This story was written for NaNoWriMo a few months back. It is also the first story for me to post on this site. Therefore, I apologize for any mistakes therein, as I feel my writing skill has increased since this chapter was originally written.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any characters associated with them.

It was four am in New York City, six months after the Chitari's invasion and consequential defeat. Avengers Tower stood out among the skyline, its height reaching above the majority of the buildings, superseded by few. Even now, in the dead of night, a single letter shined from just under the large balcony near the top of the tower. A simple 'A' was all that was needed for the world to recognize the home of the heroes that had saved the earth.

It hadn't taken Tony Stark long to repair the building, along with a few adjustments. It had remained rather untouched in the battle, despite being the center of the invasion force, so most of it had been left standing. Except for the window Loki tossed him through. The poor, innocent, glass window was replaced with a much stronger substitute of Tony's own making. Sure, if one was thrown at it, it would probably still shatter, but it took a considerable amount more strength to do so. He was rather proud of the accomplishment, even if it was just a window.

As for adjustments, he had quickly realized some of his teammates didn't have anywhere to go and built in nine different rooms: one for each Avenger, one for Pepper and two extra. Better to have excess than not enough they always say. The construction had been completed only a month or two after the battle, but his colleagues had trickled into the building even before it was done. Clint and Natasha had been first, joining him and Pepper only a week after. Apparently, despite Clint's great aid in the battle, Fury had made it clear it would be best to keep him away from the SHEILD bases, considering the mistrust that had grown among the agents. Fury had suggested the marksman stay at his tower, Natasha following him. Although it was meant to be temporary, it seemed like neither of the two were going anywhere.

Steve Rogers had come shortly after. Struggling to keep up with the modern world, he had often ended up on Tony's doorstep to inquire about random, but necessary, elements of modern society. It was after his third visit that Tony had taught him how to use a cell phone, and only after his seventh call that Tony had told him to just stay at the tower. Steve had already been planning to move in, but was politely waiting for the tower to be completed. However with his assistance, the construction was sped up and finished much sooner than Tony had anticipated.

As for Bruce, he had been rather confused as to what to do after the battle, initially. On one hand, he could go back to India and continue the good work he had been doing, but that would cut him off from his teammates and the modern world. Despite how afraid he was of hurting someone unintentionally, the whole tesseract fiasco had showed him how much he could help. On the other hand, SHIELD had promised earnestly to send some very good doctors with just as good medical experience to India in his place, should he decide to stay in New York, and consequentially at Avengers Tower. At first, he went back to India, but upon further consideration, moved back to New York, making him the fifth Avenger to move in. He and Tony had rapidly disappeared to the tower's lab within ten minutes of his arrival. It was about two days before they emerged again, and when they did, they spoke in such excessive scientific jargon, the others had left them alone for a while longer.

And Thor, well, Thor they had hoped to have returned by now, but nothing short of a feeble thunderstorm had even given them reason to believe he had done as such. Bruce had even contacted Jane from time to time, but she had not seen him either. He and Jane had discussed if he would return, the astrophysicist rather adamantly insisting that he would. During their discussions, she had said how Thor had mentioned something about a 'Bifrost' and how it was used to transport the Asgardian from realm to realm. She also noted how he had promised to come back to her, but had yet to do so. The two concluded that the Bifrost had somehow been rendered unusable and that Thor had found a different way to transport himself to Earth in order to confront Loki. Despite all this, Tony had still built in a room in the tower with the intention for it to be used by their Asgardian friend.

So, it was with this knowledge that, at four am, in the dead of night, Agent Clint Barton sat on his bed with his laptop resting on his legs. The screen lit up the area around him, casting eerie shadows across the various furniture Tony had deposited in his room. An empty bottle that had once been filled with water sat abandoned on the nightstand. Clint stared intently at the screen, computer humming contently. Though the sound was nearly mute, he could still here the screams and explosions from the video footage he was watching.

The Helicarrier footage. He was watching the Helicarrier footage. Again. His fingers twitched as two agents were flung over the balcony's handrail by the explosion. Fury stood and looked straight at where Clint had been perched. Fury had known. The marksman had been stationed on the Helicarrier long enough to find plenty of places to hide, but still be able to watch what transpired below. After all, He did see better from a distance. Coulson had, more than once, found him sleeping in one of his 'nests' as they had called it jokingly.

The video cut to a different room, Clint drawing in a sharp breath. Thor was in that glass cage they had made for the…other guy and Loki was standing next to the panel of buttons used to operate the cage, his hand hovering tauntingly above the one labeled 'eject'. Suddenly, Coulson appeared in the door, threatening Loki with one of the Phase 2 weapons.

Clint stopped the video, snapping the laptop closed. He knew what happened next. Loki would kill Coulson and it was his fault for leading the brainwashed agents there, freeing the trickster. Not only that, but he had nearly killed everyone on the Helicarrier when he managed to take out two of the Helicarrier's four engines, nearly crashing it. He sighed and slipped the computer to the side of the bed.

All the death, destruction, and chaos…it was his fault. If only he hadn't been so weak. He had been too weak to resist the alien mind control. He still wasn't sure whose it was. He knew he should assume it was Loki's, but it felt…different. The shining blue in the trickster's eyes had faded after the battle, just as the tint in his own blue-grey gaze had after Natasha's 'cognitive recalibration.' The glow had seemed foreign, uncharacteristic to the Asgardian he had worked for. Even the way he walked seemed different after the battle. Or maybe that was just because of the Hulk's beating. He wasn't sure anymore. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

Clint groaned in exasperation, rubbing his hands over his face. He bit his lip and stared out the window. Blinking in confusion at the faint orange haze hovering just over the horizon, he glanced at the clock as he slipped off the bed. Five am. He'd woken up at two…well, more like jerked awake. The nightmares hadn't let up since the battle six months ago. The first one had been the worst; Dead bodies littered around him, and his hands stained red. It had been horrible; dreaming of having no control. Last night's wasn't as bad by comparison, but still enough to keep his guilt ridden mind from being able to slip into the peace of sleep again.

The marksman cracked his door open, glancing across the three-pronged corridor one door down. Natasha's room. Talking about the nightmares had helped some and she was the only one he entrusted with his fears; the fears of being out of control of his own mind. He knew she'd have helped him that night, but yesterday had been extremely hectic and he decided to let her sleep in peace. He shook his head.

They'd known each other for so long; it wouldn't be much of a surprise if they knew the other better than they knew themselves. The nightmares that had plagued Clint weren't uncommon in their line of work and the both of them had trudged through that valley multiple times before. Their trust blossomed from the roots of their hearts and intertwined through years of watching each other's backs. They were the perfect team; a deadly duo. Two shadows combined to make an instrument of stealth and manipulation. They were assassins and they fit together perfectly.

Smiling to himself, Clint slid silently into the hallway. He brushed past the elevator, instead heading for the intricate staircase that led to the living area three floors below. Tony hadn't originally planned for a staircase to be installed, but Natasha, after listing several ways to die with the aid of an elevator, convinced him it would be a profitable addition. He'd noticed how the genius seemed to start using the stairs a tad bit more often after that particular conversation.

He hopped down the stairs, making quick work of the flights leading to the floors below. When he reached the room that had become more of a hangout area than anything, he glanced upward at the curved ceiling, smirking. The rafters in this room were amazing and gave it a much airier feel. That and he found it quite enjoyable to jump from rafter to rafter. He was in his element up there and felt oddly safe in the heights; no one could reach him there. Not that he had any reason to not feel safe here, but old scars had instilled habits that were hard to break. It had taken some convincing to get Tony to not put up the ceiling tiles, but the billionaire had eventually agreed. Even he seemed surprised at how much bigger the room felt without the tiles.

Clint absentmindedly ran a hand across the black leather of the 'L' shaped couch that sat in front of the large television. Two similarly colored, smaller couches sat nearby, all around a short, glass coffee table that doubled as a touch screen computer. The glass windows Tony had replaced ran from the base of the floor to the ceiling, overlooking the balcony and New York skyline. Two steps on the left led to a raised platform where Tony's high tech computer screens sat. On the opposite side, on another raised platform, a long table with several chairs sitting around it was positioned a few paces away from an 'L' shaped counter. The cabinets embedded above were filled with every food imaginable.

The archer strode to the glass doorway leading to the balcony. He pushed it open and stepped into the crisp morning air. It felt good to be so high up; to be above everyone else, to feel safe. Clint swung his legs over the wooden handrail, dangling them precariously above the large letter 'A' as he sat on the edge of the building. His eyes scanned the ground below. A man called for a cab and hurriedly shoved a suitcase in the back as he jumped in the passenger seat. Late for work, Clint supposed. A woman strode confidently into a coffee shop elsewhere, and a young child skipped down the sidewalk pointing excitedly at absolutely everything. What he assumed was his mother walked quietly behind, an enormous grin on her face as she watched the boy chatter happily.

Clint smirked. He could watch them all. Track their movements, and deduce their motivations by their body language. All without them knowing. It was one of the reasons he loved watching from a distance. He saw better; saw the bigger picture amongst the scattered splotches of reason and motivation. It was like a giant mind puzzle with constantly moving parts. It was a challenge sometimes, but it was fun.

His ear twitched at the sound of footsteps from the stairway, light and delicate, but with a measure of strength. He didn't bother looking back to confirm his suspicions. He knew who it was. His eye sight wasn't the only sense of his that was incredible. The glass door slid open and Clint smiled as a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

"Hey, Tasha," He greeted, eyes still roving over the ground below. He chuckled inwardly as a man dropped his donut on the ground.

"Hey," She breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder. "You were up last night."

He should've known she'd figure it out. "Yeah," He whispered. There was no need to talk so quietly, but the morning seemed so much more peaceful with the soft tones. He chanced a glance behind him. Natasha rested against him, dressed in athletic shorts and an old black t shirt with the word 'Romanoff' printed across the back. She still looked as beautiful as ever if he had anything to say about it.

"Nightmare wasn't it?" She murmured in his ear. He nodded. She knew him all too well. "You wanna talk about it?"

Coulson's dying gasp echoed through his mind as he stared at his marred hands. An ebony arrow stuck out of the agent's chest. "No!" He screamed, his body moving involuntarily. His bow was in his hand, stained red with blood. He stared in horror at the death around him. "No!" He screamed again. It couldn't be happening again. He had no control. He was just a puppet, moving with each jerk of the strings.

Clint blinked at the memory of the dream. "I'd rather just forget about it," He muttered finally.

Natasha swung her legs over the handrail, leaning on the marksman. "You know I'm here if you need me," She whispered into his chest. "Always." He reached for her hand and grasped it tightly. The lithe spy smiled.

The orange haze over the horizon had grown much larger, a bright yellow sphere peeking out over it. It painted the sky in all different hues, similar to the flickering light of a fire. Time seemed lost to them as they watched the sun begin its course across the sky. The calm of the morning was wonderful; a balm to the excitement of their occupation.

Eventually the bustle of traffic and honking horns began to grow louder as the sky turned back to its normal hue. The whir of a coffee machine sounded from inside as the others trudged down the stairs from their respective rooms. Except for Bruce, who had come from the stairs that led to the lab. They assumed he'd fallen asleep in there by the mess his hair had become. That or he had pulled an all nighter.

Natasha ultimately strode back inside to eat, but Clint remained at his perch, choosing to mull over his dream. He still held the fears. Even after six months they still remained. His eyes rested west, where the research facility had originally been; where the whole mess had originally started. Thinking about it reminded him of the blue strings that had tugged at his consciousness when Loki touched the scepter to his heart. In those few moments he had been rendered helpless to the demands of the controller. He mentally scolded himself for being weak, even now.

It was because he was weak that he had lost control. It was because he was weak that so many lost their lives to his own ebony arrows. It was because of his weakness that Coulson had died. It was his fault and he doubted he'd ever forgive himself.

"Yo, Cupid," A voice called from the doorway, shaking him out of his musings. Clint glanced back, his expression unchanging and mind already whirring with possible names to call back to the genius. Tony held a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the other hanging casually at his side as he leaned in the doorway. "Ya gonna stop brooding out here and join us?"

The archer leaned dangerously back, watching the genius upside down with a veiled curiosity. After a silent moment passed he replied, "Nope."

Tony arched an eyebrow at his curtness, but shrugged. He turned back into the tower, calling behind him, "Suit yourself."

Clint pulled himself back up, turning his attention back toward the scurrying forms far below. He wasn't afraid of heights. He never had been, he'd found a strange solace in them, even. Far above where no one could hurt him and no one could see him. It was a strange form of safety for the archer, a safety many thought as insanity.

Someone laughed from inside the tower and Clint fought the urge to see what had instigated it. It's light, airy manner told him it was Natasha's laugh and that could only mean Tony had done something stupid, but rather amusing. As much as he wanted to fulfill his curiosity, he also didn't want to give the genius the satisfaction he knew Tony was seeking.

Eventually, the bustle of breakfast calmed down and Clint could hear each of his teammates filter out of the room. He knew one presence remained, sitting on the counter and watching him with a careful eye.

Swinging his legs over the balcony he strode back inside, meeting his partner's scrutinizing gaze. Their eyes held for a few moments, before the archer tore them away, moving to the leather couch and collapsing onto it. Natasha hurdled the couch, resting next to him.

He was content just sitting there, staring out the window with his spider at his side. She looked up into his blue grey eyes, vague worry evident in her gaze. Apparently she was not content just sitting there, staring out the window with her hawk at her side.

"What's wrong?" She asked finally and quietly with a hint of concern in her voice.

Clint regarded her for a second. She seemed tense. Anxious and worried for what he might say. He could lie, say that he was fine, but both of them knew better. She saw the tiredness in his eyes. He wasn't sleeping as much as he should be, and they both knew the reason.

He shrugged, her eyes narrowing at his nonchalance. "Clint," She said sternly, her green eyes burrowing into the side of his head. "What's wrong? Have they gotten worse?"

He was nothing put a puppet, subject to the jerks and twists of the strings. He could do nothing to stop himself from the bloodshed he was involuntarily causing. His hands were stained red and they could never be wiped of the blood that tainted them.

Clint exhaled deeply, shifting his gaze to Natasha. Concern laced her expression, but not overwhelmingly so. She was worried; worried about him. He didn't deserve her worry. He didn't deserve her. Yet, she deemed him worthy herself. No matter how many times his guilt ridden mind beat himself up, she was always there to soothe the pain and ease the guilt. She was always there to comfort him from the fears the nightmares continually induced. She was the healing balm to his suffering.

Looking into her worried eyes, he sighed internally. There was no way he could hide it from her. One way or another she'd find out, and there was no use in prolonging it. He shifted his gaze back to the window.

"Well…," He started, stopping suddenly. He squinted in confusion at the golden haze building around the edges of his vision. His eyes widened and body went rigid as the haze grew across his entire field of eyesight. Natasha sat up, anxiety levels spiking.

"Clint?" She asked, her eyes roving over his stiff form. His jaw clenched shut and his eyes were riveted to nothing in particular.

His eyes flicked upward again as the golden doors creaked open. He turned his attention to the crowd ahead. The murmurs quieted, but not completely so. He turned his gaze straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Some of the whispers seemed determined to make sure he heard them, though.

"Clint?" She asked again, with more force.

"…deserves death…"

"Clint!" She called again, louder and firmer this time.

"…traitor to Asgard…"

Natasha frantically waved a hand in front of Clint's face, but his eyes didn't blink, nor did he react at all.

"…is insane…"

She yelled again, shaking him in an attempt to stir him from his stiff state.

"…monster…"

The spy slapped him across the face, desperate to shake him out of his rigid dream state. Clint fell off the couch, gasping at the stinging pain on his face. He blinked in bewilderment for a moment, the last whisper echoing in his mind. A whisper he had called himself so many times since the battle six months ago. Monster.

The archer looked up at Natasha. Her face was swimming with relief. He tried to sit up, but his body didn't seem to agree. It felt like strings of ice were tugging at the back of his mind, unrelenting. With one last look of confusion aimed at the ceiling, he eased back on the ground and passed out.

And the adventure begins...

Thanks for reading! Reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.