Who: Clint, Open to Natasha if she wants in What: Clint gets a nightmare Where: Avenger Warehouse; Clint and Natasha's bedroom When: Night of the 18th Rating/Status: Mediumish/Complete
While seeing the eyes in the mirror the day after meeting with Dark had threw him, he hadn't given it much other thought other than it was most likely linked to his PTSD. He knew he needed to find someone to help him with it. But with all that had happened with Moriarty, could he really demand someone work on his own problems while there were others that needed the help more?
Pushing the thoughts away, the archer stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes to fall asleep.
It has been almost too easy to fool Natasha into thinking he was back. That she had knocked Loki out of his brain. He played his part though, knowing his boss had plans that needed to occur on Asgard. But now, Loki was back and it was time to deal with the Russian woman. It had been an easy enough matter to go into her bedroom. She had stirred of course, she was too aware of her surroundings sleeping or awake, but she seemed to settle when she realized it was just her partner. He gave a cold smirk and quickly used the cuffs to bind her wrists to the bed. That seemed to snap her out of it and wild, pissed off jade eyes landed on him. He grinned cruelly at the look of fear that formed when Natasha saw how bright blue they were.
"Clint..." she whispered, her voice sounding desperate. He smirked some and pulled out his combat knife. Slowly he moved forward and began to work, carving into her skin with expert precision to draw out the most pain but keeping her from bleeding out and dying too soon. After the knife came some acid tipped arrows. Then fire. Her screams and pleas seemed only to drive him.
Hours later, when her voice was hoarse and ragged, he pulled out his pistol and selected a bullet, putting it in the top of the clip and chambering it into the round. "Just like that kid we saw partner," he sneered.
"Clint...I..." Natasha began but her words were silenced as he pulled the trigger. The gunshot seemed to snap him out of it and he stared in horror at the bloodied mess of his partner. "T-Tasha..." he stammered, his eyes clear and horrified. He stared at his bloodied hands, realization dawning on him. A figure stepped into view wearing green and gold armor. Clint looked up, pure hate burning in his eyes and he lunged forward with a scream only to pass through Loki. He turned, frowning, when he felt a sharp, searing pain rip through his spine and abdomen.
"Good work Barton..."
Clint jerked awake, a gun in his hand and aiming at the wall. His hand shook as he slowly realized he had been dreaming. Slowly he forced himself to calm down. It had been a dream, nothing more. Probably stress induced. Rubbing his eyes, he laid back down on the bed and returned the gun to its hiding spot before staring at the wall, too afraid currently to fall back asleep.