ibelieveinarrows | But I stood my ground and I'll fly once more, it's the last oath that I ever swore

Steve is not having a good day.

That's fairly rare for him. Normally he can keep it together, or at least have the appearance of keeping it together. His bad days are quiet affairs, private ones, not the screaming, crying breakdowns he's seen some of the others come to. Usually.

He's not screaming now, but he is crying, curled in the quietest, darkest corner he can find to squeeze himself into. It's still too loud, too much. He's bleeding from crescents on his palm and if he keeps scratching at the skin around his ears he's going to start bleeding there too. He's not sobbing anymore, at least; tears are just slipping quietly down his face as he sits there, rocking slightly and trying to focus on the sound of his own breathing. Anything to calm down, to stop listening to all the thoughts that pass through his brain. To be better, like he usually is.

Clint is practicing, holed up with the targets and his weapons. And it is weapons this time, plural; his favorite bow is in his hands, quiver strapped across his back, but there's a gun lying on the bench and a target full of bullet holes instead of arrows among the ones he's been working with. He still likes his arrows better, but it never hurts to stay sharp with multiple weapons. He's considering trying throwing knives too.

But for right now, it's him and the bow and the bullseye. Anyone dropping by should maybe try not to startle him.

Coulson has files in hand, but he's not looking at them at the moment, his eyes closed and the other hand rubbing his temples. He needs a second before he can dive back into it. It's important, looking over the evaluations of the newest rescues, figuring out who needs to be put into safe keeping and who might be approached to help them out, but it's also hard to read about what these kids have been through. This girl is only a year younger than Darcy, and he can't stop putting his daughter in her place; it turns his stomach to think about it.

He'll go back to it, but he needs a moment first.

Loki is tied up, so securely that he can't slip the bonds, even just enough to get to one of the knives they missed when they took his weapons. It's for his own safety and everyone else's, this time, and just in the nick of time. It wouldn't have been much longer before he'd done something to endanger them all.

He isn't gagged, just tied, and he's humming to himself as he works against his bonds, not accomplishing anything but rubbing his wrists and ankles raw. It doesn't seem to bother him very much, but then, not much can get through the manic fog at the moment.

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They know, of course they know. They would understand even if his mind wasn't offering it out to them. They all have their days, the days where functioning becomes something that is only a long lost dream. They know what it's like to be grateful.

Natasha rocks him gently, singing and swaying and occasionally moving to wipe the tears away while Bruce just holds on, just exists there and tries to be calm tries to be assuring as he can.

He doesn't know how long they've been sitting there before he can bring himself to look up at the world again. He's singing softly by the time he does, his throat aching, his shoulders and side and ears sore from awkward angles and scratches and tension.

He takes one slow breath and then another, not letting go yet, but not holding on as tight either. The echoes of the world are still loud, but he could hide it now if he wanted, could pretend to be normal. He's very good at acting normal. But he doesn't have to do that until he lets go.

And neither of them are going to move until he does, they won't stop doing what they can for him until he pushes them away and even then they'll watch out for him. It's what they do What they all have to do because no one else will understand, no one else gets it the way they do.

She's not singing quite as loudly though, not quite as desperately now that he's a little calmer. She still keeps it up though, her fingers running through his hair and her mouth always moving,always making some sort of pretty noise for him to concentrate on.

If it was anyone else -- when it is anyone else, because everyone watches them and the others that pass through from situations like theirs, waiting for one of them to be judged wrong, waiting for one of them to make a mistake and prove they can't handle it -- he might have a problem with them watching. But it's them, and they understand, and he does the same things, keeping an eye out when things are alright and doing his best to help when they're not.

He falls silent, but only physically. His mind is humming now that it's easier to separate his thoughts from the pack. Nothing urgent, nothing loud, just a slow steam -- the undercurrent of gratefulness, passing thoughts on what may have happened today or needs to happen soon. He does his best to keep from broadcasting most of it, but his doors seem to be jammed still.

And all she is putting out is love and understanding and songs. She know it's easier now so she's not trying to overwhelm him with it but it's still there all the same. There for when he needs it.

Bruce is doing the same, though he has shifted positions so that he's laying on his side, lightly curled around the other two.

He slows down a little after a few minutes to nudge them, mentally, a tiny psychic bump checking how they are. He probably picked up on it at some point, but he's picked up on so much and so many people that it all blended together. He can't be sure what's them and what's somebody else.

Natasha is a little rattled today, a little of but it mostly has to do with Steve. She's not used to seeing him like that and it threw everything else off. Even so, she's not doing badly, not exactly.

Bruce projects an air of calm with a constant undercurrent of anger Nothing unusual for him. The calm may be slightly more forced than normal but it's only because he's masking concern.

He's apologetic as he picks up on it, closing his eyes and holding on a little tighter for a second. He knows she won't blame him for having a bad day, but still. He tries to keep it together, as best he can.

The fact that they're mostly okay is a relief though, and Steve relaxes a little more, leaning backwards into Bruce and almost pulling Natasha along the way. Everyone else matters, both the others that have been through similar things and the ones who haven't -- they're working together, fighting together, or else he understands why they can't and he's fighting for them.

But these two? They're family, as far as he's concerned, and he worries about them, cares about them much more than anyone else.

She nuzzles him lightly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that things are all right, that she would walk through a thousand bad days for him.

When he leans back, she does follow, snuggling against his side and holding on, trying to be as solid as she ca, as reassuring as possible in case he still needs it.

Bruce smiles at them both, one and moving to run through Steve's hair in a soothing motion.

Steve curls up between them and lets himself go, lets his thoughts drop away one by one until he can just curl up in their thoughts and their being there. He can worry over the plans and the people later.

He doesn't do this often, he's more likely to do it when they have a bad day, to focus on them better. But right now, it's all he wants. He tilts back into Bruce's touch and focuses on breathing and after a few minutes, even manages a small smile.

Natasha watches him relax, watches the smile appear on his lips and she moves, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and her thoughts are nothing but relief and happiness at seeming him and having him close.

Bruce's thoughts are ore subdued, as they always are but it's obvious he's happy to have them both. He's rather have the near him than not, no matter what kind of a day either of them are having.

But I stood my ground and I'll fly once more, it's the last oath that I ever swore

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