Hi! YAY! I am not dead, I meant to write more throughout the summer but a lot of stuff has happened and that put me off a bit. :) So I apologize for that...

On another note, I recently saw How to Train Your Dragon 2, so this was VERY LOOSELY inspire by it. Sort of spoilers if you haven't seen it yet.

And yea, I cried. And being sad, I had to write something sad, so here you go.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or How to Train your Dragon.

Heart thumping and blood rushing take over my six senses. It's funny, I think to myself. There is no blood surrounding the area that he lays. It's clean. Maybe that's what makes it worse? I can't tell anymore. The world has become a blur of pain that I can't see through. No tears though. I can't bring myself to cry. There's too much pain. Stark tries to comfort me but I lash out at him instead. How dare he try to understand the pain that I'm going through, the pain that only I can and will feel?

"Oh, мой маленький ястреб," I whisper. Because what else am I supposed to do?

All I can see is my ledger that now is over -flowing with red and guilt that I know I will never recover from, and my God now Loki's soliloquy was on repeat in my head. Gripping his shirt tighter so that my knuckles go numb, I pull him closer and bury my face in his hair. I want to say sorry, but why waste words when they never do any healing?

My hand brushes against his neck where a pulse is supposed to be. "Clint," I choke out, because God I need to hear his voice. I need to know that he's there. I need that reassurance. And damn to hell whatever person said doing something for selfish reasons always lead to pain, because selfishly I wanted his life back. Shouldn't that be enough?

I pull him down so that I can caress his bruised cheek, "Come on," and damn why did I have to sound so slobbery and broken through my tears?

"Wake up," I plead. "Don't give in, please don't give in."

Everyone moves further away as the one person who I need the most hangs limply in my grasp. "Clint?" I'm choking on grief now, and losing whatever strength allowed me to hold him sitting up.

Someone, Thor my brain roughly fills in, makes to move him. I break.

"No!"

The shout even surprises me, but my grip tightens. He's mine, I tell myself. He's mine to protect, and I let him down. My little Hawk, my savior, the one that dragged me through whatever hell I faced, my forever loved.

Thor's grip disappears as Steve's wraps around me. Together, they bring us apart, and am I screaming? I don't know anymore. I take one last look over the giant shoulder, and through blurry eyes I make out a mess of overgrown hair that hangs over Thor's shoulder. It's black, and shit, who let him dye it that nasty color?

Banner's gentle hand guides me from Steve's arms once we've gotten somewhere inside, which, I think, is pointless. My legs touch the white floor and I collapse. Stark wasn't kidding when he said grief usually came like a bag of bricks. Suddenly, and very heavy, but maybe it's the no warning that causes me to bury my head in my hands and sob.

Who knew collapsing so suddenly would cause alarm to those around you?

Steve rushes to my side but it's sort of an understanding that passes that allows the room to know that no, I will never be ok. Stop asking. Nothing can, or will fix this pain that I'm feeling.

I look up when the doctor comes, when did we get to a hospital?, and gestures Bruce over. I turn further away from them, I already know the truth I don't need some elaborate medical answer. Steve's face comes into view and over it I see Stark's features which are littered with bruises and lacerations and God had I punched him when he looked like that?

Banner leaves the doctor but his hanging head is only confirmation of what I already know to be true.

My bottom lip is bleeding into my mouth from me biting it so hard and I know that that's why Stark is giving me a look. A look that I can only interpret as, "We talked about this, you need to take care of yourself better."

Thor is saying something about a funeral which puts my shaky legs into motion. I will not sit and listen to his death bed being planned like some kind of celebration. Why wouldn't they just be upset?

I grab the doctor before he manages to escape to his safety net of an office but say nothing else. I guess the tears and whatever else is on my face say something else though, because he smiles at me gently, and leads me behind the doors.

"Would you like to see the body?" he asks as we near two steel doors.

I nod, and try to prepare myself for what's lying behind the entryway. I haven't seen Clint in over a year so I don't know what to expect.

When I see his body lying there I rush over, his name on the edge of my lips. However, it never falls. If I say his name I only confirm that he's the one lying there. I can't do that to myself.

Doors shut as the doctor leaves so I'm left to approach him on my own.

His pale face contradicts the blanket and his hair which is jet black. It goes passed his chin now, and wayward bangs cover his eyes like a mask. Nothing else seems to have changed, which brings me a morbid sense of joy. I trace a scar down his arm and suddenly miss the way his hands held me so long ago. Blinking away tears, I pull the ring off of his left hand and place it around my thumb.

I go to leave, but something stops me. I turn, and can't help but peck him on the cheek one last time. "Carry on my little bird," I whisper.

It seems small, but like us.

I don't go to his funeral. I'm not saying goodbye. I refuse. When had I cared so much?

I can count on my fingers the times I had said to him that I loved him, but the amount of betrayal in the last year takes me two days to list on paper alone. Not counting the times that he had not been physically harmed from my wrongdoings. Our last days together I can't even recall.

Three weeks after the funeral the team hands me keepsakes from his room. Tony explains as gently as he can that they thought it best that I go through them. I can't deny them.

A month later I open the first box. My heart squeezes with my stomach as I catch a glimpse of the picture that is so delicately laid on a stack of old comic books.

I don't open anything of his again.

Two months later and I leave the house for the first time with the group. We go to ice-cream. Unconsciously I order some for Clint who usually reserves a seat for us.

Feeling nauseous, I leave.

Three months later I go to his grave and yell at him for leaving me alone.

"You asshole," I choke out through the tears, but end up collapsing on his gravestone despite my threats to hang him.

Steve never mentions how I end up in bed the next morning.

Six months later and everyone has given up on me. I hear Thor mention something about not being able to fix something that's not broken, but I push it aside.

A year later, I'm crying by his grave when rough hands pull me into an awkward embrace on the ground.

I try to hold back the tears but Stark's sweet voice breaks me down again, "Let it out," he soothes, "You can cry. You can yell, but don't let us lose you again."

"Never," I say. He laughs and I can't help but join him.

Sorry for any mistakes, It was rushed a bit. :)

I got it from google but мой маленький ястреб is supposed to mean 'my little hawk.'

So, as always, Review.

Every review is like a new ending for How to Train Your Dragon 2. :)

Thanks as always.

-Hawk