cognitived | mental link;

[ The exhaustion leaks through their mental link, a boneweary ache that's painfully familiar to Clint. Even before he realizes it, Clint's tuning in to Sam, wondering, aching, silent as soon as that apology sweeps through him and their minds pull apart at the seem.

One hand lifts to snag the apple out of the air, casual, unthinkingly. Sam shoots him a grin, and Clint returns it even as he shines the apple against his shirt. ]

Does this mean you're like an energy drink? [ Okay, maybe it's more like a shit eating grin, now. Mimicking an infomercial guy. ] One shot of Sam an' you'll be on your feet no time!

[ There's probably something of a danger in how easily he and Clint are attuning to each other, enough to make him grateful that they aren't broodmates. At least he and Clint are choosing this - as much as they can choose it, anyway. They can keep each other out or let each other in, and maybe it's on shaky ground, but right now it's working.

He shakes his head when Clint catches it, murmuring, ] Yeah, yeah, go ahead and show off, circus boy.

[ Despite that Sam'd absolutely assumed that Clint would catch it, seen him in action too much not to - it's the principle of the thing. And he doesn't regret it when Clint ramps up the teasing.

Sam lets out an exaggerated groan, leaning over to give Clint a teasing shove. ]

Fuck you, Barton, I better not hear you telling anyone that's my tagline. And man, I was gonna share some of this warm, delicious, freshly baked pizza, but nah. [ He's just gonna shift a little to block the pizza, now, eyes gleaming and smirk a little challenging. ]

[ A danger, maybe. Clint's still not comfortable with the easy push-pull of minds here, doesn't think he ever will be, but there's something easier with Sam. They chose it, in a way, and there's just enough control between the both of them that it never quite reaches the invasiveness that can come with a brood.

Clint takes a bite out of the apple, eyes dancing with humor, even as Clint chews. Circus boy is definitely not the worst he's ever heard -- he's a long way from those years, but it's left its mark. There's a flash of teeth, sharp and gleaming, laughter even as Sam shoves him.

Except wow that's so rude ???

Clint's brows lift in mock outrage, mouth pursed. The apple is still in his hand, even as he points. ]

Hey now, that's just uncalled for. Wars've been started for less, man.

[ Sam gets that, more or less - he's still not all that comfortable with it himself, on top of the fact that he knows Clint's uneasy about it. He'd gotten enough of an impression back when that anxiety spike surged through them and they tangled up a little too much, enough to get a taste of how control felt, accompanied by threads of blue and whispers in his head and heart.

He hasn't asked about it, and he won't. He doesn't want Clint to feel obligated to give any kind of answer, even one that's just don't ask.

For now, Sam grins as he calls Clint circus boy, laughing back at Clint as he takes the opportunity to goof around a little. To throw out a challenge that he knows Clint is gonna rise to - hell, Sam knows he isn't gonna win here, that the pizza's gonna be Clint's before long, but that's not the point. ]

Yeah? [ He reaches behind him with one hand, ripping off a piece of pizza to shove it into his mouth. It's a little too hot, but Sam grins around it anyway. ] You looking to start Pizza War?

[ It's too serious, is what it is. Clint doesn't like to think about it, doesn't like to let anybody in -- deflects with humor like he has been for the past few months here. But it works for him, and maybe Sam's letting him get away with it just enough too. Especially when he does shit like this. Goofing around like it's just another day back at Avengers HQ, one of those days between the team heading off to a mission and Clint heading back to the farm. ]

Maybe I am.

[ His grin sharpens, leaning closer as if he was going to snag a slice. It's gonna be his anyway, but a bit of a game can't hurt. ]

Yield to my superior firepower and I won't destroy you.

[ All of this is too serious, man, even on missions back home they had moments to goof around or toss some banter back and forth. Even in the Raft, they could tease each other a little, even if it was muted by - well. By the obvious. It feels harder here, when even his best tricks can't block everyone out. Sam might seem like the kind of person who shares too much, but it's by design, and he hates that he can't control it here. Hates that he has to do this awkward dance of letting Clint in and keeping him out, really, but he's okay with just not talking about it.

This is a hell of a lot more fun anyway.

Sam stands his ground, eyebrows raising up higher and letting out a teasing little huff. ]

Superior firepower? What, you hiding a pizza stealing arrow in that quiver of yours?

[ He shifts a little, jostling Clint's shoulder with his. ]

I'm calling fowl, man, let's see what you got.

[ Hell, even back in SHIELD things weren't all serious all the time. And Clint spent more than enough time bunking out there, surrounded by agents and techies and all that jazz. Fury ran a tight ship, but he also knew just how important downtime was. As long as you got your shit done, he didn't care how you did it. As evidence by the fact that he hired a carnie trained archer to do a sniper's job.

This constant highwired space they're all inhabiting? With the way the slip in and out of each other's heads without a by your leave, hell Clint's more surprised it hasn't collapsed sooner. But bless Sam, he's always been one to keep things light. ]

Shit, maybe I am. Don't need it on you though.

[ He taunts, shifting with the press of their shoulders. A laugh, little more than a breath, and Clint lunges, grabbing for the slice Sam's holding. ]

[ It was the same back in the EXO-7 project - even if maybe he and Riley made their own downtime a little more than anything else, but still. Maybe they were all given a little more leeway because of the kind of shit they can do.

Here? It's all complicated, and Sam knows that sooner or later, it's gonna get to him more than it already has. Both of them, really. Best he can do is keep working with Clint to give both of them time to relax at least a little. ]

Come on, tough guy, let's do this.

[ He's ready when he feels Clint shift against him, huffing a laugh back at him, and he snatches up the plate as he ducks down and dances away. He's starting to get the feeling they're gonna end up with pizza on the floor here, but it's so worth it. ]

[ Why does everything have to be complicated. Clint would like to have a straightforward mission, shoot some arrows and make some jokes at Sam's expense. But nooooo, had to be weird mind magic mumbo jumbo goddamn.

That pizza better be damn good to make up for this shit. ]

You asked for it!

[ Sam ducks away, plate dancing out of reach, and Clint catches himself before he can faceplant. Sam's not quite out of reach yet, even if the pizza is, and Clint throws himself forward, aiming to catch Sam around the waist. Maybe not the best move, what with the pizza and the bed and what have you, but whatever. ]

[ Story of their lives, man, shit can never be straightforward. Besides, everyone knows it'd be Sam making jokes at Clint's expense anyway.

And of course it's damn good, Sam made it.

He's still laughing as Clint launches himself at him, and he doesn't manage to avoid this one. Sam lets out an oof as he stumbles back a little, bumping up against the bed, and shoves the rest of the slice he'd started eating into his mouth before he tosses the plate behind him onto the bed.

...also probably not the best move, but now he's more occupied with trying eat the rest of the slice while grappling with Clint to prevent him from reaching the pizza. ]

Aw hell no.

[ The plate goes flying, tumbling onto the bed where it will probably remain unnoticed and unremarked upon until someone rolls over and gets pizza sauce in their hair or something. As it is, Sam's shoving the pizza slice in his mouth and Clint -- doesn't actually want it ew gross Sam, except for the fact that he also doesn't want Sam to have the pizza.

Clint Barton: actual 12 year old. ]

Hell yeah, man.

[ He snorts with laughter, trying to avoid Sam's attempt at wrastlin'. It probably looks something like this. ]

[ At the very least they're definitely gonna have to do laundry after this, but that's the price to pay for pizza protection. And don't lie, Clint, Sam saw the way he was eying that pizza. The only solution is to get it all in his mouth as quick as possible.

He shoots a comeback to that, only it's a little hard to make out considering just how full his mouth is. He redirects one hand away from their incredibly mature and skilled sparring match that isn't at all childish hand slapping in a half hearted attempt to sign at Clint about how little game he's got and how much he isn't gonna get past Sam.

Except apparently laughing, trying not to choke on his pizza, trying to fend off Clint, and attempting to sign is just a little too much, and he drags Clint with him as he tumbles the rest of the way down onto the bed.

And immediately regrets it when he realizes that it just puts Clint closer to the rest of the pizza. ]

[ Clint's totally volunteering Sam for laundry duty btw. He started the pizza war.

Although really, Clint's just laughing too hard at the ridiculous way Sam mumbles his way through a comeback to be really actually try for anything less than their totally mature fight. Also, wow Sam slapping doesn't translate into sign no matter how hard you hit, rude. ]

Didn't your mama teach you not to talk with your mouth full, man?

[ He shoots, snatches of words between laughter. They hit the bed hard, choking on pizza and laughter both, apparently. Clint catches an elbow in the gut, momentarily winded, but he moves with it. Especially when he spots the fact that the pizza is now closer to him that before. With a wicked grin he pushes up, scrambling forward over Sam to snag a slice. ]

[ Clint would volunteer Sam for laundry duty whether he started it or no, lbh. And excuse you, that was perfectly accurate one handed signing while the other hand is busy smacking at Clint.

As long as they're both laughing so hard they can barely talk, though, Sam's considering this a success. And not just because despite his attempt to grab at Clint as Clint crawls over him, he's laughing too much to really find any purchase. He ends up with his fingers digging into Clint's sides as he tries to make an indignant noise when Clint snags the pizza, but it just comes out amused. ]

Don't you question my mama's parenting, she raised a perfect son.

[ ...Sam says as he shoves at Clint's hips, rolling them over so he can attempt to push Clint off the bed.

But he does it perfectly. ]

[ Clint would volunteer Sam for laundry duty even if there wasn't pizza damage anyway, tbh. But Sam would probably wind up somehow hoodwinking Clint into helping out anyway.

He's tricksy like that.

But this is good, a welcome escape from the heavy shit that's been hanging over all their heads for too long. Sam laughs so hard he's wheezing, grabbing uselessly at Clint's sides, not quite ticklish. There's a triumphant yell as Clint snags the pizza, hurriedly taking a bite of too hot goodness, even as he futile tries to wiggle his way out of Sam's grasp.

Which mostly means he's adding more force to the way Sam pushes him, shoving him clear from the bed. There's a yelp, a moment of freefall, and then Clint's arm hits the floor, hand skittering into the shadow, and he's gone. The world disappears into a whirlwind haze like some weird Lord of the Rings wraith shit. Everything's there as it was before, just, dual toned and ebbing softly at the edges. Without realizing, he reaches out, a panicked ping that echoes across the gossamer threads connecting him and his broodmates, and the closer thread that is Sam, mere feet away. ]

[ He's gotta be tricksy, when dealing with Clint. He takes pride in shit like roping Clint into helping him do laundry.

It's been a while since he laughed like this, though - hell, it was even before they got here - and even though he technically lost the battle to keep Clint away from the pizza, he just whoops back at Clint's triumphant yell. Yeah, yeah, live it up, it's not gonna stop Sam from shoving Clint's ass off the bad anyway.

He's still chuckling as Clint yelps, but it stops when he hears Clint hit the floor - or, more accurately, the way hearing Clint it the floor sounds wrong, and then Sam's clambering across the bed to stare at where Clint isn't.

There's an echo of Sam's own panic, chasing after Clint's, but Sam stamps down on it quickly. Instead he focuses on the link between him and Clint, reaching out the same way he has before when anxiety or nightmares got to be too much. ]

( Clint? Man, tell me you're still with me. )

[ As with everything Clint does, it goes from one side of the spectrum to another in 0 to 60. It's a talent, really.

Everything feels weird. The floor beneath his hands is stable, but the ebb of it settles uneasily, makes him second guess himself. The short cut sound of Sam's chuckle warbles, sort of like when his 'aids are on the fritz and sounds don't quite flow like they should. It's -- it's as if everything was just ever so slightly off. And the damn cold isn't helping one bit.

Luckily, Sam thinks fast even as Clint gets momentarily lost in a panic. The spark of Sam's mind to his is sudden, has him flinching, before Clint throws himself back into that thread. Reaches back for Sam. ]

( What the fuck is this-- ) [ He blurts, voice stitched in with a sudden onslaught of his new greyscale world. One look up, and there's Sam's worried face, even as he looks around, as if Clint had somehow simply rolled under a desk or something. ]

[ Of course it does. At least life with Clint Barton is predictable in its unpredictablity. Not that Sam can say much, but still.

He doesn't bother to try to stop the quiet surge of relief he feels when Clint reaches back for him, and he channels the remaining panic into holding onto him. It feels different, like he's close but not, and shit Sam has no idea what's happening here.

But at least he knows Clint's still there, and he exhales nice and slow to keep himself calm and steady. ]

( Invisibility, teleportation, or shapeshifting, man, what are we dealing with here? Can you tell me what you can see? )

[ If there's anything Sam Wilson could be said to be, it's stable. Maybe not always, but enough. They settle into each other, the meld of minds for once a relief, and Clint clutches his lingering panic close. It's impossible to suppress completely, and it's far too late now, the lingering tendrils of his panic reaching out for the rest of his brood.

The world shifts, greyscale, as Clint looks over the room, holds up a hand before his eyes. ]

( Still the same, I think. ) [ FOR NOW???????? This is weird, man. ] ( Invisibility, maybe? )

[ That doesn't really....feel right though. And yet -- Clint's very purposefully calm. He can't freak out right now. Later, when he's got this figured sort of out. ]

[ - Clint's panic causes his own pulse to soar, an unwelcome and alarming sensation that means he's sat straight up in his seat at the first trickle of fright and shot back a very abrupt, rough " ???? " in return. Wordless, soundless, just the pressure of his confusion and need to know what the hell has caused such a fright in a man he's come to know as deeply composed, even in the middle of a dangerous situation. ]

( Clint. ) [ Tone of voice = u tell me what is going on right this minute. ]

( Darkling-- )

[ Guilt, apology, he hadn't meant to reach out and startle everyone. He doesn't really know how to explain this, words tripping over his tongue, and so Clint lets his mind splay open beneath the Darkling's touch, ignoring the unease that trickles down his spine. The room is greyscale, if perfectly regular. Nothing unusual, beside the fact that he's clearly on the floor, and Sam's looking intently at an empty space about a foot away with an intense look on his face.

Just your average day with superheroes, y'know. ]

Edited (i can spell) 2016-09-27 04:14 (UTC)

[ Clint's mind spreads before him, invitation to look through his eyes at his experiences. He does his best, not to feel a distinct pleasure at being allowed this. So, he does what he does best - the subtle plucking of a string, a balalaika balanced across his stomach that hums and sings as he tunes the image. He needs to know what lead to this moment, as well, and presses the question upon his broodmate. He tumbled from the bed, and the world blurred into this greyscape landscape before him. It resembles the white, skeletal depths of the Darkling's inner mind. The image he had seen within Alina's mind, when she looked upon him. The Unsea, unbreakable and black, lit from within by her light. ]

( I'll be there momentarily. Please have Sam let me in. I believe I have an idea - of what may have occured. )

[ And if it is what he believes, he'll have to bite back the vicious spike of interest. ]

[ He has to fight down the instinctive urge to shutter his mind, cold gilding his spine at the insidious feeling of someone looking through his own eyes. Clint invited the Darkling in, and so he stays, silent and tense, allowing the sift of memory, the blink of eyes. Sam's anxious, questioning, and Clint sends him a little burst of sound a silent hold on.

Tries to ignore the way this feels -- right, the bond shimmering between them, light between fingers. ]

( Yeah, got it. ) [ Gruff, but the press of their minds reveals his gratefulness. And then, to Sam: ] ( Darkling's on his way, he thinks he can help. )

[ My, the bond between them is acceptable - provided he is the one facilitating the connection and its uses. It becomes an unwelcome nuisance, when others reach in his direction. Be they innocently inquisitive or in need, the press of a mind along his ( uninvited, impermissible ) does not make him any happier than it would Clint, or Bruce, or any of them. Perhaps it's simply a measure of control, this way. The way that he follows the hum that is - alarmingly, but unmistakably - Clint Barton, to the room where he and Sam had been.

It's there that he pauses, looking around the room for a moment, before stepping inside. It's Sam he addresses first: ]

He fell off the bed, and onto the floor. From there, he's nowhere to be found.

[ It's confirmation that he's looking for, as he steps closer to the edge of the bed - where the light has cast shadow across the floor. It's this shadow that he reaches down to lay a hand flat against, running his fingertips curiously over its surface. While he addresses Clint through their connection, it is open to Sam as well - there's no use keeping him out of the proceedings: ]

( You fell, Clint. A little further than you're used to falling, I believe. )

[ Still the same, Clint says, and all right, well, at least that means theoretically he didn't go too far. Invisibility seems like it'd make sense, but when Sam sweeps a hand across the floor where Clint should be, there's nothing.

There's also no relief when Clint says that Darkling might know how to help, but he moves towards the door anyway. He won't turn away any option, but he'll save anything like relief for when he actually sees Clint again. Similarly, he gives Darkling a nod as he lets him into the room, but doesn't bother with pleasantries. ]

Yeah. You seen anything like this before?

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.

mental link;

timelines are for the weak

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im not sure if it was bri's turn or mine ???

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