So sorry this took so long to post. I kind of hate this chapter and was trying to fix it. But I give up. :( I may take it down and work on it some more at some point.

The next morning, Clint felt more at home in his skin. He woke up safe in Bruce's bed. His inhibitions had all fallen back into place. He felt dirty and shaky and wrung out but he was back in one piece. His cracks were papered over, his walls still fragile, but there. He rolled carefully out away from Bruce and got out of bed. He showered, despite the bath last night, and got dressed.

Clint headed for the target range. He shot for awhile, and it helped. He was himself again and he could take whatever the others dished out. He was Hawkeye, The World's Greatest Marksman. He was strong.

He stopped when his fingers started to bleed. It didn't happen often anymore. His skin was callused, thick, not quite impenetrable. But today, he bled. He put the bow away and headed to the communal kitchen. This was just a normal day. And it was his turn to cook lunch.

Bruce was in there when he got there and he got a smile and a touch on his arm, more demonstrative than Bruce usually was, but Clint had told everyone about them after all. Steve was there too.

"Clint. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Cap. I'm always fine. Soup and grilled cheese for lunch?" Clint busied himself pulling pans and ingredients out of cupboards. He grabbed chicken and vegetables from the fridge, a mountain of them, and some noodles to bulk the soup up.

"Sounds good," Steve said slowly after a moment. He watched Clint putter about, getting things ready. "Are we really not going to talk about yesterday?"

"We're really not. It's ancient history. It doesn't make me any less than I was last week."

"I know that. It's not about being less. Not one of us thinks less of you because you went through something. Not one of us would hold it against you. We all have a past."

"Whatever."

"No, this is important. You are a part of this team and no one cares what happened to you. Not in that way, anyway. It made you the man you are today, a man I am proud to call a friend."

And that was a bit much, Clint was torn between sniffing and laughing. Really it was ridiculous, but it still got to him. He forced out a hoarse chuckle and kept making lunch. It was a normal day.

Except nothing was normal. Thor kept looking at him between bites of grilled cheese, and Tony kept pushing even more than usual, his barbs and questions pointed, and Steve kept telling him everything was okay and he knew everything was okay, so shut up already and Phil was there and he kept shooting him sideways looks and he just...he looked at Bruce, helplessly.

Bruce, who always seemed to know what to do when it came to Clint, put a gentle hand on his leg beneath the table.

"Okay?" he asked.

Clint took a couple of breaths and tried to think. But really, there was only one answer to that.

"Of course. I'm with you." He gave a lopsided smile and was so busy looking at Bruce, he managed to knock over his drink when he reached for it. "Aw, juice." He hurried to grab some kitchen towel to clean it up.

"He seems fine," Steve said, and Clint paused, shoulders hunching.

"He is fine," Bruce replied, his tone easy and relaxed, and Clint felt himself loosen. Bruce actually meant that. Clint knew how he sounded when he lied. He headed back over to the table and cleaned up after himself.

"So," he said as he wiped up the mess, "I know things got a little weird. And I know I didn't exactly react in the most awesome way possible."

"Hey," Tony said, "we've all been there. Every single one of us has had days where we just want to hide. Every single one of us has ghosts in our past." It was surprisingly tactful coming from Tony.

"I know, and that's part of why I feel like such a jerk. I know about what happened to you in Afghanistan," he turned to Steve, "I know how ill you were when you were young, how many times you got beat up," he turned to Natasha, "and I know all about what they did to you." He shook his head. "It's only fair you know what happened to me."

"It's not about being fair," Steve told him sharply. "Fair has nothing to do with this."

"It's about what's best for everyone. What's best for you," Natasha put in gently. "No one wants to see you hurt." Clint sheepishly pressed his finger to the mark on the back of his head, the bruise he'd gotten from smacking it against the railing over and over again. The pain was good, grounding him in the moment. His fingers hurt too, still bloody in places.

"The rest of us, I never had a choice to hide what my life was like back then, and I know Tony didn't." Steve continued. "You had that choice and that's fine. You weren't ready to talk to us about it and it's not fair at all that you were forced to let us know before you wanted to. Your reaction..." he trailed off, sighing.

"It was normal," Bruce said. "It doesn't make you weak. It doesn't make us think any less of you. That reaction was to be expected." He forced eye contact until Clint nodded and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at Natasha, knowing she had to feel betrayed.

"Yeah, well, cutting you all out was still a dick move and I'm sorry. I just wasn't ready to let everyone in and then that choice got taken from me." Natasha just smiled a little, sadly, in response.

"It's a recurring theme," Phil put in, his tone dry, and Clint snorted. Then he outright laughed at the expressions on the faces of the others. They all seemed shocked that Phil could joke about it, but Clint's laughter was infectious, and soon they were all smiling, if not outright laughing. And it was funny because it was true. All through Clint's life he'd had his choices taken away. By his parents, by social services, by his brother, by the circus, by the people who trained him, by SHIELD, he could go on for hours listing them all. But he was ready to change the tune. Take charge, as difficult as that was.

"I would not wish to have my inner self bared for all the world to see," Thor said. "But if you ever wish to speak of what has happened, I would listen."

"I..." Clint paused, and glanced at Bruce. "That's real great of you, but I think I've got that covered."

Bruce smiled, a little smug, a little proud, and Clint smiled back.

Things didn't go back to how they were right away. In fact, they never really went back at all. Instead, they moved forwards, better understanding each other. Clint was aware of the others keeping an eye on him, but it didn't feel restrictive in the way it had before, instead it felt more like understanding. Like friendship.

"Family," Bruce had said when Clint had tried to explain. He stroked his hand through Clint's hair and Clint pressed closer.

Phil was pulled further into the group; he still had his team, he still had his life, but Clint and Bruce wouldn't just allow him to fade into the background and slowly he and Clint found a new equilibrium. A brotherhood and friendship rather than what they had.

And Clint? Clint was truly happy for the first time he could really remember. Not that he hadn't been content with Phil and SHIELD, but there's a difference between being 'content' and being happy. He was free. He had a great boyfriend, a team he trusted and who trusted him, a good place to live. And for the first time he could say what his favourite colour was.

He was happy, and that was enough.

The End