here, have a snippet

[tielan]

It's not the one I'm working on, right now, but it's the start of the next in line, the heir to the throne, if you prefer.

Clint always knew he was broken.

Before Loki it never mattered.

Living in the midst of Avengers Tower, among people who seem to see him as some kind of hero or comrade or friend instead of a dangerous man, an enemy, and a traitor, it matters.

It matters when his dreams are full of the Tesseract's blue glow, and his nightmares are full of the people he knows dead and dying at his hand. Fury shot full of holes and spitting blood, the gleam in his eyes dying by slow degrees; Hill's wrists pinned by arrows, her weapon out but impotent as life bleeds from her veins; Natasha under him, her mouth stoppered by his hand but her eyes screaming as the knife circles her throat, strokes down her breastbone and slips into her belly...

Dawn slips into Clint's room but he's not there. He's out on the balcony, perched on the railing with the morning wind off the Hudson sniffing around his ears before whirling away to play in the streets of the city.

It's cold, but Clint's always cold these days.