"Clint, what are you doing?" Steve bolted from his chair to your side, positioning himself between you and the archer, who had released you from his grip as soon the Captain was there. "She's doing the best she can."

"No, Cap, she's not. She's putting more energy into complaining and feeling sorry for herself than she is towards recovering." Clint stood, looking down at you but not extending a hand to help you rise from the hard mat. "Get up, (Y/N)." Steve immediately reached out to help you, but Clint pushed his hand away. "Steve, don't. She can do it."

Leaving you where you sat, Steve stood to face Barton, now fully angry at the interference and insistence that he was taking over. He pushed up as close as he could without contact, both men standing face-to-face with their arms tightly folded and their jaws set in resolve. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" the Captain growled quietly, doing his best to maintain his composure but quickly beginning to fail.

"I'm doing what you're obviously not able to do."

"And what is that, might I ask?"

"I'm not wallowing in self-pity and guilt over something that was an accident. She needs you to step up and be strong for her, because she needs all of her strength and more to do this." Clint paused and glanced back at you with a frustrated sigh. "I said get off the goddamn floor, (Y/N)."

Your primary therapist reached for you as Steve had done only moments ago, but your new guardian and drill sergeant gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks. You were being forced to find a way back onto your feet on your own. With a push of your hands, you were able to spin your body to the side and scoot your way closer to the parallel bars, grabbing onto the legs of the apparatus.

"I'm not pitying myself, Barton," Steve snapped, pointing sharply into Clint's chest, pushing him back a step. "And I don't recall anyone asking you to stick your nose into this. Sam, do you recall that?"

"I don't recall wanting to be a part of this discussion," he replied quietly, looking anywhere but at the two men.

"No one had to ask, Steve. But I can't just sit by and watch anymore if you're not going to be her-"

"Hey, asshole," you panted, drawing their attention away from each other, "now what?"

Clint's face changed to a smile immediately at the sight of you standing between the bars, holding yourself in place. Steve's shoulders dropped in defeat, and his expression followed, sadly realizing that maybe Clint was right. Maybe he wasn't the right one to push you through this. He was too close to the situation and couldn't give you the strength you needed. He realized that he wasn't what you needed, and it tore him apart.

~~~

No matter how many times Steve tried, no matter what liquor was poured for him, he couldn't get drunk. No matter how much he needed to just escape the moment, it would never work. A row of empty beer bottles now lined the edge of the bar; an empty whiskey bottle was resting in one hand and an empty glass in the other.

"Where the hell is Thor when I need him?" Steve groaned, standing to take another bottle from behind the bar of the tower, eyeing each type of alcohol to see what might be the strongest or fastest to work before his regenerating cells stopped its effects. He finally settled on something blue that looked really expensive and decided it was his best bet.

"Stark will kill you if you open that," Natasha called out from the doorway. "Unless you have about a grand to drop for it."

"He can afford it," he shrugged, opening it and taking a long drink directly from the ornate bottle. He took his seat again, tapping the chair next to him for her to join in his pointless efforts. "Grab a glass."

Natasha took a seat next to him and watched quietly, not saying anything for several minutes as he sufficiently emptied over half of the bottle. "Is that helping? Do you feel better?"

"Oh yeah, I feel great. I feel just fucking wonderful."

"What's going on with you, Rogers? What happened?"

Steve leaned back in his chair, looking at her skeptically and a bit confused. "Wait, you don't know?" When she only stared back at him, he realized that there was probably a reason that Clint hadn't said anything to her. You were her best friend, and if she had seen how he treated you, he would be the one needing therapy. "Clint took my place. He's leading her recovery now because I'm not man enough, apparently. He's pushing her hard." He took another drink as she watched, grimacing at the harsh taste and burn in his throat. "She needed someone stronger than me. She needed anyone other than me."

"Steve," she began quietly in a calm voice that felt restrained from a building anger, "where are they now?"

~~~

Natasha walked into the gym with determination, but paused in the entry when she laid eyes on you, working with Clint and your therapists on the far side of the room. Her brow furrowed when you slipped slightly, losing your footing but quickly recovering with a grab of Clint's arm. She couldn't help but feel upset at him for pushing you, but watching you now she understood what he was doing. You needed this.

"(Y/N), look at me," he said sternly. When you brought your gaze up to meet his, it was filled with annoyance at his tone. "Hey, but don't look at me like that. You're doing better than you think, so take down the attitude. Go again."

"No one asked you to do this, Barton," you growled, staring at your uncooperative leg and willing it to move forward. "I'm sure you have better things to do than deal with me. I don't see the point in all of this anyway."

"I don't want to have to train in a new teammate," he said in all seriousness. "So you're doing me a favor here. Go."

When your leg wouldn't move, you slammed your hand down on the bars with a yell. "This is a waste of time! I'm never going to get back to the way I was, so why are we even bothering with trying?"

Clint took a deep breath and moved in front of you, putting his hand on the center of your chest and pushing you to the ground with a sharp hit. Both therapists each took a few steps back, their eyes wide and not knowing what to do. Natasha hurried across the room, but he didn't see her, his eyes trained only on you. "Why are we bothering?! Tell me, princess, what are you feeling right now?"

"I want to murder you," you hissed. "I want to feel you try to struggle out of my grip as I crush your trachea, waiting for that satisfying moment of your last breath so I don't have to hear you beg for your life like a little bitch."

He thrust his hand forward to you, waiting for you to take it. "That's why, (Y/N). You're an Avenger. I'm not letting you give up because that's who you are." When you finally reached out, he helped you stand and rested your hand on the bar. "Go again."

"Clint, a word?" Natasha finally said, leading him away so you could work and so they could be out of your earshot. "What the hell are you doing? Don't you think you're being a little hard on her?"

"Not you too," he laughed, thought his face showed his disappointment in her. "I thought for sure you would be the one person on my side. Wait," he paused, pointing at her, "you talked to Cap, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I'm speaking for me. You're pushing too hard, Clint. She's not indestructible."

"Nat, listen." He put his hands on his hips and took a long breath, "I know I'm pushing her hard, but she needs someone to keep her on task. Steve wasn't doing that, but I get it, because he loves her and doesn't like to see this. I love the girl too, but I'm not going to stand by and watch if I can help her get back to who she is. She's not this. She can scream and threaten and hit me all she wants; she can call me every name she can think of, but I'm not backing down, okay? I would do the exact same thing for you."

~~~

"Hey, Cap, I was looking all over for you," Tony said as he burst into the lounge with a small skip in his step. "I've got something that I think you're gonna want to see." He stopped just short of the bar, counting the number of bottles that had been emptied. "Um, did something happen?" He paused for a moment, then his eyes grew wide and he grabbed Steve's arm, "is (Y/N) okay?" he asked urgently with a small shake.

"She's fine, Tony."

"Jesus, don't scare me like that." He stepped to the other side of the bar, grabbing a glass for himself and the current bottle in Steve's hands, pouring himself a small shot. "So, I'm done. I wanted you to be the first one to see just how amazing I am. I was worried at first, ya know? I've never done something like this, but if it's for (Y/N), I couldn't let my girl down." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, setting it triumphantly in front of Steve with a wide grin across his face.

Steve reluctantly took the box in his hands and slowly opened the lid, revealing the intricate design that he had sketched for Tony to follow. Tony had shaped the platinum perfectly into what Steve had envisioned, and had set a stone that reflected the light in the room like nothing he had ever seen before. He wanted to make something that no one else had; he wanted something as unique and beautiful as you. But now that it was realized and in his hands, all he could do was sigh quietly, close the lid and grab the bottle from Tony's hands.

~~~

When the end of the day had finally come, Clint brought you to your room and waited for you to get ready for bed, lifting you into place before saying goodnight and leaving you to sleep. The door shut quietly, leaving you to lay in silence and for your mind to begin the cycle of torture that plagued you every day and night since you woke up from surgery so many weeks ago. With each passing day, your thoughts became more incessant and more vicious; no one could tear you down like you could. You had mastered it.

You'll never fight again.

Your team doesn't need you anymore.

Steve will never love you like this.

You can't even go to the bathroom alone.

Your legs are useless.

You are useless.

"(Y/N)?"

"Steve," you sighed, turning to watch him shut the door and lean back against it. He looked almost scared to move any closer to you, and it hurt you to watch. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I was keeping my distance," he replied quietly, not meeting your gaze. "I thought that would be a good idea...given the...circumstances..."

You scoffed, "well you thought wrong." Seeing him was like finding water in a desert; you had pushed him away, and the fault was your own, but you hadn't realized just how lonely you had been until seeing him now. You were filled with exhaustion and had no fight in you, finally letting the emotions you had been holding back take you over; you didn't fight the flood of tears and gasping sobs as they came, almost welcoming the release.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's okay," Steve said, rushing across the room to your side, kneeling on the floor next to you and taking your hand. "I should have been here, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything."

All you could do was nod, barely able to say anything through crying, and when you looked at him, it only made it worse. "Steve..." you gasped, "I'm scared." His hand squeezed yours tighter and brought it up to hold against his face as he listened, his own eyes beginning to well up. "I'm losing you...again..."

"No," he replied with a firm tone though his voice was beginning to break. Seeing you cry was one of his weaknesses, and a part of why he had stayed back; how could he be strong for you when he could barely keep himself together? In that moment, he had never been more thankful for Clint. "Baby, that's never gonna happen. (Y/N), do you think that this changes how I feel about you?"

You nodded silently, trying to quiet your crying but finding it almost impossible; the dam had finally broken.

"If our places were reversed, would that change how you felt about me?" he asked, his throat tight with emotions, now beginning to spill from him. Seeing Steve cry was rare, and felt like a knife tearing at your chest. "Be honest with me, (Y/N)."

"No," you managed to say. Somehow a small smile curled at the corner of your mouth at a thought that broke through your sadness, followed by a tiny chuckle in your voice. "And I'm always honest."

"That's my line," he smiled back, his eyes still glistening with tears, though finally beginning to slow as you looked at each other. He took the opportunity and leaned forward to gently press his lips to yours, holding there for a moment, both of you realizing how desperate you were for the connection. "Can I stay?"

You reached across and pulled the blanket back, waiting for him to walk around the bed and move in behind you. He gently wrapped his arm around you and pulled you tightly to his chest, his other arm carefully moving your legs with you. No more words were said, feeling your body relax against him as he held you. You could feel his heart beat with your head resting on his chest, and the gentle sounds of his breathing as he fell into his slumber.

As you began to drift into your own sleep, you smiled when you realized this was the first night in weeks that your mind was quiet and the torture had finally stopped.