![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saoneTitle: A Runaway American Dream 2/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saone77
Pairing: pre Clint/Steve
Summary: Steve gets uninvited company on his great American roadtrip. But with Clint running from demons of his own, how can Steve leave him behind?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Major plot points for the movie
Warnings: Not betad, grammarians beware.
Word Count: 2375
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: The make and model of Clint's car is taken from what he appears to be driving in the second issue of Fury's Big Week. More information about the cyclorama can be found here.
Part 1
Clint's car is a cherry red 1969 Dodge Charger. After proudly announcing the make and model, Clint runs a loving hand along the car's hood and gives it a look that's so fond, Steve's a bit uncomfortable about touching it himself.
"It looks old," Steve says. He almost takes an involuntary step back when Clint fixes him with a truly impressive glare.
"I would think," Clint says, "that you, of all people, would understand the difference between being a relic and being a classic."
"I didn't..." Steve holds up his hands. "I didn't mean it as an insult, I swear. It was just an observation. I'm all for old things being utilized to their full advantage." Steve smiles weakly.
Clint stares at him for a moment before nodding his head. "All right, then."
Steve waits until Clint opens his door and slides inside before he follows suit. The seat is buttery soft under Steve's fingers, and there's a surprising amount of leg room. Clint puts the key in the ignition, turns it, and the car comes to life with a loud purr. A second later a rectangular electronic device on the dashboard lights up.
"Okay," Clint says, picking up the tiny computer and thumbing something on its screen, "we are... somewhere just outside of Lancaster." Clint's thumbs move like they're possessed and Steve wonders how long it'll be before he's able to work a touchscreen that fast. "And it'll take... about two and a half hours to get to Arlington, which means, depending on how hellish the traffic around DC is, we should make it there in four, five hours tops." Clint only looks like he's half joking.
Steve reaches into the backseat where someone, probably Agent Romanoff, had placed his rucksack. He rifles through one of the outside pockets and pulls out the map he had been occasionally referencing on his travels. He hears Clint huff, and Steve barely stifles a grin as he slowly unfolds the thin paper. It takes him a moment to find Lancaster, but once he does, something very close by - on the map, at least - catches his eye. "How long would it take us to get to Gettysburg?" Steve asks.
Clint blinks at him. "Gettysburg. You mean, like, Gettysburg Gettysburg? Civil War Gettysburg?"
"Is there more than one?" Steve asks.
Clint peers at him. Steve widens his eyes ever so slightly and blinks three times.
"I really can't tell if that's an honest question," Clint says, "or if you're being a smart ass. I do believe you have unknown skills, Captain." His thumbs start moving again. "From here to Gettysburg would take a little over an hour."
"Okay," Steve says, carefully folding up his map. "That sounds good. Let's go there." Clint stares at him, but Steve holds strong. "I'm ready to talk whenever you are." It's a lie because Steve doesn't think he's ever going to be ready to talk, but he's not selfish enough to hope Clint feels the same way.
"Right," Clint says. He sets the computer back on the dashboard and Steve starts a bit as a disembodied voice come out of it and tells him which direction Clint should turn when they leave the parking lot.
"Geez," Steve says, impressed even though he knows he shouldn't be.
Clint snorts and slides his sunglasses on. With his eyes hidden and a grin on his face, it would be very easy to buy into the carefree illusion Clint's trying to cultivate. He puts the car into reverse and backs out of the parking space, "Gettysburg it is, then. Let's learn some history. Yay."
Clint automatically steers them to the highway. Steve's been enjoying traveling the smaller roads - the two lane blacktops that wind and weave throughout the countryside. He doesn't say anything, though. It's Clint's car. Besides, being a passenger gives Steve a better opportunity to look around, and there certainly is a lot to see.
After a few minutes of companionable silence, Clint asks if Steve would mind if he put on the radio. Steve's a bit hesitant, but he'd feel strange telling another man what he could and couldn't do in his own car.
"Go ahead," Steve says. He braces himself for what might come out of the speakers.
"Awesome." Clint turns a knob, and the car's filled with a hissing sound. He frowns. "Why don't you try and find a station," he says.
Steve feels kind of empowered, which is stupid, as he dutifully reaches out and begins fiddling with the tuning knob. After a minute or two Steve finds something that doesn't sound too horrible. He looks to Clint for approval. Clint grins.
"Journey, huh?"
Steve doesn't know if that's the name of the band, the name of the song, or maybe just a commentary on the two of them and the trip they're taking. Clint doesn't bother to clarify, either. He does, however, start to sing along. His voice is strong and has an edge of roughness to it. Steve finds himself settling deeper into his seat and relaxing in a way that had become foreign to him.
After a few minutes the hustle and bustle of the outskirts of civilization fade away. They drive through rolling farmland and forest, but it's not long before more buildings pop up - gas stations, and convenience stores, and the occasional free-standing restaurant. There's still a lot more unruly wood than there are structures, even on this bigger road, and the sight of all that green loosens something in Steve's chest, city boy that he is.
Steve would never admit it, but being a passenger inside Clint's car is kind of nice. He's certainly seeing more scenery this way. And Clint's driving skills are much more tame than Steve had expected.
"Dude, I'm not gonna do anything crazy in my baby," Clint says, when Steve voices his observation. "Now, if we were in a S.H.E.I.D. car, or if someone was shooting at us, you would see some real skills. Actually, you might still see some real skills once we hit the Beltway. There are some fucked up people driving around our nation's capitol. Soccer moms and bureaucrats, Steve. Soccer moms and bureaucrats."
"Uh, okay." Steve tries to ignore the little part of him that's saying it might be fun to see some of Clint's skills.
"Now, I'm not really one for planning things down to the letter," Clint says. "That's usually..." Steve watches as Clint's fingers tense on the steering wheel. "Anyway, did you want to go to the Visitor's Center first, or head straight to the battlefield?"
"What's a Visitor's Cen-"
"A center for visitors," Clint says quickly.
Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning at the almost absurdly proud look on Clint's face. "Yeah," Steve says, "besides that."
"I don't know," Clint says with a shrug. "Like I said, I'm not one for history, but I guess they're places you can pick up information about the site. There's probably a gift shop, if you want to get a souvenir or something."
"Why would anyone want to get a souvenir from a battlefield?" Steve asks, honestly baffled.
"Coffee mugs and key fobs have to come from somewhere, Cap," Clint says.
Steve starts to tell Clint to just take him to the battlefield, but it's been a long time since he'd had a history lesson - or, well, a history lesson that wasn't about something he'd missed during his 'ice nap'.
"Visitor's Center," Steve says.
Clint shakes his head, but there's a certain fondness in the motion. "You're gonna be a giant nerd about things, aren't you?"
Steve grins at the mention of one of the first new words he had learned upon waking up in this century. "That's Captain Nerd to you, Agent Barton."
_____________
Steve's getting better at quickly assimilating the riots of information that seem to be everywhere in this day and age. He's sure that, eventually, he'll be like Clint and the other people milling around the center - able to quickly hone in on the information he wants and dismiss anything else with one glance - but for now it's still work to try and find what he wants. Then Steve realizes that he doesn't have to do anything because Clint's doing it for him.
Clint has a firm grip on Steve's elbow, and he steers him through the crowds. "I assume, being the giant nerd that you are, that you're gonna want to go to the museum."
Actually, Steve would like to go to the museum. He steels his spine against the shock of the entry fee. When he catches himself thinking that $12.50 isn't a bad price for a ticket, he has an irrational surge of pride.
Clint releases his elbow only to poke him between his ribs. "I dare you to ask for the senior discount."
"Clint."
"I double dog dare you."
"Clint."
Clint smiles unapologetically. Steve almost involuntarily smiles back before he realizes that that could be seen as a sign of encouragement. Steve's pretty sure that If there's one thing Clint Barton doesn't need, it's encouragement.
Steve wanders through the exhibits, internally ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the various artifacts. At some point he loses Clint. Steve feels a frisson of worry go through him, which is silly because Steve's not dependent on him, and Clint's a grown man who can take care of himself. Besides, how much trouble could a secret agent get up to in a Civil War museum?
Steve immediately abandons the display he was looking at and begins to search for his wayward teammate. He finds him in the Cyclorama room. Clint's quietly gazing at the mural. He's stretching his neck and angling his head this way and that, obviously trying to take in as much as he can before he turns to face another section of the painting.
"Oh, hey," Clint says when he notices Steve. "Check this out."
"It's amazing," Steve says, letting his own eyes drift over the battle scene depicted in the huge, 360 degree work of art. Steve can't imagine the dedication it would take to complete a piece like this. For the first time since waking, his fingers itch for the hard wood of a brush or pencil. It seems like ages since he'd made any kind of art, and even longer since he was truly inspired by something.
They leave the Cyclorama room and drift around through a couple of other exhibits until even Steve feels like he's had enough history for one day.
Clint checks his watch and then one of the brochures he picked up when they first entered the museum. "There are only a couple hours of daylight left," he says, "and the battlefield opens at 6 am. I say we find some place to bunk for the night and explore the park in the morning."
Steve agrees and they make their way back out to the parking lot. The inside of Clint's car is like an oven, and Steve can't help but be pathetically grateful when Clint turns the key and the AC kicks on. Clint picks up his little dashboard computer, and Steve discovers that it's not only good for telling you directions.
"Didn't your bike have a GPS?" Clint asks.
"Uh... maybe." Steve casts his mind back. He does remember the agent who had presenting him with his motorcycle trying to give him some kind of tutorial on something. Steve had been practically itching to get on the road, though, and it had been easy to tune out what he had thought were nothing more than ramblings.
"Oh, man," Clint says. "Word of advice, Steve; in this day and age, always pay attention to the geeks." He flips the GPS in Steve's direction. Steve catches it easily in one hand. "Find us a hotel, will ya?"
It takes a moment for Steve to acclimate himself with the system, but once he does, he finds the whole thing very intuitive.
"Golly! That's a lot of hotels!"
"Did you just unironically use the word 'golly'?"
"Shut up. Which one should I pick?" Steve asks.
"Whichever," Clint says with a shrug. "If it's got a bed and an indoor toilet, it's automatically better than a lot of the places I've laid my head over the years."
"I hear ya," Steve says. He picks a hotel at random. It's not the closest, but it's not the furthest away either. Now there's another question he has to ask, but this one requires a much more delicate touch. "When we get there, do you want to share a room?"
"I don't know what your financial situation is," Clint says, "but I'm still technically on S.H.E.I.L.D.'s payroll. Money's not a problem for me, Steve."
"Me neither," Steve says. "Somebody arranged for me to get back pay from the Army, adjusted for inflation."
Clint lets out a low whistle. "Golly."
Steve rolls his eyes and thumps Clint - lightly - on the shoulder. "The question still stands, though."
An interesting mix of emotions cross Clint's face, but the one that settles on it looks like something close to belligerent defiance.
"I'm not far enough gone that I can't sleep on my own in a big boy room," Clint says, his mouth twisting up into a sneer.
"Maybe I should rephrase the question."
"Yeah, maybe you should."
Steve takes a deep breath. Trying to be delicate didn't work, so he decides to go the opposite route. "When you wake up from the nightmares you're going to have tonight, would you rather be alone, or would you like someone there to tell you it was a dream and that you're safe?"
Clint stares at him for a moment before he wrenches his door open and nearly falls trying to get out of the car. He stalks off, and Steve has a quick internal debate over whether or not he should follow. He decides to stay put.
A few minutes pass before Clint returns. He slides back into the car and grips the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.
"One room's fine with me," he says evenly.
Steve nods. It's probably going be a long night, and he's okay with that.
_____________
Part 3
Author:
saone77Pairing: pre Clint/Steve
Summary: Steve gets uninvited company on his great American roadtrip. But with Clint running from demons of his own, how can Steve leave him behind?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Major plot points for the movie
Warnings: Not betad, grammarians beware.
Word Count: 2375
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: The make and model of Clint's car is taken from what he appears to be driving in the second issue of Fury's Big Week. More information about the cyclorama can be found here.
Part 1
Clint's car is a cherry red 1969 Dodge Charger. After proudly announcing the make and model, Clint runs a loving hand along the car's hood and gives it a look that's so fond, Steve's a bit uncomfortable about touching it himself.
"It looks old," Steve says. He almost takes an involuntary step back when Clint fixes him with a truly impressive glare.
"I would think," Clint says, "that you, of all people, would understand the difference between being a relic and being a classic."
"I didn't..." Steve holds up his hands. "I didn't mean it as an insult, I swear. It was just an observation. I'm all for old things being utilized to their full advantage." Steve smiles weakly.
Clint stares at him for a moment before nodding his head. "All right, then."
Steve waits until Clint opens his door and slides inside before he follows suit. The seat is buttery soft under Steve's fingers, and there's a surprising amount of leg room. Clint puts the key in the ignition, turns it, and the car comes to life with a loud purr. A second later a rectangular electronic device on the dashboard lights up.
"Okay," Clint says, picking up the tiny computer and thumbing something on its screen, "we are... somewhere just outside of Lancaster." Clint's thumbs move like they're possessed and Steve wonders how long it'll be before he's able to work a touchscreen that fast. "And it'll take... about two and a half hours to get to Arlington, which means, depending on how hellish the traffic around DC is, we should make it there in four, five hours tops." Clint only looks like he's half joking.
Steve reaches into the backseat where someone, probably Agent Romanoff, had placed his rucksack. He rifles through one of the outside pockets and pulls out the map he had been occasionally referencing on his travels. He hears Clint huff, and Steve barely stifles a grin as he slowly unfolds the thin paper. It takes him a moment to find Lancaster, but once he does, something very close by - on the map, at least - catches his eye. "How long would it take us to get to Gettysburg?" Steve asks.
Clint blinks at him. "Gettysburg. You mean, like, Gettysburg Gettysburg? Civil War Gettysburg?"
"Is there more than one?" Steve asks.
Clint peers at him. Steve widens his eyes ever so slightly and blinks three times.
"I really can't tell if that's an honest question," Clint says, "or if you're being a smart ass. I do believe you have unknown skills, Captain." His thumbs start moving again. "From here to Gettysburg would take a little over an hour."
"Okay," Steve says, carefully folding up his map. "That sounds good. Let's go there." Clint stares at him, but Steve holds strong. "I'm ready to talk whenever you are." It's a lie because Steve doesn't think he's ever going to be ready to talk, but he's not selfish enough to hope Clint feels the same way.
"Right," Clint says. He sets the computer back on the dashboard and Steve starts a bit as a disembodied voice come out of it and tells him which direction Clint should turn when they leave the parking lot.
"Geez," Steve says, impressed even though he knows he shouldn't be.
Clint snorts and slides his sunglasses on. With his eyes hidden and a grin on his face, it would be very easy to buy into the carefree illusion Clint's trying to cultivate. He puts the car into reverse and backs out of the parking space, "Gettysburg it is, then. Let's learn some history. Yay."
Clint automatically steers them to the highway. Steve's been enjoying traveling the smaller roads - the two lane blacktops that wind and weave throughout the countryside. He doesn't say anything, though. It's Clint's car. Besides, being a passenger gives Steve a better opportunity to look around, and there certainly is a lot to see.
After a few minutes of companionable silence, Clint asks if Steve would mind if he put on the radio. Steve's a bit hesitant, but he'd feel strange telling another man what he could and couldn't do in his own car.
"Go ahead," Steve says. He braces himself for what might come out of the speakers.
"Awesome." Clint turns a knob, and the car's filled with a hissing sound. He frowns. "Why don't you try and find a station," he says.
Steve feels kind of empowered, which is stupid, as he dutifully reaches out and begins fiddling with the tuning knob. After a minute or two Steve finds something that doesn't sound too horrible. He looks to Clint for approval. Clint grins.
"Journey, huh?"
Steve doesn't know if that's the name of the band, the name of the song, or maybe just a commentary on the two of them and the trip they're taking. Clint doesn't bother to clarify, either. He does, however, start to sing along. His voice is strong and has an edge of roughness to it. Steve finds himself settling deeper into his seat and relaxing in a way that had become foreign to him.
After a few minutes the hustle and bustle of the outskirts of civilization fade away. They drive through rolling farmland and forest, but it's not long before more buildings pop up - gas stations, and convenience stores, and the occasional free-standing restaurant. There's still a lot more unruly wood than there are structures, even on this bigger road, and the sight of all that green loosens something in Steve's chest, city boy that he is.
Steve would never admit it, but being a passenger inside Clint's car is kind of nice. He's certainly seeing more scenery this way. And Clint's driving skills are much more tame than Steve had expected.
"Dude, I'm not gonna do anything crazy in my baby," Clint says, when Steve voices his observation. "Now, if we were in a S.H.E.I.D. car, or if someone was shooting at us, you would see some real skills. Actually, you might still see some real skills once we hit the Beltway. There are some fucked up people driving around our nation's capitol. Soccer moms and bureaucrats, Steve. Soccer moms and bureaucrats."
"Uh, okay." Steve tries to ignore the little part of him that's saying it might be fun to see some of Clint's skills.
"Now, I'm not really one for planning things down to the letter," Clint says. "That's usually..." Steve watches as Clint's fingers tense on the steering wheel. "Anyway, did you want to go to the Visitor's Center first, or head straight to the battlefield?"
"What's a Visitor's Cen-"
"A center for visitors," Clint says quickly.
Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning at the almost absurdly proud look on Clint's face. "Yeah," Steve says, "besides that."
"I don't know," Clint says with a shrug. "Like I said, I'm not one for history, but I guess they're places you can pick up information about the site. There's probably a gift shop, if you want to get a souvenir or something."
"Why would anyone want to get a souvenir from a battlefield?" Steve asks, honestly baffled.
"Coffee mugs and key fobs have to come from somewhere, Cap," Clint says.
Steve starts to tell Clint to just take him to the battlefield, but it's been a long time since he'd had a history lesson - or, well, a history lesson that wasn't about something he'd missed during his 'ice nap'.
"Visitor's Center," Steve says.
Clint shakes his head, but there's a certain fondness in the motion. "You're gonna be a giant nerd about things, aren't you?"
Steve grins at the mention of one of the first new words he had learned upon waking up in this century. "That's Captain Nerd to you, Agent Barton."
_____________
Steve's getting better at quickly assimilating the riots of information that seem to be everywhere in this day and age. He's sure that, eventually, he'll be like Clint and the other people milling around the center - able to quickly hone in on the information he wants and dismiss anything else with one glance - but for now it's still work to try and find what he wants. Then Steve realizes that he doesn't have to do anything because Clint's doing it for him.
Clint has a firm grip on Steve's elbow, and he steers him through the crowds. "I assume, being the giant nerd that you are, that you're gonna want to go to the museum."
Actually, Steve would like to go to the museum. He steels his spine against the shock of the entry fee. When he catches himself thinking that $12.50 isn't a bad price for a ticket, he has an irrational surge of pride.
Clint releases his elbow only to poke him between his ribs. "I dare you to ask for the senior discount."
"Clint."
"I double dog dare you."
"Clint."
Clint smiles unapologetically. Steve almost involuntarily smiles back before he realizes that that could be seen as a sign of encouragement. Steve's pretty sure that If there's one thing Clint Barton doesn't need, it's encouragement.
Steve wanders through the exhibits, internally ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the various artifacts. At some point he loses Clint. Steve feels a frisson of worry go through him, which is silly because Steve's not dependent on him, and Clint's a grown man who can take care of himself. Besides, how much trouble could a secret agent get up to in a Civil War museum?
Steve immediately abandons the display he was looking at and begins to search for his wayward teammate. He finds him in the Cyclorama room. Clint's quietly gazing at the mural. He's stretching his neck and angling his head this way and that, obviously trying to take in as much as he can before he turns to face another section of the painting.
"Oh, hey," Clint says when he notices Steve. "Check this out."
"It's amazing," Steve says, letting his own eyes drift over the battle scene depicted in the huge, 360 degree work of art. Steve can't imagine the dedication it would take to complete a piece like this. For the first time since waking, his fingers itch for the hard wood of a brush or pencil. It seems like ages since he'd made any kind of art, and even longer since he was truly inspired by something.
They leave the Cyclorama room and drift around through a couple of other exhibits until even Steve feels like he's had enough history for one day.
Clint checks his watch and then one of the brochures he picked up when they first entered the museum. "There are only a couple hours of daylight left," he says, "and the battlefield opens at 6 am. I say we find some place to bunk for the night and explore the park in the morning."
Steve agrees and they make their way back out to the parking lot. The inside of Clint's car is like an oven, and Steve can't help but be pathetically grateful when Clint turns the key and the AC kicks on. Clint picks up his little dashboard computer, and Steve discovers that it's not only good for telling you directions.
"Didn't your bike have a GPS?" Clint asks.
"Uh... maybe." Steve casts his mind back. He does remember the agent who had presenting him with his motorcycle trying to give him some kind of tutorial on something. Steve had been practically itching to get on the road, though, and it had been easy to tune out what he had thought were nothing more than ramblings.
"Oh, man," Clint says. "Word of advice, Steve; in this day and age, always pay attention to the geeks." He flips the GPS in Steve's direction. Steve catches it easily in one hand. "Find us a hotel, will ya?"
It takes a moment for Steve to acclimate himself with the system, but once he does, he finds the whole thing very intuitive.
"Golly! That's a lot of hotels!"
"Did you just unironically use the word 'golly'?"
"Shut up. Which one should I pick?" Steve asks.
"Whichever," Clint says with a shrug. "If it's got a bed and an indoor toilet, it's automatically better than a lot of the places I've laid my head over the years."
"I hear ya," Steve says. He picks a hotel at random. It's not the closest, but it's not the furthest away either. Now there's another question he has to ask, but this one requires a much more delicate touch. "When we get there, do you want to share a room?"
"I don't know what your financial situation is," Clint says, "but I'm still technically on S.H.E.I.L.D.'s payroll. Money's not a problem for me, Steve."
"Me neither," Steve says. "Somebody arranged for me to get back pay from the Army, adjusted for inflation."
Clint lets out a low whistle. "Golly."
Steve rolls his eyes and thumps Clint - lightly - on the shoulder. "The question still stands, though."
An interesting mix of emotions cross Clint's face, but the one that settles on it looks like something close to belligerent defiance.
"I'm not far enough gone that I can't sleep on my own in a big boy room," Clint says, his mouth twisting up into a sneer.
"Maybe I should rephrase the question."
"Yeah, maybe you should."
Steve takes a deep breath. Trying to be delicate didn't work, so he decides to go the opposite route. "When you wake up from the nightmares you're going to have tonight, would you rather be alone, or would you like someone there to tell you it was a dream and that you're safe?"
Clint stares at him for a moment before he wrenches his door open and nearly falls trying to get out of the car. He stalks off, and Steve has a quick internal debate over whether or not he should follow. He decides to stay put.
A few minutes pass before Clint returns. He slides back into the car and grips the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.
"One room's fine with me," he says evenly.
Steve nods. It's probably going be a long night, and he's okay with that.
_____________
Part 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 06:32 pm (UTC)Awww. Very sweet and cute. Loved Steve being all Gollygosh about the GPS.
Senior discount ftw :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 09:44 pm (UTC)Loved Steve being all Gollygosh about the GPS.
I wanted to portray him as being able to adapt to technology, but still kind of clueless as to all of the forms technology takes in the modern world.
Senior discount ftw :)
I think I'm going to have to work in an early bird special somewhere. ;D
no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-26 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-26 03:41 am (UTC)am bracing myself for inevitable breakage!
Rest assured, if I do break him, I'll make sure to have Steve put him back together again. ;)
no subject
Date: 2012-08-15 01:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 01:52 am (UTC)I'm trying to keep a good balance between cute/funny and angsty/serous. :D
Steve may be culturally disoriented, but he's still steady in the ways that count.
And no-nonsense when he needs to be.