Hey guys thanks for checking this out. This fandom has all but devoured my life. I've been mostly just reading but my internship is finally over so I've got some time to write. Its only rated T for language so just skip over whatever bad words you don't like. Also anything in italics are thoughts. Also most of chapter 2 is written so expect a quick update. Maybe later tonight (I have no life). Anyway yeah all spelling and grammar mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Also to anyone who has read my other stuff, I'm super sorry I haven't updated them in forever. My muse has just kind of died on those stories. I've got a few more chapters for all the stories written I just need to polish them up. I hate it when I find an awesome story that was written in like 2006 and it isn't finished and hasn't updated since so I won't do that to you. Ok shutting up now.
All standard disclaimers apply here kiddies. I don't own anything. All recognizable characters and plot elements are property of Marvel and Disney. No profit was made from this. Thanks for reading =)
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The first sound he head was the soft patter of water slowly dripping onto what was left of the concrete floor. The next sense to come back was smell. The air was thick with dust, smoke, and a distinct coppery smell that could only be blood. He tried to take a deeper breath of the foul air but that just caused a coughing fit and brought along his sense of touch. Now he didn't have a problem with being able to feel things, he just wished it hadn't let pain tag along. And not just any pain; an all-encompassing ache that threatened to drown what little part of his brain that was still functioning. It swirled around his chest like a whirlpool plunging into a sinkhole somewhere beneath his ribs. His left arm and right ankle decided to join the party at some point. He wasn't even going to think about is head at this moment. Yeah definitely not going there. That would only bring about bad things and more pain. He could tolerate more pain than anybody had a right to but this was goddamn ridiculous. He needed to get off his ass and analyze the situation and get help if needed.
Lets take it slow he thought to himself. Okay I can do this. Lets start with the basics. What do I know? My name is Agent Clint Barton of S.H.E.I.L.D. aka Hawkeye. I'm a member of The Avengers. Ok now where I am and what was I doing here? Fuck I got nothing. OK walk it through. I was on a mission with someone. Ok step in the right direction jackass. Who? Ummmm…. Natasha? Good guess but no. It was definitely a guy. She was somewhere near here though. Not important right now. Lets try and figure out where we are. OK um its cold, and wet, and it smells nasty. Useful but not helpful. Its dark. Ok its pitch black. Wait are my eyes still closed? Agh that might help if I open them.
And with that last thought Clint brought his last sense online. His eyes cracked open but shut almost immediately. The rays of dying sunlight filtering through what used to be the ceiling (or the rest of the building for that matter) was too much for his over taxed brain to handle. The light was barely there but it still sent daggers of white-hot pain shooting into his brain. After lying still and letting whatever was left of his brain acclimate to the light he decided to try again. His eyelids parted only a millimeter revealed a slit of the grey-blue irises behind them. He actually managed to open them half way and look around after a couple of minutes.
What he saw mostly likely made him wish he hadn't. He'd been trained to deal with just about any situation under the sun courtesy of SHIELD add all the weird stuff he'd seen with The Avengers and you would end up with someone who thought they could handle just about any situation. What he was stuck in was one of those situations that his training didn't cover. Ok, the being trapped in a destroyed building thing he could handle. The sitting still for hours on end and waiting for anything to happen he could handle. Hell holding his own till someone could bail his ass out or till he fought his way out he could handle.
What he couldn't handle was the slowly spreading blood puddle growing beneath an unmoving red-gloved hand trapped beneath a pile of rubble.