Take Me Out of the Dark, an avengers fanfic

The manacles were cold and unyielding around his wrists. The chair was weld to the floor. They weren't amateurs; Clint had to give them that.

His hand hurt like hell but he hadn't made a sound when they had shattered it with a hammer to not give them satisfaction but when they had started to push needles into his fingertips that particular resolve had crumbled fast.

He still hadn't answered a single one of their questions.

"We could use a scalpel." The two men who tortured him were back.

"I'm not an expert on face anatomy." The other man sounded sceptical. "If he bleeds to death we don't have anything."

"Or we could use a spoon, carve them out." The first man sounded almost enthusiastic.

"Carving a man's eyes out with a spoon?" the second man repeated amused, "Sounds messy. And like something out of a bad horror movie."

"Don't tell me. You're the one who watched Saw and Hostel for "inspirational value"," Clint thought he was going to be sick. They were going to take his eyes and now they were bantering about it. He needed to get out of here before they had decided what to use.

Carefully, as to not to attract their attention he tested the manacles again but it was clear that he needed a welding flame to get out of them, or break both hands and feet but that would make escaping rather difficult.

"I could get a textbook to look up the anatomy. I always wanted to learn something new." The first man was grinning, Clint could hear it in his voice.

The second man hummed thoughtfully. "You know we could use acid."

"Acid?" The first man repeated, "that's what spurned lovers use in third world countries."

"It's safer than anything you suggested, "the second man argued. "Two or three drops in each eye and it's done, no mess, nothing to clean up."

"Fine, "the first man grumbled.

They injected him with a muscle relaxant to make sure he wouldn't fight back but stay conscious.

And then they forced his eyes open and-

Clint woke up in total darkness, his hand burning like hell. In a moment of sheer panic he thought he was really blind until he noticed the light from the street lights seeping in between the curtains.

Next to him Phil was fast asleep, a hand curled around Clint's elbow. Clint covered it with his own hand, trying to relax and slip back into sleep.

He lay there until the sun rose over New York.

Clint thoughtfully flexed his hand while sitting at the kitchen table. Thanks to Thor's Asgardian magic there was no lasting damage, no slow recovery time. His hand was as good as new, without even a scar to show.

It was still very early in the morning and for once he had even beaten Steve who was usually the first one up. On the other hand he had heard Natasha come in half an hour ago, who had spent the night doing paperwork if by paperwork one meant screwing Nick Fury into next week.

"Morning," Steve had come out of his room in his jogging clothes, giving Clint a surprised look. "Up early?" He walked to the fridge to take a bottle of water from it. "How's your hand?"

"Works like magic." Steve rolled his eyes at the bad pun.

"See you later."

"Yeah, "Clint echoed but Steve was already out of the door.

The truth was that he had no idea where he would be right now if his capturers had damaged his hands or eyes irreparably. Beyond being the best goddamn sniper in the country Shield had no use for him. Steve was a tactical genius and if all the talks with Rhodey were any indication, his ideas were quite useful in modern day warfare as well; Natasha spoke half a dozen languages and had a degree in corporate law, Tony and Bruce had had careers in their own right long before joining the Initiative and Thor could always return to Asgard. No, it was only him who was completely fucking useless outside Shield unless he wanted to teach archery classes. And even for that he would need his hands and his eyes.

When Clint came back to their room, technically his but Phil's flat had to be the most unused place on the planet by now, he heard the shower running.

Without giving it a second thought he left his clothes on the floor and walked into the bathroom and right into the shower. Thanks to Tony's man-whoring qualities the showers at the mansion were big enough for two people.

He swallowed any questions Phil might have had with his kiss. Maybe a little more desperate than he usually would have but he needed the contact, needed to see Phil even with water running into his eyes. The desperate need to shake off the lingering fear from the nightmare and the old insecurities about his future rearing their ugly heads.

Clint woke up to total darkness.

And his hand hurt like it was on fire.

The same pattern every night. At first it was okay. He might have gotten a little less sleep than usually but he could deal with that. They were just nightmares after all and they would fade. They always did.

It was just...they had come so close. Clint stared at his hand. If not for Thor's magic his hand wouldn't be healed yet and even then it wouldn't be as steady and strong as it was now. Sure, he was not a surgeon, but...

He could deal with the nightmare (one, it was only ever one) as long as Phil was there. The warmth of Phil's body, the familiarity of his breath during the night held the nightmare off until the early morning hours.

But then Fury ordered him away from the Avengers.

Clint lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was terrified to close his eyes. The lights were on because he couldn't stand the darkness. If he was lucky he got a couple minutes before cold laughter and incredible pain woke him up again.

Phil had left six days ago and this was his sixth sleepless night.

The sleep deprivation was getting to him although so far he had been able to hide it from the team. Mostly by staying away from them. This morning he had snapped at Bruce for clanking too much with the dishes, viciously lashing out until Bruce looked afraid of him and Clint came to realise what he had done.

"I'm sorry", he had said immediately, "I don't know-"

"It's fine", Bruce had answered, "I know it can be hard to be forced to live with strangers."

Bruce was always too kind and too forgiving when it came to other people.

Clint's eyes fell closed and for one precious minute he was asleep until not his hand flared up with pain and his ears rang with cruel laughter but with the alarm for another attack.

Cursing his luck, Clint got up and grabbed his bow on the way out.

"What's wrong with you"? Natasha demanded to know as soon as the door was closed.

"Nothing's wrong", Clint snapped. "It's not my fault if Rogers can't make decisions."

"Your hands are trembling", Natasha continued as if she hadn't heard him. "Your eyes are red, you're shivering in 30 degrees sunshine."

"It's nothing."

"Is it because Phil is gone? You haven't been sleeping, have you, since he left."

"I can handle it."

"No, you can't! You proved that today." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You can't wait it out until Phil comes back. No one knows when-"

"Yes, I know", he snapped, irritated, but Natasha's only reaction was a look that made clear that he had just proved her point.

Clint sighed impatiently. Natasha's presence was making his skin itch and he wanted her gone before he did anything stupid.

"There's nothing you can do about it", he told her.

She tilted her head as if to say "try me."

He sat down heavily on his bed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You remember when they took me a couple months ago?"

She nodded.

"They were going to take my eyes. With battery acid. In my dreams they do", he laughed hollowly. "I don't know why I can't let it go. I mean it's hardly the first time I was tortured. It didn't even happen or I wouldn't be here."

"And they started when Phil left?"

"They started seven weeks ago, but Phil kept them at bay somehow."

"Did you tell him?"

"No."

Natasha looked hurt which was way worse than looking like she wanted to hit him for not trusting either her or Phil with this. They had made it through far worse and way more embarrassing things than crippling nightmares after a fucked up mission.

She stood up, pacing the room which was her way of controlling the urge to strangle him.

"Look, Tash, I fucked up-"

"One of our teammates is in the hospital because you let your pride get in the way like some green-faced junior agent", she yelled at him, murder in her eyes. "We throw people out for this, Clint!"

He looked down at his hands, not meeting her eyes. The guilt was bad enough as it was.

"You're going to report me to Fury?"

"I'll see that Steve benches you until this is over. Get some help, Clint or I'll see to it. And you owe Bruce an apology for letting him down, once he wakes up."

He caught her wrist with his hand. "Thanks, Tash."

She sighed as if she didn't know why she put up with him. "Do you want me to stay here tonight? See if it helps?"

He nodded, feeling immensely grateful towards her.