. He had to hold back a laugh at Stark's huffy sound. Like a target moving would make him miss!

"Dunno how you do it, Barton. I could barely pull the damn string back!" Tony pouted, causing Clint to look at him with an eyebrow raised. He never let Stark near his bows, never let anyone near them except Kate. He must have sensed Clint's confusion, because he sent the archer a smile and shrugged. "I tried learn from Trickshot.."

Oh god..

Oh no..

"You didn't.." Clint whispered in disbelief, his arms now slack by his side. He knew that Tony went through some shit before Barton showed up, but not that kind of shit!

"Wasn't fun.." Tony shrugged, pushing away from the wall then to try leave.

No wonder he was having nightmares.. If he missed, and Clint guessed he did if he could barely pull the string back, then the horrors that would follow are enough to crush anyone.

The only reason Clint still works away with his bow and arrow, the only reason the experience of learning didn't kill his love for archery, is because it saved his life. It gave him a second chance, it ended up giving him a life outside the confines of the circus.

But Tony? Man, he must hate it more than anything right now.

Clint couldn't have that.

He couldn't have someone hating such a great skill just because some asshole has a horrible way of teaching.

He couldn't have Stark hating archery, because if he hated archery then it would more than likely lead him to hate Clint.

And he just couldn't have a friend hating him.

"Kate tells me that I'm a horrible teacher.." Clint said quietly, looking down to the bow in his hands as he spoke. The absence of shuffling feet told him that Tony stopped walking though.

"Well she's pretty good, better than you." Tony replied after a moment, Clint looked up to see him smirking at the archer. "So, you must be doing something right."

Barton laughed a little and shrugged, doing something he hasn't done in a long time by offering Tony his bow.

He was hesitant, but this was like Thor offering up Mjolnir. It just didn't happen, it was a rarity. Even Kate had to use her own bow because Clint just never trusted anyone. So, after a moment, Tony walked forward and took the bow in his hands, then accepted the arrow Clint offered.

He was going to do this right. Tony had asked before to learn, but they were always too busy. They could never find time to get together and work through things.

Now, though, Clint would make time. He'd teach Stark whatever he wanted to learn. If it meant keeping him from going off and being captured, if it meant it would keep him safe, if it meant he'd be able to keep a friend, then he'd drop everything and make the time.

"All in the breathing.." Clint said quietly, subtly changing Stark's stance when he drew the arrow back to the proper one. He may not know alot of mechanical stuff, may not be a genius engineer, but Barton could out wit anyone in this place, and that included the great Tony Stark. "Relax, and the rest will come naturally.."

He stepped back and watched as Tony went through the routine Clint knew all too well, no doubt taught it by Trickshot.

When he let the arrow fly, and it missed the target by a mile, Clint frowned. Not because he was upset or disappointed.

But because Tony flinched. Tony Stark looked like a terrified puppy about to be punished for pissing on the floor.

And it didn't suit him at all.

Clint smiled a little when Stark looked over to him, and the billionaire looked like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Clint would never hurt him, and the sooner he learned that, the better.

Barton simply handed him another arrow. "Keep your arm up, don't let it slack until the arrow is in the target."

He watched that night as Tony let arrow after arrow fly. The guy never gave up, never complained, and it warmed Clint's heart.

Tony was shooting away his demons, shooting away his nightmares and getting the horrible events they went through out of his mind.

Later, Clint would learn that after that little shooting session, Tony had the best night's sleep he's had in months.

They were the same, in that regard. Others would be in some therapists office, talking through the shit they went through and trying to make sense of it. Clint and Tony just spent night after night in the shooting range, sending arrows into dummy's hearts, working out kinks in their minds by having a distraction, occasionally talking things out to one another.

He found a friend he didn't think he'd find in Tony Stark. He found someone he could rely on, someone he could trust. He hasn't found that since Natasha.

They were the same in some regards, different in others.

They were Avengers, they saved the world. They grew up in completely different circumstances, but they both ended up each night in the exact same shooting range, they both ended up relying on the other to heal.

There may be differences, but none of that matters.

The past doesn't matter, it never mattered, because your past doesn't define you, your future doesn't even define you, your present does.

And it only took a kidnapping and near death experience for that to sink into his mind! It took those events for him to realised that, sure, Clinton Francis Barton had a pretty shitty past, one of the worst anyone could imagine.

But, damn, Clint Hawkeye Barton had a present he wouldn't trade for the world!