Stuck in a Tree
Clint does not need help.
"Oh shit," he can't help but mutter under his breath when he decides to be honest with himself and realizes he does need help. He just doesn't want it because there's no way Natasha (or any of his new teammates, for that matter) will ever let him live this down.
He's not sure how he even got into this mess. The last thing he remembers, he was clinging to some flying snowmobile-looking thing the baddies of the week were zipping around on. Why he thought doing that was a smart idea at the time, he'll never know, but it clearly wasn't because, now, he's hanging upside down, his foot caught in some vines, in a tree about 15 or 20 feet from the ground.
But, seriously, did it have to be a tree? He can already hear Stark's bird jokes ringing in his ears. Oh, wait, that's actually Stark; apparently, he still has his ear piece in (he's not sure whether he's relieved about that or not). "…not be off making a nest or something."
Clint heaves a sigh. He has to answer; he can't have them thinking he's bleeding out on some rooftop, needing them to come to his rescue. They have more important things to worry about, and he doesn't need help getting down from this stupid tree. He once broke out of a military prison with only a shoelace and a BIC pen, after all. So he tells a half-truth: "Copy that, Stark. I, uh, I'm just a little tied up right now."
"Barton, if you need backup, I'll send Stark to your position," Rogers says evenly, though Clint detects a trace of concern in his voice. He's doing it again. Clint's knows he's not one of them; no, he's not a god or a super soldier or Natasha, but that does not make him a liability, damn it.
"That's a negative, Captain," Clint replies just as evenly. He regrets it almost immediately, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it because he hears a woman yell from down below, "Hey, are you alright?"
Clint jolts and, without thinking, tears out his ear piece and stuffs it in the waistline of his pants. Smooth, real smooth, he thinks before calling in response, "Hey, say, can you, uh, tell me which way's back to downtown?"
"That way!" The voice answers oh so helpfully (Clint is operating under the assumption she pointed, but he can't see her so she must be behind him and he can't exactly twist around right now to check).
"Okay, thank you," Clint says forcefully, hoping the woman will take his hint. When she moves into view (of course she didn't leave; why would she?) he adds weakly, "Thanks…"
The woman, a twenty something year old wearing a maroon knit cap, smirks, her expression somehow knowing. "You need some help?"
"No, I'm fine," Clint snaps. To prove it, he pulls a knife from one of his many pockets and tries to swing upward to hack at the vines wrapped around his foot. It doesn't work because he can't get close enough to reach them. After trying two more times with no success, and noticing the woman has been watching him the whole time, he repeats, "I'm fine…Thank you."
"You don't look fine," the woman observes, still smirking, and Clint has to stifle the growl rising in the back of his throat. Then, to show her he is fine, thank her very little, he jerks upward more violently than before and comes within inches of reaching the vines. "You know, I'm in town visiting a friend who might actually be able to help. Want me to call him?"
Clint doesn't answer. He was so close last time; if he swings just a little bit harder, he's sure he'll make it. Well, here goes nothing, he thinks, and he twists to get himself in position when he feels the branch shift and…
SNAP.
Clint's fallen from greater heights before, sure. That doesn't mean he's a fan (people always assume he is because he has this nasty habit of jumping off buildings, but he only does that when it's absolutely necessary). He may have hawk in his codename, but the last time he checked, he couldn't fly.
Unfortunately, he still can't. And, when he hits the ground, he hits hard.
A groan escapes his lips almost immediately, and he realizes the woman has rushed to his side. She says something he doesn't catch because his ears are ringing too damn loudly, and he mumbles something that sounds like "hi" but may have been just another moan. He tastes blood in his mouth, and he thinks he managed to ground out "help me" before the world falls away…
…and then, eventually, returns. Clint blinks away the black fog and finds himself looking up at the familiar off-white ceiling of the medical bay inside Avengers Tower. Biting back a groan, he moves his head to the left and jolts when he sees that woman from the park staring at him.
"Wha…what are you doing here?" Clint spits, and he's starting to wonder if he hit his head a little harder than usual or something. "And…who the hell are you?"
The woman smirks. Again. But, instead of addressing him, she looks over her shoulder and calls, "So, Thor…I'm assuming you never told them the tazer story, huh?"
Hi, everyone! In case you didn't notice, this story is based on a particular scene in Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, a movie I never in a million years thought I would like but loved because Jeremy Renner's Hansel is basically Jeremy Renner's Clint Barton. So yeah. And I chose to make the "mystery woman" Darcy because I figured Clint wouldn't recognize her right away.
I don't do humor too often (or subtle cross-overs) so I would love to know what you think. Drop a review or give it a favorite if you liked it! Until next time. ~Moore12