An accident leaves Clint waiting for Steve to wake up...
The Invincible One
Clint wouldn't leave his side.
The archer had failed and failed miserably. In reality it had been none of Clint's doing, nothing he could have done would have stopped it. The sinkhole had yawned open under Steve without warning. The subway caving in after one to many tremors from a battle and swallowed Steve and a quarter of a city block with him.
On top of him.
Clint had been frantic, begging for help from the rest of the team already digging wildly to find the soldier under the rubble. Hulk had hurried on Clint's heel, unnerved at seeing his normally steadfast 'Cupid' panicked and without complaint or hesitation dug wherever Clint pointed.
Tony was the one that found him. The suit doing him the favor of tracing Steve's higher than normal body temperature. The fact that Steve wasn't making noise, wasn't trying to dig himself out, it was a bad sign. They dug, as a team. Clint scratching and tearing his hands until they bled to get slabs of asphalt and cement out of the way. Finally, finally they found Steve. The blue and red and white of his uniform smeared brown and gray, torn and sluggishly bleeding in some places. His hood had torn completely free and his hair was matted down with red when he'd struck it, tearing a gash deep enough that it grazed the bone of his skull. Clint had moved there, gently lifting the soldier's head to cradle in his lap, using his own shirt to staunch the blood from the wound at his hairline and temple. Murmured promises, reassurances, that they were okay, they were safe, Steve didn't have to play dead anymore, wake up, God please wake up.
Clint nearly got into a fist fight with the paramedics, they didn't want to let him ride in the ambulance. Tony was there and ready to throw a few punches as well. Natasha and Bruce restored order and gently 'persuaded' the EMTs to allow Clint to ride.
The archer had paced anxiously outside the OR doors while the doctors carefully stitched up Steve's head and shoulder and set his forearm and wrist, casted, bandaged, stitched and given more than one brain scan the most terrifying words a doctor could utter fell on Clint's ears.
Coma.
Steve was in a coma. He had active brain function, he twitched and moved and was fully functioning but he was not able to wake up. Not now.
Clint had tried to laugh, a sick unnatural sound, and boasted to the doctors that Steve had taken a seventy year nap in ice and been fine. A little coma was nothing.
Two days later when Steve was moved from the general hospital to the SHIELD medical facility he was still unconscious and Clint steadfast as his side.
The fourth day, Bruce fully recovered from his most recent transformation, brought in a stack of papers and a STARKPad and settled himself into a chair in a corner and set to work. Clint had only hesitated a moment with Bruce's entrance then went right back to talking softly to Steve's unconscious form.
The day after that Tony swaggered in with his own STARKPad and dropped to sit next to Bruce, chatting idly with him and working on a three dimensional model of the new Stark Tower. It took Clint a little longer to start talking to Steve again after Tony came in but the inventor never said a word.
Day eight and Thor made his way into Steve's room, the God settled himself onto a small loveseat with a massive tome of a book and started to read. Clint didn't hesitate more than a minute to resume talking to Steve, his voice going hoarse and cracked.
It was day ten before Natasha made her way into Steve's room and settled down next to Thor on the couch, now a third of the way through his massive book. She had he own book and stack of paperwork to do and set into them. By the Clint had stopped talking to Steve and just gently massaged the soldier's limp hand over and over and over.
Day thirteen, night fourteen, the rest of the team dozed off in the arrangement of sofas that had been dragged into Steve's room. Clint was still diligently at Steve's side though he'd fallen asleep, his frame hunched over uncomfortably and his forehead set against Steve's ribs for a pillow. Both of his hands were tangled loosely around Steve's, the one the archer gently massaged over and over all day long.
Slowly Steve rouses in the dark of the room. He blinked blearily, exhausted eyes thankful for the dim lighting and he slowly looked around, taking in the four forms scattered around the couches on the couches off in one corner.
The soldier turned towards the weight he felt against his side and his bleary eyes fell on Clint's hunched form. It was the first, jumbled and fogged thought in his mind that Clint was sure to be uncomfortable and full of aches. It took some exhausted effort for Steve to carefully drag his hand out from Clint's grip and lifted it up to gently set on the back of his head. Tiredly he feathered his fingers through the short hair, feeling it bristle against his palm and finger pads.
Clint slowly roused and looked around towards the contact. His eyes finally falling on Steve. The soldier gave a weak pull of his lips to a near smile. The archer's eyes widened and he sat very still drinking Steve in for a long while. Then very carefully and brokenly spoke his name aloud.
The soldier gave another small pull of his lips and a jerk of his head that counted as a nod.
Clint slowly, carefully got out of his chair with a stiff creak of bones and muscles. He leaned forwards and gave Steve a chaste, sweet kiss to his lips.
Steve made an exhausted effort to kiss him back.
It was over far too soon and Clint pulled back to kiss Steve's cheek and his eyes and his hairline before sitting back and bringing their foreheads together. The solider lifted an exhausted hand to scrub the tears and tear tracks off the archer's cheeks.
They sat still and breathed each other's air for a long while before Steve started to sag, worn from the effort of waking up and the gentle reconnection with Clint. Steve looked at the archer sadly whispered and apology for going away so soon. Clint soothed him, smiling very gently and with one hand tangled tightly with Steve's and the other ruffling and smoothing through the hair on Steve's own that hadn't been shaved away to stitch up his skull. The archer spoke softly and reassuringly.
Steve drifted off to a far lighter sleep with the sound of Clint's voice murmuring in his ear and with a promise to wake up again soon.
A/N: A little Steve whump. I am gonna try and keep the character abusing to an equal level, sometimes it seems like one or the other will always be the one getting smahed and I think a balance is a better way to handle it personally, hope you guys liked!