cognitived | mental link;

[ Awareness of Sam's mind is something low-burning and ever-present, a muted hum at the back of his thoughts. Which mostly means Clint's awareness brightens as soon as he feels the unease, snapping into focus as Sam offers the threads of a conversation.

He doesn't like doing this, but -- between one breath and the next Clint slots himself deeper in Sam's mind. There's a faint sensation like a hand stroking the nape of neck in apology, before he submerges in the memory. Fingers digging into thought, plucking it apart moment by moment. A pause, as if to rewind, and then slower. Eventually, Clint pulls back, a disquieted but unsurprised sort of hum filling the shape of his mind. ]

( Surprised this didn't happen earlier. )

[ Don't assume he's pleased, though. ]

[ Honestly, Sam doesn't like it, either. Even as wrapped up in each other in they are, it still feels... off, having someone rifle through his memories. Like the chill of unexpected fingers up his spine, eased only when he recognizes that they're familiar.

There's a part of him that thinks it should feel wrong, but it's Clint. They're long past Clint in any part of his mind feeling wrong.

He lets Clint examine it as he wants, the ghost of a hand pressed over Clint's heart at that apology - it's fine - before he hums back. ]

( Yeah. And here I was just thinking we got lucky the last two missions. )

[ It's unnerving still, the slip of foreign thoughts and voices and memories at the edge of his mind. Clint's gotten better, more used to it, but often he cannot shake the notion of something being wrong in times like this. But on the other hand, it helps sometimes. Having others in his head who aren't digging their fingers into his mind, twisting him to their will. Sam feels more a part of him than not, to where it feels wrong not having him there.

Still, the impression of a hand over sternum is a relief, a flicker of emotion he freely shares in response. The threads tying them together hum with Sam's vocalization, and Clint relaxes a bit more. Not completely, of course, because this is -- troublesome. ]

( Guess the training wheels are off now. )

[ Rueful. ]

( Better step up your Strike plans, Sam. Looks like we're going to need it. )

[ Sometimes, Sam thinks that maybe it's a good thing, the symbiote and the link between them. Helping Clint deal with the memory of the crackle of blue and foreign whispers in his mind, helping Bucky deal with the programming - or maybe it's just that like Clint, it doesn't feel right anymore when he's alone.

There's the sensation of fingers sliding up, over Clint's neck and jaw to push in his hair and settle there before he huffs out a soft, humorless laugh. ]

( I'm no good at this, Clint. Yeah, I know how to keep my mouth shut about classified intel, but going undercover, playing the spy? )

[ There's an impression in his mind, half formed thoughts that are a mix of will you stick with me on this and i need you, but he doesn't put them even to mental words. He doesn't have to ask to first to know the answer, and Clint already knows the second.

If it was just that it was a spy mission, just that they had no extraction plan - it'd throw him, maybe, but he's gotta get used to the former and it's hardly the first time they've done the latter. It's the other part of Cathaway's conversation, the one he'd only told Clint about. ]

( This - shit, this is gonna sound a little fucked up, but can you do something for me? )

[ It should be more worrying, maybe, but it's...it's a relief not to feel that aching panic at every brush of foreign thought. Maybe they've gone too far in it, now, but there's no way back is there? And, well, Clint would miss having Sam's mind ebbing against his own.

So he hums with wry laughter, sharp-toothed and cold-eyed. The phantom press of Sam's fingertips carding through his hair soothes, even as the curl of his own hand at the nape of Sam's neck tightens. A little thing, easily given. Sam doesn't ask for an answer, but Clint gives him one all the same. A formless thing, i've got you, feather-soft and all-encompassing. The susurrus of feather-wheat-smoke-nothing to see swirling around their minds in a further cloak. It's already a private thing, locked down between their combined shields, but this -- this is comfort. Reassurance. ]

( Always. ) [ Immediate, unhesitatingly. ] ( What do you need? )

[ No, there's no way back. Sam'd started figuring that way back at the end of Concordia, and now? Now he's not sure he'd want there to be one.

He breathes, relaxing under the feel of a grip at the back of his neck, easing into the support that Clint gives so easily, that wraps around them both - too strong for something that's so undefined, that hovers nebulously beyond the surface of their minds - but Sam can't help but hold onto it. He widens their connection, focusing on it until the rest of the Nest fades away and it's just the two of them. ]

( I'm gonna try, Clint, you know I will. I wanna keep them all safe, but I- ) [ Am never fast enough, never strong enough, never enough, always doomed to be two seconds too late and stuck watching. But Clint - yeah, Clint knows something about that. They're the same, never quite managing to be enough no matter how hard they try.

Only Clint can't seem to see that he'll always be more than enough - but now ain't the time for that. ] ( I know I can't save everyone, I do. Most days I've made peace with that. But I might need you to remind me of that. )

[ The next time that I fail, he doesn't say, but it's there anyway. ]

[ It is easy, now after so long. An fierce loyalty that curls up beneath the ribs, ebbs at the melded edges of their minds. What they have is nebulous, unvoiced, but it's strong. Strong enough to stand the storm, a whirlwind separating them from the rest of the nest. It gives Sam time to work through his thoughts and his emotions, shoring himself up before sinking back into the collective.

Just the two of them, the connection between them all encompassing. A breath, even as Sam's words spill over -- and god does Clint know exactly how he feels. Something intrinsic and well-worn, and he simply lets his mind curl closer. Yes, they're the same, he knows it well. ]

( Of course. )

[ A murmur, feather-soft and aching. What Sam's asking of him isn't anything new, but Clint knows nothing about that eventual situation will be easy. ]

( You can count on me. )

[ Thank you doesn't really even begin to cover Sam's gratitude. Not just for this, for the promise that Clint's making him that they both know won't be easy to keep, but for everything.

For the loyalty that settles between both of them, nestled so deep that Sam can't begin to tease out what part is his loyalty to Clint and what part is Clint's to him - and what does it matter, really, when it's all the same?

You can count on me, Clint's mind murmurs to him, and that - that's one of the few things that Sam's known since before they got here, that hasn't changed. That's only grown, really, because right about now Sam's trust in Clint is absolute. How could it be otherwise, when their minds twine together in understanding over one of the greatest fears that Sam has, when he can feel Clint's breath with every one of his?

The distance between them grows to be too much, and it presses on him - the urge to be physically with him as they are mentally.

Where are you forms in his mind, but before he can complete the thought, there's an echo of anger in Sam's mind - not his own, feedback from someone else. Sam's mind shifts, and he pulls away. Well - as much as he ever pulls away from Clint, which mostly means that he leaves an impression - meet you at the ship in a bit before refocusing his attention on the presence of someone physically entering the room. ]

[ No, no it won't be easy. They both know it, they both know what it'll demand of them. But they both also know Clint will never hesitate.

Instead, Sam sighs with weary relief, sinking further into the yielding grasp of Clint's mind. Loyalty and a fierce resolution, and it's hard to parse, to figure one's loyalty from the other. But it doesn't really matter, does it? Not in the face of this understanding, in the shapee of the creature they've forged beneath their ribcages, in the same sip of air in dual lungs. Reassurance, and when Sam reaches forward Clint reaches back, reading the forming of thought as if it's his own.

The anger catches at his mind too, a slip-slide little thing that's gone before he can catch it between fingertips. Purposeful, he knows, feedback but brushed back by Sam's careful hands. Not his to see, to know, and so he subsides, curiosity roused but ignored for now.

Later, and he acknowledges it. Slips further from Sam's mind with a little nudge of shoulder to shoulder, fond fond fond. An impression of his own ebbs at the space between minds where they are becoming both and neither. I'll be there, and he will. Slipping through hallways with ease, to settle in their ship for a wait. ]

PRACTICAL if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.	RESILIENT do you know what it's like to be unmade?
SKILLED if i miss, it means im just another dude with a bow.	DETERMINED this is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.

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