barton (and_circuses) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2016-01-04 21:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | clint barton, scott lang, steve rogers |
Who: Clint, Scott, and also eventually Steve and potentially Jess
Where: Clint's place
When: The afternoon after Clint's slew of drunk voicemails
What: A Clintervention
Warnings: Alcoholism, depression
It had taken Clint over an hour to make it off of the couch. He was a little impressed he'd made it on the couch, actually, but he suspected Jess has something to do with that. He assumed that she was still asleep in his bed by the time he dragged his ass through the swathe of empty cans that represented the collapsed empire of Canstantinople to root around for some Capitol-brand, extra-strength aspirin and a glass of water. That was generally how things went, anyway -- Scott was absolutely right in his assessment of Clint's beautiful but wildly uncomfortable couch, and Jess knew that full well and she had a better tolerance than him, which meant that it wasn't difficult for her to crawl into his (super comfy) bed after Clint inevitably fell asleep and/or passed out.
He honestly wasn't sure which one it had been this time. Probably passed out, given the number of concerned texts and voicemails on his phone. He could at least remember talking to some of them, which was a step. He drank the water down and then jerked the fridge open. For the better part of a week, he'd subsisted mainly on the food-shaped offerings that had poured into his doorstep following the anniversary party. Boxes of pastries, edible arrangements, chocolates... as clueless as Capitol citizens often were, most of them had at least managed to get his taste right. But he'd eaten his way through all of that days ago, which left him with the predicament of preparing his own breakfast while his head thumped like a bass drum.
But Clint knew his hungover self well enough to understand that if he sat down now, the chances were low he'd get up for the next couple of hours, so he grabbed eggs and milk from the fridge and set about making breakfast. His first pancake was just ready to flip as Scott opened the door. Clint turned his head toward him, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed. "Hey," he croaked, and although he tried, he just couldn't bring himself to smile. "Want eggs?"