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“I never knew that everything was falling through. I'd rather run the other way than wait and see who's still standing when the smoke clears. Great way for a hero to be huh Wilson?” Clint cradles the bottle like a baby, clutching it to his chest as though it were a lifeline. “Everyone knows I'm in over my head, I'm just a dumb carnie with a stick and a string. Not like I could have done anything different, I'm not enhanced, I'm not super, I don't even have a cool suit of armour to fly around in.”
The tears on his face roll unnoticed down his cheeks as he swigs from the bottle again, the raw burn of cheap bourbon tracing its way down his throat to lay heavy in his gut. Clint blamed himself, he had every right to. He was Sam's partner on that mission, he was the one to give the all clear for him to enter the cable car and rescue the civilians trapped inside. So much for seeing better from a distance. He should have seen the smoke, the flames as they ripped though the ceiling of the gondola where the people were huddled, screaming and fearing for their lives.
“I always thought we would retire and grow old, but it looks like I'm becoming the part that don't last. Some days I cant even remember your stupid smile, other days I still pick up the phone to send you a text about a cool dog I saw. I'm losing you Wilson, and it's effortless.” Clint drained the bottle and sat it aside, not wanting to leave his mess behind on Wilson's grave. The man deserved better, deserved to still be here. Its Clint who should be in the ground. He thinks out loud, a stilted and harsh litany of self recrimination as he cries for his lost Bird Brother.
“I wish you were a stranger, I could disengage from. When Cap tells me it isn't my fault I could say that I agree but then never change my mind. You were my brother from another mother, better than my biological one. You gave me shit for my life choices but you never tried to kill me for them like he did.” Clint slid down the marble memorial stone and curled in on himself, unaware of anything but his guilt and anger.
He never noticed Bucky cover him with a blanket or sit upright behind him, alert and on guard for the rest of the night while Clint alternated between drunken sleep and nightmares. He never registered the soft brush of Bucky's knuckles over his cheeks, wiping away the tears that still fell in rivers down his cheeks. Never heard the soft, sweet voice that sang one of Sam's favourite Marvin Gaye songs, or the promises Bucky made to take care of the archer now that Sam was gone.