![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saoneTitle: A Runaway American Dream 4/?
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: 2262
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Clint's already up and dressed by the time Steve opens his eyes to greet the morning.
"Sorry I, you know, emotionally vomited on you last night," Clint says from his perch on the bureau, his eyes focusing on some point above and to the right of Steve's head.
Steve grimaces as he rubs sleep out of his eyes. "Ugh," he says as he pulls himself out of bed and lurches towards the bathroom. After emptying his bladder and washing his face, Steve feels slightly more human. The gaping chasm where his stomach should be is a pressing concern, but there's something else he needs to address first.
Steve throws open the bathroom door. Clint jumps just the tiniest bit, but at least he's focusing on Steve and not staring vacantly into space.
"Clint," Steve says, "never be sorry for needing to get something off your chest. If talking to me can help alleviate some of what you're going through, then yak my damn ear off." Steve smiles and he's gratified to see the ghost of an answering smile on Clint's face. "And also, never, ever use the phrase 'emotionally vomited' again. Ever."
Clint's lips quirk up into something decidedly wicked, and Steve knows they're going to be just fine.
____________
Breakfast is spent in the restaurant attached to the hotel. Steve orders a good portion of the menu and tries not to look embarrassed by it.
Clint seems oddly proud.
____________
They make it back to the battlefield by nine. Clint finds the closest parking spot he can. Steve starts to get out of the car, but waits as Clint twists around and digs for something in the back seat. After a minute of searching, he lets out a triumphant noise. When he turns back around, he's holding a long tube of something.
"Sunscreen," Clint says, pouring out a large dollop of viscous white stuff into his hand. "You should probably use some too, with all that fair skin of yours."
"I don't think I can burn anymore," Steve says. "Not from the sun, at least. I mean, I'm sure if someone lit me on fire, that would probably do some damage."
"Yeah, probably," Clint says. "Let's not test that theory."
Steve watches as Clint's strong hands rub the cream onto his bare arms and then up along the collar of his shirt and across the back of his neck. The atmosphere inside of the car turns stifling in a second and Steve can't blame it all on the late spring sun.
"I'm just going to..." Steve reaches for the door handle. "I need to..." He opens it and nearly tumbles out of the car. "I'm gonna go."
"Okay, man, I'll be-"
Steve slams the door and cuts Clint off, then starts walking. It's silly; Steve knows what it's like to live with temptation. He knows how to keep secrets and silently take care of himself when he gets the chance.
It has been months - or decades - though, since Steve's been in such close proximity to someone he's attracted to, so maybe his skill at handling unrequited lust has just gotten rusty. He needs to work it out and figure out some kind of internal balance again. Steve's found that he greatly enjoys Clint's company, 'emotional vomit' and all, and the last thing Clint needs in his life right now is to find out that Captain America has inappropriate feelings for him.
"Hey, Steve, wait up!" Clint calls out.
Steve pauses and steps to one side to let some other tourists pass. Clint jogs towards him. He looks concerned.
"You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Steve says. "Of course."
Clint's put his sunglasses back on. Steve can't see his eyes, but he can feel the weight of them all the same.
"You know," Clint says after a few moments, "I hate to say it, but the whole, jeez, talking about your, you know, problems thing isn't... God... It's not that awful."
"And you sell it so well," Steve says.
Clint snorts. "Whatever. I tried. Be repressed." He puts his hands on his hips. "Now let's go look at history and shit."
They bypass the tour and decide to just wander around the park by themselves. It's vast, but Steve has a few set destinations in mind.
Steve's never really liked cemeteries. With the death of his father, then his mother, and the few close health scares he had had before the serum, part of him figured why tempt fate by venturing too close to a place of the dead. Then, during the war, burials became a luxury that those on the front lines couldn't always afford. At the time, Steve couldn't let himself dwell on the bodies he'd left behind.
Now, Steve stands stock still and looks out over the rows of headstones at the Soldiers' National Cemetery. Most are simple, some are not. All are inscribed with the names of men who passed long before even Steve's time. Even with the heat of the May sun beating down on them, it's still somber.
"God, this is so creepy," Clint says under his breath.
Steve's pretty sure that wasn't meant for his ears, but since he heard it anyway, he can't help but react. "Have some respect," he snaps.
Clint's face tightens. Steve thinks about apologizing. He doesn't.
So, Steve leads, and Clint follows, and a raincloud of tension drags along with them. They look at the memorials, and read plaques, and Steve recites the Gettysburg Address in his head. He wants to tell Clint that memorizing it was one of his favorite assignments in school. But Clint's face stays like granite, and Steve's voice stays silent.
Steve's not sure why he wanted to come here, why seeing Gettysburg on his map spoke to him. Maybe he was hoping to find an epiphany. Maybe he was hoping an epiphany might find him.
He's discovered he still doesn't like cemeteries, so, there's that.
"You're right," Steve says finally, "it is kind of creepy."
Clint turns towards him. Steve wishes he could see his eyes.
Clint clears his throat. "It's supposed to be haunted," he says.
And with that, they're okay again. "Really?" Steve says. "You believe in ghosts?"
"I guess I believe in ghosts about as much as I believe in aliens." Clint smirks.
Steve chuckles. "Okay, good point."
"I have them upon occasion."
"Hmm. You know, I think I'm done," Steve says. "Let's head back to the car?"
"Sure, man," Clint says easily.
"So, thank you, for doing this," Steve says "For humoring me."
"Are you kidding? Compared to some of the stuff I've endured in my life, this was a total cakewalk."
"Endured. That's always a word you want to hear."
"Well, granted, this isn't exactly what I would choose to do on a gorgeous, sunny day," Clint says, "but the company wasn't bad."
"Yeah, the company was pretty good," Steve says with a small smile.
They walk in silence for a bit. A soft breeze comes through the trees and Steve angles his head into it. The day has gotten hot, almost oppressively so. Steve pulls his plaid button up as far from his body as he can, and tries to ignore the way his undershirt is plastered to his skin.
"Dressing in layers might not be the best idea for May," Clint says.
"I'm fine."
"Uh huh. Well, at least you probably won't have to worry about heat exhaustion," Clint says. "I'm not saying the look doesn't work for you, although, the whole ensemble does have a kind of grandpa-ish vibe to it. Have you ever thought of-"
"I'm fine," Steve says again. "It's fine."
Clint angles his head so his eyes are peering at Steve from over the top of his glasses. "I totally don't think you're lying to me right now."
"I'm Captain America," Steve says. "Captain America doesn't lie."
Clint cocks his head to one side. "I'm gonna have to seriously fine tune my bullshit meter if I'm going to be dealing with you, aren't I?"
Steve sniffs. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're a total liar," Clint says. "Oh, my God, you are!" He smacks the back of one hand against Steve's shoulder. "That's right; you lied on your enlistment forms - your many enlistment forms - didn't you? Ha! Proof."
"What..." Steve stops abruptly. "How do you know about that?"
"Dude, everybody knows about that." Clint shrugs. "It's part of your story. Steve Rogers, the little engine that eventually could, or whatever."
Steve's known, of course, that he's still famous in this era, but it's seemed like more of a distant thing - a storybook character who fought the good fight and met with a tragic end. Since waking, he had never even thought about checking and seeing what was said about him now. He figured that the caricature would be the thing to stand the test of time, and not the man behind it.
It's jarring to know that his missteps might be as well known as his accomplishments.
"Hey," Clint says, "what's wrong?"
"I committed multiple acts of fraud against the United States government," Steve says. "And everyone knows it."
"Wow, I really need to fine tune the-"
"I'm serious!" Steve says.
Clint opens his mouth and closes it without speaking. He does this a few times. "We all have skeletons, man," he says finally. "Yours are from you wanting to serve your country during a time of war. Most other peoples' deep and darks aren't that noble. Trust me."
"But it's not deep and dark," Steve says. "It's out in the open. Everyone knows," he says again. All the people he had met at S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury. Oh, God, Stark.
"Yeah, and they also know that you sacrificed yourself to stop a bomb from taking out New York. What are a couple of embellishments on a few forms compared to that?"
"It wasn't just a couple of-"
"Steve," Clint says sternly. "Stop. And don't think you've distracted me. Dude, your clothes. Seriously."
Steve scowls, but gratefully accepts the change of topic. "Like I said, I'm fine," he says as he starts to walk again.
Clint snorts. "Whatever, Wilfred."
Steve waits as long as he can, but after a few dozen steps he can't stand it. "Who's Wilfred?"
"Brimley."
Steve frowns and tries to search his memory. Nothing's coming to mind, but the intent is pretty clear. "That's an insult, isn't it?"
"Would I insult a national icon?"
"Yes."
"True," Clint says. "But it's only an insult if you're under the age of 80."
"Technically, I'm 94."
"That's right." Clint looks Steve up and down, then shudders. "And so weird."
Steve shrugs. It does seem weird. "Look, clothes don't matter that much, okay? A new wardrobe would be so frivolous. These are nice enough. They're comfortable. They don't even have any holes in them."
Clint doesn't look impressed. "But do you like them? Do they make you happy?"
"What does happiness have to do with anything?"
"Happiness has everything to do with everything," Clint says, clearly exasperated. "Man, lives like ours... I didn't have much growing up. And the job I have, while awesome, also contains potential death around every corner. So, now, if I want to get a new shirt, I'm gonna get a new shirt. Or pair of boots, or watch, or whatever. It's the little things, Steve," Clint says. "If you're gonna be happy, you've got to appreciate the little things."
"I appreciate little things," Steve grumbles. But he does have to concede that Clint has a point. Steve's not exactly in love with his staid wardrobe - except his leather jacket; he really likes the leather jacket - and it might be neat to get some things in bright colors.
In the time before it would have been unheard of for someone of Steve's station to buy a new piece of clothing just for fun, even before the war. And while he's still not a Rockefeller or a Stark, Steve knows that he could treat himself a bit.
There's still one major problem, though.
"I don't... I'm not..." Steve takes a deep breath and swallows anything that resembles pride. "Stores scare me."
"I don't suppose you could give me a little more to go on?" Clint says. Steve doesn't hear any mockery in his voice. That's nice.
"I don't know," Steve says, "they're just so big, and loud, and there are so many choices." Steve realizes he's wringing his hands together. He promptly shoves them in his pockets. "It's confusing. That's all. It's just easier to wear what S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me."
"Whoa," Clint says. He puts a hand on Steve's arm. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is responsible for you looking like you crawled your way out of a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie?"
"I guess? I'm not sure what that reference-"
"It's nothing good, Steve, and never let anyone tell you anything different."
"Okay."
"Well," Clint says, "it's kind of obvious where our next stop is gonna be, right?"
"Um..."
"We need to find a mall."
"Oh, God, no."
"What, is the big, bad super-soldier afraid of a little retail therapy?" Clint asks. Steve definitely hears mockery this time.
"They have psychiatrists at the mall?" Steve asks, his eyes growing wide. "I swear, this century..."
"No," Clint says with a frown, "it means-"
"Yeah," Steve says, "you are going to have to fine tune your bullshit detector."
Clint's silent for a good minute or two. "You can be kind of a jackass. I respect that."
Steve grins.
Part 5
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: 2262
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Clint's already up and dressed by the time Steve opens his eyes to greet the morning.
"Sorry I, you know, emotionally vomited on you last night," Clint says from his perch on the bureau, his eyes focusing on some point above and to the right of Steve's head.
Steve grimaces as he rubs sleep out of his eyes. "Ugh," he says as he pulls himself out of bed and lurches towards the bathroom. After emptying his bladder and washing his face, Steve feels slightly more human. The gaping chasm where his stomach should be is a pressing concern, but there's something else he needs to address first.
Steve throws open the bathroom door. Clint jumps just the tiniest bit, but at least he's focusing on Steve and not staring vacantly into space.
"Clint," Steve says, "never be sorry for needing to get something off your chest. If talking to me can help alleviate some of what you're going through, then yak my damn ear off." Steve smiles and he's gratified to see the ghost of an answering smile on Clint's face. "And also, never, ever use the phrase 'emotionally vomited' again. Ever."
Clint's lips quirk up into something decidedly wicked, and Steve knows they're going to be just fine.
____________
Breakfast is spent in the restaurant attached to the hotel. Steve orders a good portion of the menu and tries not to look embarrassed by it.
Clint seems oddly proud.
____________
They make it back to the battlefield by nine. Clint finds the closest parking spot he can. Steve starts to get out of the car, but waits as Clint twists around and digs for something in the back seat. After a minute of searching, he lets out a triumphant noise. When he turns back around, he's holding a long tube of something.
"Sunscreen," Clint says, pouring out a large dollop of viscous white stuff into his hand. "You should probably use some too, with all that fair skin of yours."
"I don't think I can burn anymore," Steve says. "Not from the sun, at least. I mean, I'm sure if someone lit me on fire, that would probably do some damage."
"Yeah, probably," Clint says. "Let's not test that theory."
Steve watches as Clint's strong hands rub the cream onto his bare arms and then up along the collar of his shirt and across the back of his neck. The atmosphere inside of the car turns stifling in a second and Steve can't blame it all on the late spring sun.
"I'm just going to..." Steve reaches for the door handle. "I need to..." He opens it and nearly tumbles out of the car. "I'm gonna go."
"Okay, man, I'll be-"
Steve slams the door and cuts Clint off, then starts walking. It's silly; Steve knows what it's like to live with temptation. He knows how to keep secrets and silently take care of himself when he gets the chance.
It has been months - or decades - though, since Steve's been in such close proximity to someone he's attracted to, so maybe his skill at handling unrequited lust has just gotten rusty. He needs to work it out and figure out some kind of internal balance again. Steve's found that he greatly enjoys Clint's company, 'emotional vomit' and all, and the last thing Clint needs in his life right now is to find out that Captain America has inappropriate feelings for him.
"Hey, Steve, wait up!" Clint calls out.
Steve pauses and steps to one side to let some other tourists pass. Clint jogs towards him. He looks concerned.
"You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Steve says. "Of course."
Clint's put his sunglasses back on. Steve can't see his eyes, but he can feel the weight of them all the same.
"You know," Clint says after a few moments, "I hate to say it, but the whole, jeez, talking about your, you know, problems thing isn't... God... It's not that awful."
"And you sell it so well," Steve says.
Clint snorts. "Whatever. I tried. Be repressed." He puts his hands on his hips. "Now let's go look at history and shit."
They bypass the tour and decide to just wander around the park by themselves. It's vast, but Steve has a few set destinations in mind.
Steve's never really liked cemeteries. With the death of his father, then his mother, and the few close health scares he had had before the serum, part of him figured why tempt fate by venturing too close to a place of the dead. Then, during the war, burials became a luxury that those on the front lines couldn't always afford. At the time, Steve couldn't let himself dwell on the bodies he'd left behind.
Now, Steve stands stock still and looks out over the rows of headstones at the Soldiers' National Cemetery. Most are simple, some are not. All are inscribed with the names of men who passed long before even Steve's time. Even with the heat of the May sun beating down on them, it's still somber.
"God, this is so creepy," Clint says under his breath.
Steve's pretty sure that wasn't meant for his ears, but since he heard it anyway, he can't help but react. "Have some respect," he snaps.
Clint's face tightens. Steve thinks about apologizing. He doesn't.
So, Steve leads, and Clint follows, and a raincloud of tension drags along with them. They look at the memorials, and read plaques, and Steve recites the Gettysburg Address in his head. He wants to tell Clint that memorizing it was one of his favorite assignments in school. But Clint's face stays like granite, and Steve's voice stays silent.
Steve's not sure why he wanted to come here, why seeing Gettysburg on his map spoke to him. Maybe he was hoping to find an epiphany. Maybe he was hoping an epiphany might find him.
He's discovered he still doesn't like cemeteries, so, there's that.
"You're right," Steve says finally, "it is kind of creepy."
Clint turns towards him. Steve wishes he could see his eyes.
Clint clears his throat. "It's supposed to be haunted," he says.
And with that, they're okay again. "Really?" Steve says. "You believe in ghosts?"
"I guess I believe in ghosts about as much as I believe in aliens." Clint smirks.
Steve chuckles. "Okay, good point."
"I have them upon occasion."
"Hmm. You know, I think I'm done," Steve says. "Let's head back to the car?"
"Sure, man," Clint says easily.
"So, thank you, for doing this," Steve says "For humoring me."
"Are you kidding? Compared to some of the stuff I've endured in my life, this was a total cakewalk."
"Endured. That's always a word you want to hear."
"Well, granted, this isn't exactly what I would choose to do on a gorgeous, sunny day," Clint says, "but the company wasn't bad."
"Yeah, the company was pretty good," Steve says with a small smile.
They walk in silence for a bit. A soft breeze comes through the trees and Steve angles his head into it. The day has gotten hot, almost oppressively so. Steve pulls his plaid button up as far from his body as he can, and tries to ignore the way his undershirt is plastered to his skin.
"Dressing in layers might not be the best idea for May," Clint says.
"I'm fine."
"Uh huh. Well, at least you probably won't have to worry about heat exhaustion," Clint says. "I'm not saying the look doesn't work for you, although, the whole ensemble does have a kind of grandpa-ish vibe to it. Have you ever thought of-"
"I'm fine," Steve says again. "It's fine."
Clint angles his head so his eyes are peering at Steve from over the top of his glasses. "I totally don't think you're lying to me right now."
"I'm Captain America," Steve says. "Captain America doesn't lie."
Clint cocks his head to one side. "I'm gonna have to seriously fine tune my bullshit meter if I'm going to be dealing with you, aren't I?"
Steve sniffs. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're a total liar," Clint says. "Oh, my God, you are!" He smacks the back of one hand against Steve's shoulder. "That's right; you lied on your enlistment forms - your many enlistment forms - didn't you? Ha! Proof."
"What..." Steve stops abruptly. "How do you know about that?"
"Dude, everybody knows about that." Clint shrugs. "It's part of your story. Steve Rogers, the little engine that eventually could, or whatever."
Steve's known, of course, that he's still famous in this era, but it's seemed like more of a distant thing - a storybook character who fought the good fight and met with a tragic end. Since waking, he had never even thought about checking and seeing what was said about him now. He figured that the caricature would be the thing to stand the test of time, and not the man behind it.
It's jarring to know that his missteps might be as well known as his accomplishments.
"Hey," Clint says, "what's wrong?"
"I committed multiple acts of fraud against the United States government," Steve says. "And everyone knows it."
"Wow, I really need to fine tune the-"
"I'm serious!" Steve says.
Clint opens his mouth and closes it without speaking. He does this a few times. "We all have skeletons, man," he says finally. "Yours are from you wanting to serve your country during a time of war. Most other peoples' deep and darks aren't that noble. Trust me."
"But it's not deep and dark," Steve says. "It's out in the open. Everyone knows," he says again. All the people he had met at S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury. Oh, God, Stark.
"Yeah, and they also know that you sacrificed yourself to stop a bomb from taking out New York. What are a couple of embellishments on a few forms compared to that?"
"It wasn't just a couple of-"
"Steve," Clint says sternly. "Stop. And don't think you've distracted me. Dude, your clothes. Seriously."
Steve scowls, but gratefully accepts the change of topic. "Like I said, I'm fine," he says as he starts to walk again.
Clint snorts. "Whatever, Wilfred."
Steve waits as long as he can, but after a few dozen steps he can't stand it. "Who's Wilfred?"
"Brimley."
Steve frowns and tries to search his memory. Nothing's coming to mind, but the intent is pretty clear. "That's an insult, isn't it?"
"Would I insult a national icon?"
"Yes."
"True," Clint says. "But it's only an insult if you're under the age of 80."
"Technically, I'm 94."
"That's right." Clint looks Steve up and down, then shudders. "And so weird."
Steve shrugs. It does seem weird. "Look, clothes don't matter that much, okay? A new wardrobe would be so frivolous. These are nice enough. They're comfortable. They don't even have any holes in them."
Clint doesn't look impressed. "But do you like them? Do they make you happy?"
"What does happiness have to do with anything?"
"Happiness has everything to do with everything," Clint says, clearly exasperated. "Man, lives like ours... I didn't have much growing up. And the job I have, while awesome, also contains potential death around every corner. So, now, if I want to get a new shirt, I'm gonna get a new shirt. Or pair of boots, or watch, or whatever. It's the little things, Steve," Clint says. "If you're gonna be happy, you've got to appreciate the little things."
"I appreciate little things," Steve grumbles. But he does have to concede that Clint has a point. Steve's not exactly in love with his staid wardrobe - except his leather jacket; he really likes the leather jacket - and it might be neat to get some things in bright colors.
In the time before it would have been unheard of for someone of Steve's station to buy a new piece of clothing just for fun, even before the war. And while he's still not a Rockefeller or a Stark, Steve knows that he could treat himself a bit.
There's still one major problem, though.
"I don't... I'm not..." Steve takes a deep breath and swallows anything that resembles pride. "Stores scare me."
"I don't suppose you could give me a little more to go on?" Clint says. Steve doesn't hear any mockery in his voice. That's nice.
"I don't know," Steve says, "they're just so big, and loud, and there are so many choices." Steve realizes he's wringing his hands together. He promptly shoves them in his pockets. "It's confusing. That's all. It's just easier to wear what S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me."
"Whoa," Clint says. He puts a hand on Steve's arm. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is responsible for you looking like you crawled your way out of a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie?"
"I guess? I'm not sure what that reference-"
"It's nothing good, Steve, and never let anyone tell you anything different."
"Okay."
"Well," Clint says, "it's kind of obvious where our next stop is gonna be, right?"
"Um..."
"We need to find a mall."
"Oh, God, no."
"What, is the big, bad super-soldier afraid of a little retail therapy?" Clint asks. Steve definitely hears mockery this time.
"They have psychiatrists at the mall?" Steve asks, his eyes growing wide. "I swear, this century..."
"No," Clint says with a frown, "it means-"
"Yeah," Steve says, "you are going to have to fine tune your bullshit detector."
Clint's silent for a good minute or two. "You can be kind of a jackass. I respect that."
Steve grins.
Part 5
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-08-15 06:20 am (UTC)Awesome, sweet and canonical. Emotional vomiting :)
Clothes shopping with Steve and Clint? :Channels Dr. Hibbert: "Good GOD"
no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 01:26 am (UTC)Clothes shopping with Steve and Clint?
I think I'm going to enjoy writing that chapter just for the imaginary visuals alone. ;D
no subject
Date: 2012-08-15 06:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-15 02:04 pm (UTC)I love how Steve can go from being all "Golly!" over something, genuinely wide-eyed, to pulling shit because he knows he'll be underestimated.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 01:45 am (UTC)I think it's easy to think of Steve as being one note, so I always try and write him with layers, and at least one of those layers is smartass flavored. ;D
no subject
Date: 2012-08-15 03:57 pm (UTC)Anyway, love the chapter and can't wait to see more!
no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 01:46 am (UTC)You've sold me...
Date: 2012-08-19 05:53 pm (UTC)Re: You've sold me...
Date: 2012-08-20 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-28 03:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-28 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-29 05:43 pm (UTC)...I'm trying so hard not to be a stalkery nag. SO HARD.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-31 11:21 pm (UTC)