[ Sam's mind opens beneath his touch, unfurling like the petals of a lotus. It's -- it's everything at once, and Clint's breath rushes out of him, caught dumb in the ringing echo of metal and crackling flames. His eyes open, the blue of his gaze gone miles away, and Sam's hand curling around his ankle makes him tense instinctively. It's a brief notion, instinct an age old he can't avoid.
But Sam is there, pressed up against the sweep of his mind, and his hand is warm, counterpoint to the cold that curls through him still.
Breathe, breathe. In, hold, out; again, again. ]
Yeah--[ He grits out, shifting closer, the brand of Sam's hand a current cutting through him. Electricity, heat, something that might just burn him out from the inside. He needs to ground himself, needs to get control -- he reaches out, catches Sam's wrist in the cup of his palm. Feels the beat of a pulse beneath his fingertips. ] I've got you.
[ And it helps, really. A mission, that's all this is, and Clint's always been good at compartmentalizing and focusing on the mission. He heaves with his breath, scrubs his free hand over his face, through the messy spikes of his hair. ]
[ It's way, way too much, the spike of anxiety and Sam's own shit mixing in with Clint's until he can't tell one from the other. Until the need to run and the fear of control becomes part of the frozen feeling of helplessness, until he's watching Riley explode from behind the shimmering glow of blue with whispers in his ear.
But Clint's there, breathing with him - a grounding weight under the curve of his fingers, and Sam can feel the echo of his pulse against Clint's palm. And suddenly the press of Clint's mind is reassuring instead of overwhelming, as Clint murmurs I've got you back at him and Sam knows he means it, settles into the confidence that he's not alone, that he's got a trusted ally at his back.
That just as much as anything else calms him down, clears the fragmented mess of memories and feelings from his mind until he can breathe easier - and he can tell Clint is starting to settle as well. Of course the downside of being entirely too much in each other's heads at the moment is that Sam can feel Clint start to compartmentalize, and hell Sam knows just how dangerous that can be long term.
Now's not the time to go into that, though, so instead Sam shakes his head. And keeps his hand curled around Clint's leg, although that one is more absent. ]
Felt like a panic attack, only I haven't had one that bad in years. [ It slips out without a second thought, and he pulls another slow breath in and out. ] Someone's having a bad night. How you doing?
[ And don't you dare try to bullshit him, Hawkeye. ]
i keep forgetting inboxes don't go into my labels s i g h
[ They're too close, and Clint can't figure out how to pull back, disengage. Sam's mind nestled in alongside his like it belonged there. Easier, as they breathe, one looping thing, lungs inflating together. One, two, the uneven, not quite synchronized pulse under their palms the only thing.
Grounding, in a way he never expected. Reassuring, in a way it shouldn't be. But its Sam, and Clint trusts him. Trusts him with more than he expected, but he can roll with it. So Clint grunts, an affirmative, even if it's a piss poor one. Doesn't bother acknowledging the panic attack part, even though, yeah that's pretty much exactly what it feels like. Too much to think about -- he draws in a breath, another, scrubs a hand over his face. ]
Be better in a minute. [ Not false, but not necessarily the answer Sam was asking for. ] You?
[ It's easy, it's so easy. It's the two of them turning to each other on nights in the Raft, only magnified by the mental link between them. It's not the same as the ease between those in a brood, where Sam has to struggle to keep himself out of their heads and them out of his, an intimacy that's come too quick and too strong, it's...
Well, Sam doesn't know what it is. But he knows he signed up for this, for Clint, and he knows that for the moment, the press of their minds nesting so close together is a comfort more than anything else, as they slowly stabilize. Clint's not the only one who hadn't quite realized how much he trusted the other, but Sam can roll with it, too.
It's about the answer Sam was expecting, honestly, and at least it technically means that Clint's admitting that he's not doing great right now. When the question's turned back to him, he lets out a sigh, fingers pressing lightly against Clint's leg. ]
Got enough of my own nighttime crap coming back without having to deal with everyone else's.
[ Clint's aside, anyway, but he doesn't think he has to say that for Clint to know that Sam has no problem being there when Clint's sleeping troubles surface. Knows it's better not to say it, that Clint appreciates silent assistance more than attention being brought to it - and Sam lets it go, for now, because that's about where he's at with his own shit. Except he can't help but ask, ]
[ Breath in, hold, breath out -- again, again, again.
Sam's hand curls around his ankle and Clint rubs at his temples, easing down in little incremental inches. Their minds are nestled too close together, but it's okay for now. Good, good, trying to breathe comes easier and easier, and the foreign panic slips away.
There's a humorless little laugh, soft, and Clint's hold tightens just a tad. A reassuring little squeeze -- they're fine. ]
[ Breathe in, hold, breathe out - and Sam's right there with him, hearts beating a steady rhythm as they slowly calm down, settling back into themselves. Sam's always been able to ground better through touch - it's just usually not been with another person before. Maybe because it's not like he's been in a situation like this before, maybe it's just that he trusts Clint - but whatever, Sam can roll with it. He can breathe, ground himself in right now, and let everything else go.
Until there's nothing left but him and Clint, warm and steady, and there's comfort in that. In knowing that, for the moment at least, Sam won't ask about the crackle of blue and Loki's whispers, and Clint won't push at the frozen sensation of helplessness and technicolor explosions. Right now, they can just have this, let it be quiet and calm.
He squeezes back, acknowledging and returning the sentiment - they're fine. ]
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
no subject
But Sam is there, pressed up against the sweep of his mind, and his hand is warm, counterpoint to the cold that curls through him still.
Breathe, breathe. In, hold, out; again, again. ]
Yeah--[ He grits out, shifting closer, the brand of Sam's hand a current cutting through him. Electricity, heat, something that might just burn him out from the inside. He needs to ground himself, needs to get control -- he reaches out, catches Sam's wrist in the cup of his palm. Feels the beat of a pulse beneath his fingertips. ] I've got you.
[ And it helps, really. A mission, that's all this is, and Clint's always been good at compartmentalizing and focusing on the mission. He heaves with his breath, scrubs his free hand over his face, through the messy spikes of his hair. ]
What was that?
no subject
But Clint's there, breathing with him - a grounding weight under the curve of his fingers, and Sam can feel the echo of his pulse against Clint's palm. And suddenly the press of Clint's mind is reassuring instead of overwhelming, as Clint murmurs I've got you back at him and Sam knows he means it, settles into the confidence that he's not alone, that he's got a trusted ally at his back.
That just as much as anything else calms him down, clears the fragmented mess of memories and feelings from his mind until he can breathe easier - and he can tell Clint is starting to settle as well. Of course the downside of being entirely too much in each other's heads at the moment is that Sam can feel Clint start to compartmentalize, and hell Sam knows just how dangerous that can be long term.
Now's not the time to go into that, though, so instead Sam shakes his head. And keeps his hand curled around Clint's leg, although that one is more absent. ]
Felt like a panic attack, only I haven't had one that bad in years. [ It slips out without a second thought, and he pulls another slow breath in and out. ] Someone's having a bad night. How you doing?
[ And don't you dare try to bullshit him, Hawkeye. ]
i keep forgetting inboxes don't go into my labels s i g h
Grounding, in a way he never expected. Reassuring, in a way it shouldn't be. But its Sam, and Clint trusts him. Trusts him with more than he expected, but he can roll with it. So Clint grunts, an affirmative, even if it's a piss poor one. Doesn't bother acknowledging the panic attack part, even though, yeah that's pretty much exactly what it feels like. Too much to think about -- he draws in a breath, another, scrubs a hand over his face. ]
Be better in a minute. [ Not false, but not necessarily the answer Sam was asking for. ] You?
grips your shoulder I have the same problem
Well, Sam doesn't know what it is. But he knows he signed up for this, for Clint, and he knows that for the moment, the press of their minds nesting so close together is a comfort more than anything else, as they slowly stabilize. Clint's not the only one who hadn't quite realized how much he trusted the other, but Sam can roll with it, too.
It's about the answer Sam was expecting, honestly, and at least it technically means that Clint's admitting that he's not doing great right now. When the question's turned back to him, he lets out a sigh, fingers pressing lightly against Clint's leg. ]
Got enough of my own nighttime crap coming back without having to deal with everyone else's.
[ Clint's aside, anyway, but he doesn't think he has to say that for Clint to know that Sam has no problem being there when Clint's sleeping troubles surface. Knows it's better not to say it, that Clint appreciates silent assistance more than attention being brought to it - and Sam lets it go, for now, because that's about where he's at with his own shit. Except he can't help but ask, ]
Anything I can do, besides this?
no subject
Sam's hand curls around his ankle and Clint rubs at his temples, easing down in little incremental inches. Their minds are nestled too close together, but it's okay for now. Good, good, trying to breathe comes easier and easier, and the foreign panic slips away.
There's a humorless little laugh, soft, and Clint's hold tightens just a tad. A reassuring little squeeze -- they're fine. ]
Nah's good. Give me a minute.
no subject
Until there's nothing left but him and Clint, warm and steady, and there's comfort in that. In knowing that, for the moment at least, Sam won't ask about the crackle of blue and Loki's whispers, and Clint won't push at the frozen sensation of helplessness and technicolor explosions. Right now, they can just have this, let it be quiet and calm.
He squeezes back, acknowledging and returning the sentiment - they're fine. ]
Take all the time you need, man, I got you.