Clint managed to make good on his determination for exactly twenty steps along the corridor, and then all of his strength left him, and colors and sounds swirled around him in a dizzying spiral.
He lost track of things for a while - there was pain and movement, and voices talking over his head. At some point he went from walking to lying down, discerning this mostly by a shift in pressure.
There were hands on him, and a note of old familiar terror tore him out of the hazy confusion. He jerked up and away, and then went immediately still.
Over his head, Lord Stark said, irritably: "Hush, you. I know I'm not Bruce, but you're doing your best to bleed to death, and I do know my field medicine."
Clint risked opening his eyes a bit. Everything hurt. The terror was still there, pulsing somewhere deep inside of him, but Lord Stark's hands on him were steady and impersonal. Clint imagined himself to be one of Lord Stark's automata, sexless and cherished and useful, and felt something in him relax, despite the pain.
Of course, it only lasted for several heartbeats. Then the events of the day spilled back in, and he almost shuddered in horror. He made himself wet his lips and say, "I'm sorry," and heard the plaintive, begging tone in his voice. He couldn't even say to himself what he was at the moment: a slave pleading for mercy? A vassal asking for forgiveness? His body and mind betrayed him in myriad ways, and three months ago, he wouldn't even have noticed the betrayal.
"Mmm?" Lord Stark said absentmindedly, and did something that made Clint hiss involuntarily and clench his fists. Then he looked up, gaze sharpening, and said, "Hey, none of that."
"The wards - I promised not to - "
"I won't deny that I'm unhappy over something breaching them so easily, and we're going to work with you and Jarvis on better measures after you're back on your feet, no doubt. But Clint - believe me, I would've been amazingly disappointed if you'd watched a man get killed by my walls and did nothing to help."
Clint swallowed around this thought, swallowed again, and Lord Stark continued, eyes already back on his handiwork: "I talked to the good Captain, and he said you fought very bravely. Be proud, Clint."
And, to his amazement, Clint found that he was.