AN: This is my first 30 day challenge! And it's Winterhawk! (Always Winterhawk, because Clintucky... it sounds weird...)
There is a main storyline to all of this which will be outlined in the first chapter; after that, chronology takes a walk, and you'll soon see why ;-) I'm not really putting much of a timeline on this because, really, it only takes place over a matter of hours.
So - I'm not doing this alone. I need prompts, people! Domestic, fluffy, angsty, whumpy, generally make you giggle prompts (no, I will not write smut! At least, not graphic smut...), so if there's something you want to see happen to the boys, head over to my Tumblr and look for the little button that says "Prompt me, maybe...?" to drop me a line! If that isn't possible, you can also get to me here or on FanFiction.
Other than that, here's some Winterhawk for you to enjoy - and, apologies if anyone feels they've been slightly deceived...
Gently
1. Welcome Ba-
When Clint finally shot the last arrow of the battle into the side of the last lizard-man's neck, the relief that flooded him was almost enough to make him fall asleep then and there. As appealing as the idea was, he could think of several people who would skin his ass for doing so, and colourfully cursed the evil genius who'd managed to cover the New Jersey highway with poisonous-spore-spitting lizard-men as he recollected his arrows. Less than twelve hours ago he'd been in Turkey, sorting out a dodgy-looking ring of drug dealers with 'unusual' substances, but before he'd even been able to get back home he'd been redirected to help with the latest Avengers crisis, and as sleeping on planes had never been Clint's thing, he was thoroughly bush-whacked.
"Hawkeye, that's the last of them. We're calling in extraction," Coulson said over comms, quickly sounding out a reference for him to find.
"Understood," Clint returned gratefully, slipping the last arrow back into the quiver. The news couldn't have come any sooner, and if it hadn't been for a certain genius playboy billionaire philanthropist, it wouldn't have; he still couldn't get over the brilliance of the earpiece Tony designed for him: hearing aid and communications device in one tiny little package. How Tony had known he was deaf was a mystery, but one he didn't care to solve.
"Watch you don't step on any spores," Cap's voice warned as he set off. "Bruce thinks they could still do some damage."
"Does he know what, exactly?" he asked, avoiding a cluster of small green balls.
"The kind that could bring a super soldier to his knees," Bruce said.
"Point taken."
"You still on your feet, Legolas?" Iron Man called next. "Thought you'd wanna go curl up in a tree right about now. Two weeks in Istanbul to this is not a good thing to lose sleep over."
"Believe me, I do," Clint moaned, shielding his eyes to watch the retrieval helicopter swoop into view. "But a bed is much more comfortable, and has a hot shower within stumbling distance. Much better than Mother Nature after a hard day of Whack-A-Lizard." Not to mention both those luxuries had a certain someone he could share them with.
"Can't argue with that. I suppose a tree doesn't have JARVIS, either, but one day –"
"You are not seriously suggesting installing JARVIS into nature?" Cap interrupted.
As the helicopter touched down, Clint heard Bruce groan. "Don't tempt him." Hauling himself inside, he settled back next to Natasha, eyes quickly taking in her seemingly undamaged appearance. Her uniform was dusty and torn in a couple of places, but other than that you'd barely know she'd been saving New Jersey. She gave him a cursory nod when he finished his inspection, and he knew she'd made one of her own. He cast his eyes over the rest of the team; Steve had an ice pack pressed to his forehead, patriotic uniform in a similar state to Natasha's, but otherwise he seemed none the worse for the day's chaos. Bruce, too, looked nothing more than worn out, and was already dressed in a shirt and trousers after hulking out. Clint didn't like the way he was watching him, though.
When Tony streaked past, Clint looked around the helicopter, craning his neck to see who was in the pilot's seat. He didn't recognise either the pilot or co-pilot, and nobody was behind him or Nat when he checked there too. "Hey," he said to the others, "where's Bucky?"
Steve looked away. In the corner of his eye, Natasha went very still. Bruce's expression suddenly became very clear. "He took a hit just before the end," Tony said over comms, voice devoid of the bantering tone it normally held. "We got him out. He should be arriving in medical any minute now."
Clint blinked, feeling his heart sink as the blood drained from his face. "What kind of hit?"
"A spore," Natasha said quietly beside him. They locked gazes for a second as the implications of her words hit home, and he turned sharply to Bruce.
"There's gotta be an antidote…"
The doctor couldn't have looked any more apologetic. "Maybe they'll find one in time," he offered. Next to him, Steve lowered the ice pack, eyes bleak, and Clint's heart skipped a beat.
Something rested on his arm, and he looked down to see Natasha's hand against his skin. There was something in her eyes he'd never seen before: fearful concern; no-one else would recognise it, but he could, and that was enough to tell him that this was serious, that Bruce's optimism was pretty pointless. He swallowed hard, turning away from her and pressing the side of his face against the helicopter's open side door, struggling to wrap his brain around words that, as of yet, hadn't been said out loud. As New Jersey and its messed-up highway continued to disappear from view, he closed his eyes, giving up on coming to terms with the present and letting his mind wander for the rest of the journey.
