Who: Clint Barton and Tony Stark When: After some text messages Where: Clint’s place, then burger shop What: Fixing a DVR and Hamburgers Rating/Warnings: Low/Tony has a mild panic attack at the Hamburger Joint, there's some talk about coming home from war. (Like Iron Man 3 stuff. ^_^) Status: Complete
Tony knocked on the front door. The address that Clint had given him. He was more than willing to help his friend out with electronics, with his DVR. Or he could build the man a new one. A better one. He had a whole bag full of supplies in his hand, waiting for Clint to answer the door. Lunch and some time with a friend of his from both his dream world and this one? He was anticipating a good day.
Honestly, anything to get out of the office, anything to get away from wedding planning and Expo preparations… even though Pepper was taking care of most of that for them.
Clint didn’t really need anything fancy, he just needed a machine that wouldn’t take a crap on him and delete everything randomly. Or one that he couldn’t accidentally delete shit from without realising he did it. Which was entirely possible when it came to Clint and technology.
As usual, it was Lucky that notified Clint that someone was at the door, pawing at the door frame with a whine before barking loud enough to grab Clint’s attention and really, he had to be glad that his neighbours did not mind his mutt yelling at him sometimes. “Okay, okay, keep your tail on.” Wiping his hands on a towel, Clint crossed the room and wasn’t too surprised to find someone else on the other side.
Although occasionally Lucky just barked at people passing by. “Hey, Tony. C’mon in.”
Tony nodded once, sunglasses on. He glanced down at the dog. “Lucky.” He said, coolly. (He didn’t actually harbor any animosity toward the dog, but having been bested by the beast, it wasn’t unbelievable that he’d keep his distance.) Then Tony turned to his friend, Clint. “Did I catch you doing dishes?” He asked, stepping into the apartment.
“Just some cleaning,” occasionally the coffee pot needed to be washed it seemed. “Lucky, go play, Tony’s upset you beat him.” Tossing a ball from the kitchen down the hall, Clint just smirked before clapping Tony on the shoulder, “Lighten up, he’s still just a dog Mr Genius. One who hates my shows.”
Or just one that liked to chew the remote. Who knew?
“Right. I still don’t trust him.” Tony said, watching the dog chase the ball off down the hallway. “There’s something about his eyes…” He was teasing, but deadpan. He turned to look at Clint.
“Show me where this DVR is that can be bested by your dog.” Hopefully it was lower than Tony on the smart scale.
“He’s an evil mastermind, but don’t tell anyone, we’re hiding out here.” Clint was mostly just amused, but hey, he was probably just as immature at times as Tony was. He had humoured the idiot on the whole bet in the first place.
“Yeah, through here.” Clint’s sitting room was basic; two seater couch, coffee table, side table, TV, DVR and his playstation. Which he was in no way embarrassed about at all. “It might be a spaghetti junction of cables back there too. We might need to get you a rope to make sure you don’t get sucked into the abyss.”
“This is your fortress of solitude, is it?” Tony said. Of course, that was Superman’s home and not some super villain’s home, so… probably not the best analogy. But he stood by it. “I see.” He moved through the living room to where the entertainment center was, and then drew out his phone. He took a picture of the dvr, and his phone searched for it on the internet. He started skimming articles about the thing, glancing at reviews, and frowned.
“So, it’s deleting your shows without warning?” Tony added, setting down his bag.
“Pretty much,” Propping himself against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, Clint just shrugged a shoulder awkwardly. “Just clears itself sometimes. It’s not like life threatening, but y’know. I have a mild addiction to some car-crash shows.” There was a danger in the world of reality shows, and while he wasn’t at all bothered about those Big Brother type things, there was a serious need to see just how deranged some people got with Oddities.
“We missed the whole Planet Earth series from Discovery.” And the documentaries, those were just unmissable.
“Car crashes and documentaries, eh?” Tony said, still fiddling with his phone. He glanced up and over at Clint with a really? sort of expression. “We need to get you out more.”
Then he bent down in front of the device and powered everything on. He picked up the remote and noted the teeth marks, then started clicking with that, too. Once the DVR was up and running, he was finding settings menus that Clint had probably never seen before.
“But my couch is comfortable. Unemployed people don’t do things, Tony.” Technically, Clint wasn’t ‘unemployed’, he was ‘retired’. Although how an honourable discharge due to injury in the line of duty was a retirement, he didn’t know, but there it was. He hadn’t really had any expenses other than taxes over the years, so really, he had enough money to lay around and do nothing for a while.
That didn’t mean his mental stability was overjoyed with the current situation. It was why he had a dog after all. “... What the hell is all this? Have you hacked Interpol?” It was true, Clint had no idea what the hell Tony was doing to the DVR, he could be programing it to take over the world for all Clint knew. He just wanted to watch his ridiculous shows.
“You don’t want to know.” Tony said, eyes on the screen. He was clicking through menus, seemingly at random. “Plausible deniability.” But it was finished in a couple more clicks, and Tony turned to hand Clint the remote.
“You got me all excited that this might actually be a difficult problem to solve.” He deadpanned. A gentle tease. “I set it to ignore delete requests unless a numerical code is entered. If the program hasn’t been watched, that is. That way Lucky won’t erase your drive if he has the urge to chew on the remote again.”
“My constant struggle with technology is a serious matter, Tony.” It was a bit of an over-statement, Clint wasn’t technologically incompetent or anything, but he wasn’t exactly winning any achievements. That was more because he was far too lazy to actually figure any of it out if he didn’t need to know.
“See, he hates my stuff.” Or just really liked to chew things that he could when no one was around. “But hey, thanks. Now he needs to suffer Oddities again.”
“Oh. Right. I’m glad for it, it means you need to keep me around.” Tony said with a little shrug. “And you buy me burgers. Two good reasons for me to hang around your place.” He moved to walk slowly around the room, taking in the surroundings. “Hey, don’t knock Lucky, man. He’s the most decisive dog I’ve ever met.” He turned back to Clint and broke into a grin.
“Is it working all right? You need me to do anything else?”
“Looks fine,” not that Clint would know the difference if they were being honest, he wouldn’t really know until later just what the hell was wrong now. But until then it did look completely fine for Clint. “And I haven’t bought you burgers yet,” although that was the next stop, if he had made out what Tony just said well enough during his little wander.
“Although you probably shouldn’t say that too loud, genius, or Lucky’ll come too and he just eats everything.” Clint did not feed his dog human food, he didn’t. It was bad for him. It was just, sometimes Lucky got those eyes and what was a few slices of pizza? Or some burger? Really. What?
“You ready for food?”
Tony turned back around to look at Clint, having forgotten completely about the man’s hearing situation. Of course, maybe that was leftover from the Dreams. The Clint Barton he knew there wasn’t hard of hearing. Hopefully that was something he could reconcile.
“Was that for me or the dog?” Tony asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m always ready for a burger,” he added, then picked up his bag. He didn’t need it after all. “Let’s go.”
“That was for you,” raising his own eyebrow, “Lucky will be staying here, because the last time Lucky visited, he got too excited and went into the kitchens and cost us some money.” Clint went as far as to give Lucky a stern look, because he knew what he did. And Clint was in the process of trying to win back the good graces of the serving staff.
“So you better be on your best behaviour.” It was just a tease really, since honestly what could go wrong? Giving Lucky a pat, grabbing his keys, wallet and a jacket, Clint nodded his head towards the door, “C’mon then, my technological knight in designer clothing. Seriously, these burgers are awesome.”
And they were only a short walk around the block, which was why he felt no need to pile into a car -Tony’s or his own- just for the quick visit for lunch. “So you seriously have nothing better to do with your time than randomly do inane shit like this?”
Well, the good news was that Tony could buy the place if need be. Kinda like Bruce Wayne in that Batman movie. Just make a couple of calls and… well, Pepper would probably be incredibly displeased if he bought an actual restaurant. She hadn’t been all that fond of the food truck.
So, on his best behavior, Tony headed out after Clint, giving the dog a little smirk. More decisive, maybe, but who had to stay home while the other went out for delicious burgers? Lucky: I, Tony: I.
He dropped off his bag in the car (the incredibly expensive, incredibly fast car that Tony enjoyed driving from day-to-day) then followed after Clint to the restaurant. “What? No. Of course I have more important things to do than inane shit like this,” Tony responded. “I just wouldn’t call them better.”
If Clint knew that Tony was keeping score with his dog he would be forever amused and possibly a little worried about Tony and his social habits. But ignorance was bliss. “Ah, so instead of the very important runnings of your company you make bets with strangers, decide to befriend those strangers and then come do IT work on their perfectly functioning home devices in exchange for burgers?” It sort of sounded a lot like Tony was just bored, which, fair enough. It happened.
The burger joint, as the short walk Clint described it as, was within viewing distance within a few minutes. It was fairly basic, inside and out. Your expected retro booths with the leather -blue instead of red, because that was how they rolled. Tiled floor, 80’s bright lights and the scrawled menu along the wall behind the counter. A cliche sure, but the food was still great.
“Don’t get the chicken, like seriously. It’s fine and everything, but you will kick yourself if you do not get a beef burger of some description.” Clint was very serious about his food.
Ah. Yes. Well. Clint wasn’t exactly a stranger to Tony, now was he? But that part was kept hush-hush. Under Wraps. Until Clint started to dream about him, Tony wasn’t going to mention things and make the other man think he was insane. “Yeah, that about sums it up.” He said, as they reached the burger joint.
He held the door open for Clint, because Tony was a proper gentleman. Then he followed his new(old) friend inside. “No chicken. Got it.” He glanced up at the menu. This place looked pretty fantastic, actually. You didn’t have to have high-fashion decor to make a good burger. Tony actually preferred places like this to the ritzy ones people expected someone as rich as he was to eat at.
“I’ll have the bacon cheddar cheeseburger thing.” Tony motioned toward the menu. “Fries or onion rings or whatever.”
“Cheeseburger thing?” Clint just smirked, shaking his head as one of the girls crossed over to quickly jot down the order. It wasn’t really busy, a few regulars from the area dotted around and they could easily slide into an empty booth or the counter.
“Hey Tracy, can I get two BCC’s, one fries and one onion rings and two sodas?” As much as Clint lived on coffee, too much was likely going to make him jittery for the remainder of the day and he wasn’t really up for dealing with that at all. Least of all if Lucky was annoyed at him for leaving without him for lunch.
“It’s really just as well you’re rich, otherwise you’d be called crazy instead of eccentric.”
Tony simply shrugged. He gave the woman behind the register--Tracy, was it?--a smile, then accepted his soda cup to fill at the fountain. He waited for Clint, then they found a table.
“I can handle crazy.” Tony said, leaning back a bit in the booth. “Especially considering the strange Dreams going around like wildfire.”
Pulling up a seat, Clint choked back a laugh. “God, that’s just fifty levels of crazy.” There was something mildly comforting about the fact that everyone seemed to go through these dreams. That it wasn’t just one person or whatever.
Because that would be the real crazy thing. “Like, one night. I just need one night where I don’t dream in… I don’t know technicolour weirdness?” Considering he’d just started a masterful criminal career -not that his youth was much better- Clint was absolutely done with these dreams and he’d barely hit his twenties.
“Your Dreams are in technicolor, are they?” Tony asked, suddenly curious. What on Earth was Hawkeye Dreaming about? He was in Tony’s dreams, sure. They worked together in New York--he’d never seen anyone with better aim. Superhuman aim, almost. The man had gone through some weird shit, but if Natasha trusted him… well, Tony trusted Natasha. Kinda. Mostly.
“For some reason I’m sure is obvious as some point, my dream self seems to think bright purple is a good idea.” In the circus, sure, the bright flashy stuff was expected. Why he kept that, he had no idea. Really. Because Widow blended in, even with her blood red hair. But he was… clearly insane.
“I dunno man, I’m one hell of a dumbass kid though.” Which, honestly, not too different from what he was.
“Purple, huh?” Tony asked, then sat up a little when the woman put the burgers and fries and things down on the table between them. “You’re not…” He lifted his hand and flipped his wrist in a very… actually, stereotypical and offensive way. “Not that it’s a problem if you are.” Tony added, then reached for an onion ring. “It’d just explain the purple.”
Clint laughed rather loudly at the ridiculous way Tony decided to ask his orientation, shaking his head slightly as he grabbed a fry for himself. “No, Tony, I’m not gay.” He didn’t take offence, harmless question as it was. “I dunno, I think it’s just his… my… whatever, some ridiculous way to cling to what’s normal. For him at least.” Because what was normal about a purple costume and knocking off banks and billionaires with a bow and arrow.
“At least that’s what I’m thinking, since normal is a little sideways for me it seems.” Biting into his burger, because it was obscenely good, Clint just bit the bullet. “Dream me is a former carnie, apparently that means a completely different set of ethics.”
“Normal is a little sideways.” Tony agreed, reaching for his soda. He’d eat and drink between words, chatting with someone who was probably becoming one of his better friends. Funny, because they barely knew one another. But with no Steve or Bruce, with Kevin having moved back to New York with Rachel, Clint was his go-to guy. Funny how life turned lemons into lemonade sometimes.
“Especially in the Dreams.” He couldn’t help but think about that nuke. New York. The blackness of space. The viewscreen in his helmet turning off. And the falling. Sweat peppered his brow, but he ignored it.
It definitely seemed like he needed to redefine a hell of a lot of what he’d previously thought was average wasn’t at all. So it was something to adjust to. “Yeah right, I mean, it used to be all I had to worry about was being blown up,” which he had been, but that was neither here nor there. “Now it’s superheroes and secret conspiracies and assassins.” Which was enough to get his head around right now, never mind the fact that he was currently something with decidedly deadly woman.
“I’m kinda thinking going back to a war zone would be easier than this.” He wasn’t aware enough of Tony’s quirks yet to sense any discomfort, so his current predicament wasn’t something that Clint could’ve put his finger on.
It probably would have passed if Tony hadn’t started obsessing. War zones? Superheroes? Dreams? He was thinking about New York again, and the falling, and his suit shutting off, and being stuck in the dark, alone. No Pepper, no Jarvis, no team. Just Tony--not Iron Man--falling from the sky. Dying.
His breathing picked up, and Tony wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his trousers. He wasn’t really catching what Clint was saying now--too distracted by the thundering of his own heart, then nausea welling up within him, the dizziness suddenly setting in. Had he been poisoned? His eyes turned to the soda in front of him, and he frowned.
Clint had just carried on talking, it was strangely easy around Tony anyway. He figured that Tony talked for the sake of it, so why shouldn’t he? Half way through a story about fireworks near the base one time outside of Kabul, Clint noticed that Tony was a little more weird than usual though.
“Hey, um, you okay there?” It wasn’t that warm in the diner, so the weird flushed sort of look and the light sweat didn’t make a lot of sense, least of all when they had ice cold soda not a foot away. “Tony? Dude, you okay?”
“Yes.” Tony loosened his tie from around his collar, then untied it completely and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. “Yes, I’m fine. You know what? Can we just… can we get this to go?” He motioned to the food, then abruptly stood up from his chair. “I need a moment of fresh air.”
Tony was about to flee the restaurant. He couldn’t stay inside. He felt like the walls were crashing down on him.
Watching a grown man almost bolt from a restaurant would be funny in any other situation, in this one, not so much. Getting Tracy to pass over some boxes to go, filling up a carry out cup for Tony, Clint followed after paying at a slightly more sedate pace, giving Tony a few minutes of space if that was what he needed before heading outside to the street to find him.
A few minutes of air was good. It helped Tony clear his head a little. But the sounds of the street were really loud, the sun was really bright, and his heart was thundering a bit harder than he was expecting. Tony turned when he saw Clint come out of the restaurant. The normally immovable Tony Stark was a bit embarrassed about bolting, but he could play this off. Right? He cleared his throat.
“It’s… from the dreams,” he said. “They leave gifts behind sometimes.” Like the Mach 42. And Panic Attacks. Knowing where it was coming from didn’t help relieve the symptoms, though. Tony could deal. He had to deal.
“C’mon,” okay, panicking, Clint could get. Nodding a little and directing Tony a little down the street to a few steps near an apartment block, “I got you a refill.” Passing over the drink, Clint just sat himself down, ready to wait it out and see if Tony felt a little better or if he just wanted to go home. That was if he was even fit to drive.
He knew a little about the gifts, in a sense. It was where his skill with the bow really came from. “You wanna, um. You wanna talk about it?” But then sometimes talking wasn’t that great. “Or not, if you don’t.” But Clint wouldn’t push anything.
Tony accepted the drink. It was touching, actually, that Clint got him a refill. Considerate, that one. He sipped from the straw, taking a moment to consider the question before falling to the step and sitting beside his friend.
“I was in a war in my Dreams,” Tony said. Surely, Clint with his backstory in this reality would understand coming back from so much war and death a little different. “I… came back with demons.” He’d died. Right? He thought he’d died. Falling through the wormhole, in space where he’d never thought he’d return… and that changed a person.
War Clint understood, in great detail and at great length. He understood the trauma that it could cause too. “Understandable,” things like that, they changed people, sometimes in ways that you couldn’t always tell. “We were all made to go through um… sessions and stuff, with one of the quacks from the department.” They were nice enough people, and always so very understanding. But coming out of a war zone where children were carrying automatic weapons wasn’t something that could be wiped away with just a few discussions.
“Although it’s probably a little weirder here, you know, with the dreams.” Since it was maybe a little harder to explain. “Pepper know?” Clint wasn’t one for sharing feelings, but it was likely that Tony should talk to someone about that stuff.
“It’s… I don’t want to assume it’s anything like what you’ve been through. I wouldn’t want to disrespect your service in such a way. But I can’t shake this... whatever it is.” Tony ran his hands over his face, trying to scrub the panic away by rubbing fingertips against his closed eyes. “Yes. She talks me down half the time.”
Clint hadn’t come back too messed up. There were days where the slightest noise got him going, where he needed to leave his aids out and just hole up at home. He still wasn’t great about loud noises or bangs, but the therapy afterwards had helped a hell of a lot. “Trauma is trauma, it hardly matters how it happened. I mean, the dreams they-- they feel real enough.” Because as much as Clint knew he didn’t grow up an orphan, he sometime felt like it, because the memories were just so vivid. “It’s not like this stuff just goes away overnight either, you gotta deal for a bit. And not like, apologise for it. It’s cool, I get it. Shit happens.”
Whatever triggered it wasn’t something Tony had control over, and Clint probably understood that more than most.
At least Tony hadn’t left Clint sitting alone in a restaurant… for good. He’d waited outside, calmed himself down a bit, and explained. It was more than some people got. Clint was turning into a good friend. One of Tony’s better friends--one of Tony’s only friends?--and Tony didn’t want to mess that up.
“No apologies.” Tony shook his head. “I’m working on it. I should… probably go see Pepper.” She made his world better. She could help with this, too. “You don’t mind if I bail out, do you?”
“Nah, no worries. You be okay to drive? You want me to call a cab?” Panic attacks were not fun, and Clint didn’t expect that it’d be easy to just shake it off and go about things as if nothing happened. If Tony needed to bail out and chill for however long with his girl, Clint understood. “We can hang out another time.” When Clint could maybe avoid triggers.
It was hard to avoid triggers when Tony wasn’t really sure what triggered it in the first place. But still, avoiding them would be good. Really good. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be all right.” He could listen to some music in his car for a few minutes, calm himself, down, then head home to Pep. “Thanks.” He lifted the soda cup, as if he was just thanking Clint for the food. But he was really thanking the other man for being so understanding. Being such a good friend. (This was about as sappy as Tony Stark ever got.)