A/N: Thanks to dysprositos for her beta help! I needed fluff after my last story, so here it is. Thanks for reading!
When Phil woke from the dead the first time, he managed to get his eyes open before he became conscious of the fiery pain in his chest that snaked through the rest of his body and all the way out to his fingers. He wasn't awake long – he heard monitors beeping wildly and he couldn't really get a fix on where he was, precisely, and he had no idea what put him here-but he did see a ghost.
He heard Natasha's voice in his ear, trying to calm him, but he couldn't see her. But he could see the ghost—a ghost of a man standing in the corner, pale and trembling, wearing jeans, a black SHIELD t-shirt, and a green baseball hat pulled down over his eyes. Phil tried to place the man as he had placed Natasha's voice, but he couldn't. Then the fire in his chest got too hot and his vision grayed out and darkness washed over him, pulling him under to the sound of shouts and a quiet plea from Natasha in his ear.
When he woke from the dead again, the pain stayed in his chest, a hot, heavy weight that sent spikes through him with each breath. He felt the edges of an oxygen mask on his cheeks and he couldn't even manage to pry his eyes open this time. This time, it was Fury's voice in his ear, insisting that he wake, insisting that he do . . . something that Phil couldn't make out. He was so tired, so heavy, but he thought he heard Fury shift his voice to focus on someone else, someone who needed to 'help god damn it,' someone Fury was angry with. Phil tried to follow, tried so hard to stay awake, but the darkness won again.
Finally, he was able to breathe without pain, and he opened his eyes to the sound of a monitor beeping slow and steady, not frantic anymore. He looked at the ceiling, looked toward the door, and was able to affirm for himself that he was in a hospital room. He was hooked to way too many bags and monitors, and he knew that something very bad had happened to his chest area. He could feel the itch of bandages, the tacky glue of heart monitor lines, the cotton in his mouth that was still covered by an oxygen mask.
He tried to move his head, and he managed to do a sweep of the room, breathing a little easier when he saw Natasha slumped in a nearby chair. At least she was with him; at least she had survived the fight. Suddenly, the fight came back to him: Loki. Loki had stabbed him, and he had felt his body shut down, had known it was the end for him, known he had lost the people he loved and lost the fight he had lived for. But here he was, now. Healing, clearly, and with one of the people he fought for guarding him.
But only one of the people.
His monitors must have betrayed his sudden worry because Natasha sat up sharply, blinked sleep out of her eyes, and moved to his side, reaching for his hand. Phil looked around the room again, hoping to find Clint, hoping Clint was here, had survived, and had been recovered from Loki's control safely. But he wasn't here, and Natasha was brushing her soft hand down Phil's cheek with shadowed eyes, quiet.
Because she had never really needed words to understand him, she nodded and smiled softly. "He's safe," she assured him gently. "I got him back from Loki and he helped us fight the final battle. He's safe."
Because he never really needed words to understand her, he caught the unspoken "but broken" in her voice…and through Clint's absence.
Phil closed his eyes and took a breath too deep and paid for it in pain. He clenched his eyes and felt Natasha's grasp on his hand tighten.
"Shhh. Stay still. He'll recover. He'll come back to us when you're stronger. He'll come back to us when he knows you're safe."
He heard the hint of a lie in her voice, but was too tired to reach for it, so he nodded weakly and looked in her eyes again. "How long have I…" he didn't have the breath to finish his sentence.
"Two weeks," she said sadly. "You were in a coma until three days ago."
The undercurrent of worry, pain, and fear was still lingering in her voice, and he squeezed her hand as best he could.
He rested for a few minutes and she just sat at his side and held his hand, rubbing small circles around his thumb, and then he tried to speak again, startled at how weak his voice sounded in his own ears. "Where is he?"
Her eyes went dark and she looked away. When she looked back, her hand went still in his. "Hiding. Running. I don't know. I've tried to keep tabs on him, psych has seen him once or twice, but then he disappears for days; I've been here with you. I don't know, Phil," she said, and she drew a deep, shaky breath.
He felt his role slip back into place easily, even if he couldn't give it his usual force. "Stop, Natasha. Do what you need to do first. You're doing your best and like you said, he'll come back to us." He tried to believe it. Tried to buy that whatever had been done to Clint under Loki's spell wouldn't break him, and he would come back to them and back to Phil.
She nodded and smiled at him. "Rest. The doctors say you're out of the woods, but no one wants to push it." She resumed rubbing his hand and he closed his eyes, feeling the energy that had come with worry seep away from him, so he did as she asked and slept again.
The next time he woke, he was surprised to find a weight settled next to him on his bed, a Henley-clad arm draped across his waist, below all the wires, the rough feel of blue jeans against his bare leg, the soft breath of sleep brushing over his neck. He turned slowly, not wanting to startle, and felt something in his chest shift, some of the pain dissipate, as he watched Clint sleeping next to him. He gazed at Clint's unkempt hair, his pale cheeks, and his chest moving up and down against Phil's side, soaking in the sense of security from having Clint's body pressed against his own. He looked up at movement from the corner of the room as Natasha moved to his side again with a small grin.
"I found him for you," she whispered.
He just nodded and smiled in thanks and closed his eyes again, savoring the warmth from Clint's body. He let the pull of sleep claim him easily.
Phil opened his eyes later and felt a pang of disappointment when he realized Clint was gone, and when he looked around the room he saw Nick Fury sitting in a chair with a tablet on his lap.
"Hey, sir," he said, appreciating the force he was able to muster this time. A quick assessment of his pain level told him things were getting better, too. He still ached all the way through his chest, but it wasn't sharp, even when he spoke.
Fury stood, setting his tablet down on the chair. "I heard you were lucid. Wanted to see for myself." Nick wasn't one to hold his hand or anything, but Phil could see the relief radiating from his eye and he felt his world slip back into place a little more. This was his best friend, and he knew he'd worried him.
"Sorry for slacking off the job at a crucial moment, sir," he said with a smile.
Nick just shook his head and narrowed his eye. "God damn it, Phil," he breathed, and then crossed his arms over his chest. After a moment he offered Phil a smile. "You didn't even know what that fucking gun did."
Phil sighed. "Seemed like the right move at the time. Everything else was lost," he said and then had to stop before he added 'to me,' but he knew Nick heard it anyway.
Fury nodded and said, "Romanov's on her way over. She's been guarding you like a dog," and Phil heard the fondness in his voice and smiled.
There was a moment where Phil debated asking about Clint, but instead he went with, "The Avengers?"
Fury shrugged. "They pulled together when we needed them. Stark pulled an epic move and they worked well together. When you're up and around we'll figure out our next steps. They've been in and out to see you, too." He paused. "Barton…" and then he stopped.
Phil felt a thin tendril of fear snake into his chest. "How is he?" he prompted.
Nick looked away for a moment. "We ran initial tests immediately after the battle, and he's clear of Loki, and he was basically healthy. Bruised and exhausted and quiet, but okay. But now Psych can't pin him down long enough to give me any answers. He shows up when he's required, but he's not giving them anything. Medical is concerned about weight loss and his general health, and he's not showing up for anything with me. If it were anyone else we'd cut him loose for this kind of erratic behavior, Phil. We need to be able to assess him."
Phil sighed. "I've only seen him once." Then he thought back over the last few days and remembered the ghost he'd seen when he first woke up. "Twice," he amended. "And he hasn't talked to me. Natasha even said she can't keep him still for long."
Fury nodded. "I've been avoiding forcing the issue because I don't want to lose him, but I'm gonna force it soon. He's a loose cannon and everyone knows it. It's not safe to have him bouncing around out there."
Phil thought back to the last time he woke with Clint pressed against his side. "He's not dangerous."
"We don't know that. I'm keeping a tail on him 24/7 and he's staying close, but we don't know what he's going to do and that's dangerous."
Phil conceded. "Okay, I'll see if Natasha can get him to come back again and stay for a while."
Nick took a step closer to Phil's bed. "You two were… Fuck, Phil. He's your medical proxy and you were together for years and now he's vanishing. Why the hell isn't he here right now?"
Phil pulled at the thin hospital blanket and looked away. "I don't know. He was here earlier and…it felt good. But he's messed up, and disappearing, so I can't get to him to find out what's going on in his head," he ground out in frustration. The two men were silent for a minute before Phil spoke again. "He'll come back to me. I'll get him back for SHIELD. I will." He looked up at Nick and met his eye. The other man nodded and grasped Phil's arm for a moment.
"Rest, Phil. I'll check on you later." And he was gone with a smile.
Phil closed his eyes. He needed Clint to come back to him. Clint had always said that Phil was his anchor point, the grounding force in his chaotic life. Phil couldn't anchor him if he wasn't here, though, and he felt his breathing increase with his rising worry and the pain flared again in his chest. A nurse came in and insisted on dosing him with meds, and a few minutes later he was sleeping. Again.
This time when he woke up, he felt the still-empty bed next to him, and Natasha stood at the end of it, giving him a soft smile.
"You look better," she said.
He nodded. "I am. I will be." He saw her glance to the corner on Phil's left and he followed her gaze. Clint stood there wearing jeans and a grey hoodie with his green baseball hat pulled down low. The jeans were too loose and the hoodie accentuated his shoulders and the weight he'd clearly lost through his chest. He was quiet, his arms crossed, and he just stared at Phil.
"I have to go to a meeting," Natasha said, matter-of-fact. "Clint promised to stay with you a while." She moved to Phil's side, helped him put the bed up, and leaned over, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You look better," she said again, and he smiled at her as she stood back up. "I'll be by after my meeting."
"Thanks," he told her as she left, and then he looked back at Clint, who hadn't moved from the corner.
They stayed quiet for a few minutes, just watching each other, and Phil was reminded of their early days together, gauging reactions, testing waters. They were both wary at the beginning, and they were both wary now. Phil didn't want to press. He was afraid that if he said anything, moved too quickly, that Clint would startle and bolt and that scared him into silence.
Finally, Clint unfolded his arms and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, slumping his shoulders a bit. His voice was rough when he spoke, as if he'd been sick. "I'm sorry," he said.
Phil replied cautiously, "For what?"
Clint gave a strangled laugh and looked up at the ceiling. "For almost getting you killed, for destroying the Helicarrier, for staying away, for being afraid to come back to you- for everything," he finished and stared down at his tennis shoes.
Phil sighed. "It's a good thing I don't blame you for any of those things."
Clint looked up at him with shrouded eyes. "I knew you wouldn't, but I've been afraid to be here anyway," he admitted quietly.
"I know," Phil replied.
Clint took a hesitant step forward and Phil saw the pallor of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes. He looked shaky on his feet. "I was afraid I'd mess everything up again," he said his voice cracking, crossing his arms again and ducking his head.
"Clint," Phil said, his heart breaking just a little as the shell of the man he had fallen in love with stood before him, afraid. Clint just tightened his arms closer to his chest. "Clint, please," Phil said, and he let his voice fill with pleading, tried to beg Clint to look at him, to see him. Finally, Clint looked up.
"The other day when you slept here…" Phil began, and Clint looked away quickly. "I need you to lie here again," Phil said, drawing a surprised glare from Clint. "I need to feel you next to me. You're not going to mess anything up 'again,' because you didn't mess anything up before. Clint, I need you with me."
"Why?" Clint whispered.
"Because you love me," Phil said calmly, trying to pour reassurance into his voice and gaze. "Because I see Loki every time I blink, and I need someone who loves me to stay with me…and because you need someone who loves you to stay with you, too. We both need to sleep."
"Can't," Clint muttered, his voice thick and heavy.
"You can't sleep?" Phil said, reaching his hand out to Clint, who clenched his eyes shut for a moment and then stepped forward with a great effort and grasped Phil desperately. He shook his head. Phil rubbed his thumb against Clint's wrist. "I'll help you. You slept here before. At least rest with me, be with me."
Clint stood still for a very long moment and then slowly took his baseball hat off and toed off his shoes. He climbed carefully into the bed, mindful of the wires. He was shaky as he let Phil wrap his un-bandaged arm around his chest, and Phil could feel his heart racing underneath his hoodie. Phil rubbed his hand in circles on Clint's chest and felt him draw a shuddering breath.
"Shhh," Phil said. "Just rest, Clint."
Clint nodded and trembled in Phil's arms. "I'm sorry, Phil," he bit out through clenched teeth.
"Not your fault," Phil assured him, pulling him close.
"I feel like a ghost," Clint said after he got his breathing under control. "I'm a god damned ghost and I don't know what the hell to do with myself."
Phil smiled and ran his fingers gently across Clint's forehead. "Stay with me, Clint. Take care of me. I'm going to be weak for a while and I need you."
Clint nodded and turned so he was facing Phil. There were tears tracking down his face, but he kept his voice even. "I'm pretty fucking weak right now, too."
"Let Nat and the doctors look out for you. Stop disappearing. You're not a ghost, Clint, and they can help you. And you can help me."
Clint took another shuddering breath and then ran his hand down Phil's cheek. It felt sublime, and Phil closed his eyes for a moment. This. This is what he needed. Clint kept massaging his cheek and then ran his hand gently through Phil's hair. After a moment he spoke, and Phil could hear the high strains of frustration in his voice.
"Fuckin' feel like Boo Radley," Clint whispered.
Phil opened his eyes. Clint's gaunt face was tense, and his eyes were filled with sadness.
"Why?" Phil asked.
"I'm standing on the outside, watching. I want to come back in, and I want to do what everyone wants me to do, but I'm stuck in a corner. I'm there, and everyone can see me, but I don't belong, and they leave me alone because they're afraid I'll break if they look at me."
Phil paused and then put his hand on Clint's cheek. "Fury's not afraid you'll break. He made me promise to pull you out of the corner. SHIELD needs you, Clint. He needs you. We all need you to come back."
Clint buried his head in Phil's shoulder for a moment and the feel of his breath ghosting over Phil's skin was gorgeous.
"Okay," Clint said, finally looking back up. "I'll try."
Phil nodded and leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep. When he pulled back Clint gave him a quiet grin.
"I'll definitely try," he said.
Phil sighed. "Good. Now go to sleep. You look a little like Boo Radley, too."
Clint nestled in Phil's shoulder again, and they both fell asleep easily. When Phil woke, Clint was there, and after Natasha snuck both of them some Thai food they fell asleep again, and still Clint stayed.
He stayed all day every day, except when Psych and Medical pulled him out for sessions and tests, but he always came back, took off his shoes, and crawled into bed with Phil, who would hold him until they both succumbed to sleep again. Slowly they both regained their color, the dark circles faded from their eyes, and when Phil was released a couple of weeks later, Clint brought him back to their own apartment and took care of him properly.
Phil pulled Natasha aside one day after things had slipped back to normal and leaned into her shoulder. "Thank you for finding him for me," he said quietly. She nodded and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.