8-17-2013

submission from like 3 years ago

Why did I never share this??? 
August 5th 2013, 8:17:00 pm · 3 years ago

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Phil tries to work himself free from the ropes binding him to the chair. It hasn’t worked yet, but it’s day four and he thinks the sweat and blood is doing something to help him. He has to try.

This was never supposed to happen.

“Barton- c’mon, Hawk, talk to me-”

Clint was never in the line of fire, he was a long-range asset, he wasn’t even on scene- Coulson was watching his six, everything was done by the book. They shouldn’t have been able to find them, shouldn’t have known where to look- This doesn’t happen.

“Phil- Phil, can’t see, I can’t-”

“It’s just a blindfold, it’s just- it’s okay.”

Just a blindfold, but it serves a purpose. The Amazing Hawkeye, without his sight? At first Clint knew this, knew they were trying to wear him down, psychological warfare- That’s their angle, really? But it was day four and he wastired. 

Four days. Clint had taken all the hits, save one, not much more than a fist to Phil’s jaw. Their captors had started off small, using cords and cables and- if he’s not mistaken- a car antenna to leave welts on his skin. Nothing Clint hasn’t been through before; he got through it.

Day three was when they started cross-hatching over his skin with knives, box-cutters, pieces of scrap metal and mirrors and glass- The cuts got deeper, wider, more sporadic- after a while they jerry-rigged together something that could be called a cattle prod and that- that broke Clint.

It’s day four and Clint’s so tired, strung up from a ring on the ceiling, arms extended and numb. His left arm is hanging an an odd angle; Clint had screamed himself hoarse from that. He spent the first two days flexing his hands, trying to keep sensation in them, but that third day had him unconscious for hours and Phil had called him Agent, Barton, Hawkeye- Clint, please, wake up- 

There’s too much blood on the floor, more blood on Clint than in him. The last assault, the slashes had turned to punctures, between his ribs, at least one in his thigh- that’s close to the artery, there’s no way to put a tourniquet on that- He needs to elevate that limb but he can’t- 

“Phil-”

His heart breaks and he knows- he knows.

“It’s gonna be okay. C’mon, we’ve been through worse, right?”

Clint’s wheezing, trying to stay conscious, trying to pull himself together.

“Phil, I can’t- see, I can’t feel my-”

“I’m right here. Clint, listen, I’m right here. They’re coming for retrieval, you’re gonna be okay.”

The sound he makes is something like a sob, broken and rough and-

The rope gives. Just a little, but a little is enough. Phil freezes at first, but quickly works his hands free and gets starting on his legs, wishing like Hell he had his knife. When he’s free, he goes to Clint’s side, pressing his hands to Clint’s cheeks, the only place safe enough to touch.

Clint flinches at first, but there’s something intensely soothing about Phil’s presence. "Phil- Phil, please-“

“It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you, I’ll get you down.”

He grabs one of many knives left out- rookie mistake, one Phil was grateful for. Carefully, he cuts Clint’s hands free, catching him before he hits the floor. The left arm drops, useless; the right finds Phil’s shoulders and tries to hold, painful as the blood rushes in again.

“Can’t see, please, Phil, I need to see-”

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright-”

Phil pulls the blindfold away, watching Clint’s eyes fight to stay open against the brightness in the room just to prove they can see. He can see; one eye is bloodied enough to block out the blue, but it’s superficial and Clint can see.

He’s cold and shaking and there’s so much blood, there’s too much blood and-

Clint’s eyes slide shut.

“No. Agent, don’t you dare- Clint, please, please, don’t do this-”

They’re both on the floor, Phil holding Clint tight against his chest, and he’s so tired and Clint is so tired and he can’t- do this, he can’t do this-

He presses his lips to Clint’s, tasting blood and feeling the slightest hint of breath against his cheek.

“Don’t leave, Clint, please, just hang on, please-”