ʙᴀʀᴛᴏɴ (cauterising) wrote in somerealityrpg, @ 2021-02-20 19:21:00 |
|
|||
As much as Clint enjoyed the action of renovations, it was probably less therapeutic to constantly be fixing the same things every time Goodland had a fit and turned into a monster-topia. The interior damage was a little more severe than it was usually, given the Villa tended to escape somewhat unharmed unless powers were going haywire. This time there was a little more wear and tear.
It was probably past time for a break, between fixing the elevator and getting the electrics sorted again, he could feel the constant ache from his headache knocking itself up a few grades from mildly annoying to sharply irritating. The freezing approach had worked on the monster-gunk, and that felt like a little more pressing at the moment.
The promise of coffee and a chisel from Morgan at least meant things would probably go faster, and maybe the insomnia would fuck off long enough for him to sleep a couple hours finally. Rubbing the back of his head, still slightly tender and bruised down his neck, Clint rolled his shoulders to release a little of the tension building there.
A few more hours, and coffee. He’d be fine.
Sticking close to the Bartons during a crisis was beginning to become something of a theme for Morgan, not that it was that much of a surprise, and it didn’t entirely have to do with the fact that her platonic soulmate was a Barton. Growing up, the farm was her escape and safe place. More often than not she would have rather been there than anywhere else.
Sure, she wasn’t exactly crazy about the animals but it was more about not having to talk about shit and not having to constantly wear that ‘I’m fine’ mask.
It was only natural that she felt the same in Goodland and it didn’t matter that the timelines were all wonky. Clint, Nate, Lila, and now Nat were her people.
Balancing one of those drink carriers with four coffees, because she figured they’d need more than one, Morgan rounded the corner just in time to see Clint trying to shake something off.
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it. They had just gone through some shit, after all. So, instead she held up the coffee carrier and chisels.
“I expect that joint custody contract to be drawn up promptly after the monster guts.”
There was a deep comfort knowing that Nate grew up with the steady support and influence of Morgan, despite the understanding that the end of the battle with Thanos results in the death of half of their original group, the growth of the team that came from it all couldn’t be dismissed.
“Oh, bless you,” the fact that Morgan also fed his coffee addiction ranked her decidedly high on the list of awesome too. A niece that stopped your kid from blowing off his own hand and provided a caffeine boost? What more could a guy want? “If you really want you can hold onto him until the contract is fully finalised.”
Although, joking aside, given how often Morgan was at their place and how often Nate was at Tony’s it was likely they were already in the midst of a joint custody situation. He wasn’t surprised, as he took a sip of the coffee, hoping it would push the headache back, Morgan had obviously gotten it perfect. “You doin’ okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re welcome.” Clint was probably the only other person she knew whose coffee addiction rivalled her own, but then she supposed when someone went through bouts of insomnia it was a given. Kneeling to put the carrier on the floor- a good distance from the guts- she grabbed her own coffee and tossed the chisels near the stain.
“You mean he isn’t grounded until next year or something for the rescue mission he pulled?” If he was, that would certainly make a temporary full-time custody situation difficult. Morgan still felt like she was going to have a heart attack every time she thought about Nate out there with the monsters, so instead of elaborating further? She began chugging her coffee.
Distraction was always better than facing an issue head on, right?
Downing the rest of the cup, Morgan crawled over to begin chiselling at the hardened stain on the carpet. “I’m alright, but I’m not the one that was out there. Shouldn’t I be asking if you’re okay?”
As much as Clint had said Nate was grounded forever, because the utter heart attack at not being able to get through to Nate when he wanted a check in was the absolute worst thing since watching Natasha plummet from a cliff on Vormir, he understood Nathan’s intentions.
The kid would wade into a warzone for a bird with a wonky wing, really.
“I feel like at the moment I’d be punishing myself doing that.” And there was just too much else to focus on than scolding his kid. He could’ve taken away his game consoles, but with Tor and Happy trying to integrate, while Catasha decided she was above everything, Nate probably wouldn’t notice.
Half of Clint’s coffee was gone in a few gulps, the archer taking on the other chisel to work on the further side. “I’m alright, wired and tired at the same time, a little sore, but it’s par for the course.” He was far too fucking old for this shit now. Especially getting bashed around without any kind of super serum or what not.
“That carnage just… was draining as hell.”
“You’re probably right.” With everything else going on, keeping track of a prolonged grounding probably wasn’t the highest priority on anyone’s list. It wasn’t like Nate didn’t have his reasons for going out alone, and it was commendable that he possessed such a big heart for animals. Morgan couldn’t relate to that, but she could understand the ‘why’.
It didn’t mean she had to like it, though.
“You need a nap,” she teased knowing it was easier said than done. Clint had way more on his plate than she did, and Morgan struggled with the sleeping. She would envy him if it came easily.
Scraping diligently at the stain, she realized it might be a bit therapeutic to take all of her frustrations out on the carpet. Maybe she should consider volunteering to help him more often? “Isn’t it always draining as fuck? Every single time this place goes to hell or pulls one of its stunts?”
Morgan wasn’t always a fan of the happier stuff the Entity tended to rain down on them either. She very much preferred the inbetween...when shit was as calm as it could be given their circumstances.
There was a lot to be said for Nate going out. As much as it scared the shit out of so many people, he’d obviously fought through a lot of his fears and insecurities to do it, and sure, it was for a dog, but Nate’s capacity to care for animals was kind of inspiring given everything.
“I need a coma.” He wasn’t about to sugar coat it at all, he was bone tired, his joints hurt and his mind was screaming at him, and he just wanted to sleep. But fuck if that was happening it seemed. Running around on high alert for two weeks didn’t wear off quickly, and he knew the come down was going to take some time. “I’d try and get Nat to knock me out if I didn’t want to avoid the ‘no double concussions’ talk from her.”
Obviously, she found out he hit his head -the bruise was hard to miss, even without his shaved head. But given he hadn’t been impaled or shot or crushed, he didn’t get too big a sigh. Scraping up, watching the hardened gunk crack off into slithers, like ice sheets, Clint grabbed the trash bucket he’d gotten for this purpose, chucking what they’d gotten up already into it.
“Sure, it really doesn’t get easier,” and there was a level of it that sucked more because it came out of nowhere. They at least got a little bit of warning when they’d been going on missions before. Goodland just woke up sometimes and had a fit. “Two weeks of chaos is definitely too much for me.”
Which he knew, given he couldn’t exactly lie to himself about how bad his head hurt, how his eyes were stinging, the ache in his neck and shoulders. Never mind the weird blur to his eyes now and then.
“I bet I could arrange a coma for you. I have magic friends in high places, but I feel like you would rather have Nat knock you the fuck out.” As much as Morgan battled with insomnia, and although she adored Emma and liked the other magic users she knew well enough, she would never agree to being put to sleep with a spell or any other kind of magic shit. She’d come around to the idea of all of it, but she was still very much ‘science first’. “Maybe you can find a happy medium. Somewhere between the two extremes to acquire your coma.”
Curling up her nose at the cracks in the gunk, she couldn’t help but think of how it must have been for all of them fighting these disgusting fucks. The relentless number of them was enough to make her tired.
“For a place that feels like it is supposed to be about second chances? It sure is cashing in on its karma or whatever the fuck else it uses for cosmic balance.” That had to be the explanation for the Goodland tantrums, right? Or maybe she was just grasping at ideas to keep herself from overanalyzing it too much.
“A week would have been too much, Clint.”
Another hit to the head might not be what Clint needed at the moment, but there was no need to really dwell on that. “Some chloroform would do just fine, you know.” As spies, he and Natasha could probably find or make some if they really needed.
This place did feel like it swung violently between chill and losing its damn mind. And as much as the forced happiness or honesty or glittering irked Clint, he’d take that shit over this any day. Between the battles, the injuries, the worries, then the clean-up. It took a good solid month before anyone was back on even footing.
“Especially when those things breed when you killed them.” Whatever it was that happened, killing the monsters meaning a dozen more popped up. Sighing, ignoring the pain behind his eyeballs, Clint got back to things, chisel sliding through the gunk almost violently and…
Going almost directly into Clint’s hand, resting near the edge of the frozen crap to brace him, nowhere in the line of what Clint was aiming for at all. “Fuck.”
“I’m sure you could find some somewhere around here. Unless you plan on making it? Then uh...I want to be around for that.” Curiosity never killed the cat, but one day it would definitely probably kill Morgan.
Maybe someone could find some chloroform for Goodland the next time it decided to shift dramatically between moods. Hating the forced happiness almost as much as she hated the villainpaloosas, fucked terror mazes, and monster mashes, she did have to admit that she had been a bit of a fan of the scarecrows. Though, that was mainly because after the initial panic on her end? She got to sit back and watch Emma do her thing.
Glancing up from the chiseling, Morgan eyes settled on Clint just in time to witness his near self-impalement. It caught her off guard and for a moment all she could do was stare at him.
He didn’t miss...ever...and she highly doubted that his exhaustion could be attributed to it. Something was wrong.
“What the fuck, Clint?”
Yeah, what the fuck, that was a good point.
Thankfully the near impalement was just that -near. The chisel had grazed off the side of his hand, not breaking the skin, but stinging all the same, causing him to drop the chisel and shake off the tingle. “Slipped.”
It didn’t slip, and Clint wasn’t about to digest the fact that there was still a slight blur to his vision right then, but he was tired, and that was probably all it was.
“It’s fine.”
“Slipped!?” Yeah. Okay. She wasn’t buying it. Morgan had seen Clint tired and still be able to hit the mark. Hell, she’d always thought that he could do it while sleeping. It was like a second nature thing that she didn’t understand because she couldn’t touch it herself, but she’d witnessed it enough to believe it.
Arching an eyebrow impossibly high for a moment, it lowered almost within the same second as her eyes narrowed. “Is it?”
God. This was just what she asked for. Another Barton for her to worry about- only this one was inexplicably more stubborn.
It wasn’t fine. Nothing was really fine. The pain behind his eyes was intense, his ears were ringing, and it was like someone had knocked his vision sideways, and it hadn’t realigned. Coupled with the heavy taste of coffee in his gut that made him want to puke for the first time since Cooper got a flu as a baby and Laura had to rush him to a hospital while Clint was halfway around the world, Clint was pretty sure that fine wasn’t in his stratosphere right then.
Not that he was saying any of that.
Morgan didn’t need that put on her shoulders, she dealt with enough between her family and Nathan, Clint wasn’t adding to it right now.
“Yeah, it’s fine, probably just tiredness,” which was at least a small part of the truth. “I’ll clear this stuff away and call it a day,” because he didn’t need to maim himself doing this. “Sleep should help.” That was the dream, the true dream, that he’d go to bed, sleep for twelve hours and everything would be fine.
It was a pipe dream and he knew it.
“Why don’t you chuck what you’ve got there into the bucket and get outta here, I’m more than sure you have better things to do.” At least this way his fuck ups wouldn’t have an audience that actually paid attention.