Ok, long a/n time. I had started this fic back in the winter, when it was actually cold. So we're going to have to use our imagination now that it's spring. Also, I did a ton of research on car crashes, drowning, the effects of ice water on the human body, hypothermia, and cpr. Most of it, I disregarded in the name of adding more drama to the story but some of it got to stay. If you have questions, let me know. :)
Also, I was going to wait to post this until May 1, but then I went to the theater over the weekend and I saw Chris Evans' new movie Gifted and I realized I wanted to post this now so I could rave about the movie in the a/n. The movie is so super cute! It's a great story about a man struggling to give his child prodigy niece a normal life, while the girl's grandmother wants to take custody so she can focus on the girl's education. The cast did a fantastic job giving believable performances. The girl is adorable and the movie is packed full of all the daddy!feels I could have dreamed of from Chris Evans. I don't normally cry at movies (my sister is prone to that) but I did cry a couple times during this one. Go and see it. It's amazing =)
Last thing, title is taken from the poem by Pablo Neruda.
"Come on, Cap. You're telling me that even two years after waking up, you still haven't seen Star Wars yet?" Clint questioned in disbelief.
Steve shrugged and turned the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "It hasn't exactly been a priority."
Clint snorted. "You can't call yourself Captain America if you're not up to date on one of the defining parts of American culture."
"Alright," Steve surrendered. "We should schedule a movie night and you can show me this defining movie."
"Trilogy," Clint corrected absently, gazing out the window at the falling snow.
Steve navigated the SHIELD-issued car onto the bridge. "What?"
"There are three movies," Clint explained.
"That could take a while then," Steve chuckled.
Warming to the idea, Clint shook his head. "Nah, all we have to do is change our plan from a movie night to an all day marathon."
"You think we have the kind of time for-"
A sudden jolt threw them forward, seat belts straining. As Steve fought to regain control of the vehicle, Clint twisted to look behind them. He cursed as he saw a large black truck coming at them again.
"Cap!" he called in warning.
"I see him," Steve grunted.
The truck pulled into the lane beside them. Clint's eyes widened as the other driver swerved towards them. Steve yanked on the steering wheel and stomped on the brakes, avoiding the truck. But his wheels hit a patch of ice and the car spun. Clint was thrown against the window by the motion, head smacking painfully against the cool glass. The spinning came to an abrupt end when their car smashed into the guardrail. Steve's arm automatically shot out to brace Clint as the vehicle collided with the metal.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked, looking his companion over for injuries.
"I think so," Clint answered. "Just took a hit to the head." His lips turned up ruefully but the smile quickly faded as a look of fear came over Steve's face.
"What?" Clint inquired, turning to see what Steve was staring at.
The truck had returned and positioned itself to ram directly into them. Before either Avenger could react, the bigger automobile surged forward and slammed into them. Already in a precarious position, the car slid with the impact, dropping off the edge of the bridge. For a moment, Clint was in freefall. Then the car hit the water and the seatbelt cut into his neck as it halted his momentum. Spiderweb cracks spread over the windshield, glass breaking from the force of the impact. As the vehicle sunk lower in the water, the pressure increased.
Steve tore his seatbelt off, trying to avoid looking at the cold, blue water surrounding him on all sides. Just as he reached over to help Clint, the windshield shattered. Shards of glass were swept into the men's unprotected faces and hands as the freezing water gushed in. Blood trickling down his forehead, Steve inhaled sharply, eyes darting frantically between the water outside the vehicle and the decreasing amount of dry space inside it.
Blinking blearily through the water on his eyelashes, Clint slowly lowered the hands he'd reflexively used to shelter his head. The water was rapidly filling the car, already coming up to his knees. Knowing he had no time to waste, he unbuckled and tried to rise from his seat. Only to find that his door had been warped from the hit by the truck and the metal was curled over his right leg, pinning it to the seat. No amount of squirming or tugging could free him. The water now at chest level, Clint turned to Steve.
The captain's eyes were glazed over, his breaths coming in ragged bursts through his open mouth. Clint called his name. Steve didn't respond. Determined, Clint snagged the edge of Steve's leather jacket and yanked the soldier's body closer.
"Hey! Steve!" he shouted above the roar of the rushing water. "You need to focus or we're both going to drown."
A drop of blood rolled down the plane of Steve face and into his mouth. He didn't seem to notice.
"Cap! Listen to me!" Clint yelled. "This is 2013, not 1945. You are not drowning. Yet. But if you don't snap out of it, you're going to die and get me killed in the process, you understand?"
It might have been a low blow, but it worked. Steve's gaze snapped to Clint's face.
"You with me, Steve?" Clint questioned, unconvinced. "You better be because we're just about out of time and my leg is still stuck," he summarized.
Steve glanced down at the archer's lap and his eyes got wider at the sight of the water. It was nearly to their shoulders now. And it was colder than anything Clint had ever felt before.
"C-come on," Clint urged, teeth chattering. "You c-can do this, C-cap."
Steve stared at the water for another second before he suddenly burst into motion. He grabbed Clint under the armpits and tried tugging on him.
"Ow, C-cap, stop! Th-that's not going to work," Clint told him. "I'm s-stuck!"
Steve licked his lips and reluctantly released the marksman. Clint didn't like the way Steve's pupils were so big, or the way the soldier's movements were jerky. Gritting his teeth, Clint gestured to the door panel pinning him.
"Here's th-the problem, C-cap," he said, lifting his chin above the cold water.
Steve's hands floated below the surface of the water, his face blank and distant. Uncomprehending. Cursing inside his head, Clint stretched his arm, fighting his way through the water to touch Steve's shoulder.
"S-steve, I need you to s-snap out of whatever you're s-seeing in your head. I c-could really use your h-help," Clint said. "All you h-have to do is-"
The passenger side window abruptly splintered and the water greedily tumbled into the car. Squeezing his eyes shut, Clint gagged as the liquid swept into his open mouth and slid down his throat. Without his vision, the water suddenly seemed colder, stronger, almost malevolent.
Steve reflexively whipped his head away from the spray. But the torrent of water was impossible to ignore. It engulfed the interior of the car, reaching up to the ceiling now. Panic flashed through him, originating in his heart, shooting up to his brain and spreading from there to his limbs. With a wild urgency pounding through his veins, he shifted until his legs were positioned over the warped metal. He kicked out at it viciously. But the water slowed his motions, stealing his momentum and sapping his strength.
Finding the door impossible to move, Steve glanced through the dim, subaquatic light at Clint's face. The marksman's skin was so pale, it seemed almost to gleam. His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted, allowing water to swirl into his mouth. And Steve knew remembered what it felt like to be invaded by the freezing water, have it fill his mouth and stomach and lungs, to fill every crack, crevice and empty place in him until all that was left was the cold and the ice.
With a snarl of defiance, he lunged over Clint, fingers scrabbling against the crushed door. But his hands couldn't find purchase against the submerged metal. His pulse throbbing in his ears, he tore at the panel, fingers nearly numb with the cold. Clint's arms drifted lifelessly next to him, white hands bumping against his chest as the water moved them. With a yell that stole his remaining air, Steve threw his weight behind his next attempt, forcing every inch of serum enhanced muscle into moving that piece of metal. Unable to withstand the onslaught of sheer power, the metal yielded, inching back far enough for Steve to seize Clint's limp body and rip him from the seat.
Lungs screaming and eyes burning, Steve clutched the archer close as he lunged out of the sunken car. A jagged piece of glass, stubbornly jammed into the windshield frame, snagged in the soldier's arm as he moved past. It tore through his jacket and bit into his flesh, splitting the skin open. Unable to feel anything but the inescapable desperation to save his friend and himself, Steve took no notice of the new injury.
After clearing the interior of the vehicle, Steve became disoriented by the undulating shadows. He floated suspended in the water, unsure which way to swim. His body was shivering, fighting to generate warmth in the frigid temperature, and he found it difficult to concentrate. Blindly, he struck out in a random direction. Swirls of red trailed him as his blood tainted the water. Like a cruel tyrant clinging to power, the water dragged at his limbs. As he struggled, the water seemed to become more enraged, clawing at him, pulling him to the bottom of the lake. Panic surged in Steve's mind, cutting through his brain like electricity. While holding Clint tightly to his chest with one hand, he fumbled his other arm out of his jacket sleeve. Then he switched hands and repeated the process. The leather coat fell to the floor of the lake, blending with the rocks and mud. Free of the excess weight, Steve kicked upwards, hoping to reach the surface.
Black spots crowded his vision. His heartbeat thundered around his head, each dull thud reminding him of fate's countdown he was fighting against. There was a painful pressure in his chest, increasing with every second he spent submerged, shoving at his rib cage like a wild animal straining for freedom. With a forceful show of willpower, he pushed through the freezing liquid, his body slicing through the water.
Finally, he broke through to the sweet, clean air. Greedily, he sucked oxygen in an uncontrolled fever of relief. Waves crashed against him as he bobbed in the water, sloshing into his gaping mouth. He choked on the liquid, spitting it back up. Snowflakes settled on his eyelashes and he blinked them away as he scanned his surroundings for the shore. Through the prism of falling white, he was able to glimpse the bank ahead of him, to the left. Relieved, he propelled himself tiredly across the lake toward the dry land.
Once, Clint slipped in his aching arms and Steve's heart stopped as the archer's head jolted a couple inches closer to the water level. Instantly, he readjusted his hold on the other man, tightening his grip. His trembling limbs were difficult to control, the numbness hindering his efforts to swim. But he refused to stop. Pushing through his physical discomfort and weaknesses, he made it to the shore. Wearily, he shoved Clint onto the bank before collapsing next to him, the lower half of his legs still in the water.
After he had taken a few deep breaths, heavenly despite how the cold air stabbed his abused lungs, Steve rolled onto his side and managed a small chuckle of relief. The laugh died abruptly in his throat when he realized his friend wasn't breathing. Horrified, Steve scrambled the rest of the way out of the water and knelt beside Clint. The other man's eyes were closed, ice crystals forming on his lashes. His skin was a light shade of blue, contrasted by scattered thin lines of red where the glass had cut into it, and his body was motionless. For one terror filled moment, Steve sat immobile, unable to think past the grief.
It was happening again. He had lost a friend again. The water had taken everything from him again. Again, he wasn't strong enough. Wasn't fast enough. Wasn't enough to save his friend. He was alone again. With nothing but a blue corpse on the hard ground beneath his freezing body. Something tore from his diaphragm, a garbled sound that might have been an apology. Might have been Clint's name. Or maybe it was just the strangled cry it came out as. Reverently, Steve turned the marksman over onto his back. Water dribbled out Clint's slack mouth, sliding down the curve of his jaw and falling onto the collar of his shirt. Sinking back on his heels, Steve sighed despondently, staring down at the unresponsive archer. Guilt suddenly enveloped the captain and he bowed his head, running his fingers through his hair and bending his body over Clint's still torso. Unthinking, he dropped his hands, allowing gravity to take them where it would. His knuckles brushed Clint's neck and Steve imagined he felt a weak heartbeat against his fingers.
Despite knowing how impossible it was, despite Clint's pale skin and motionless chest, despite the fact that it was probably only wishful thinking and he was just going to be crushed when he had proof of what he already knew, Steve still repositioned his hand, nervously placing two fingers against Clint's carotid artery. The skin beneath his touch was clammy. But after several seconds, it moved faintly under him. It was enough to jolt Steve into frenzied action.
He leaned forward and closed his mouth over Clint's, using one hand to pinch the archer's nose shut. After giving the agent two breaths, he pulled back and checked the marksman's chest. It was in the same place it had been before. Frowning, Steve bent over and pushed more air into Clint's mouth. But there was no response from Barton. A seed of doubt sprang in Steve's mind and he checked Clint's pulse again. No heartbeat fluttered against his questing touch.
"No," Steve whispered. "No, no. Come on, Clint."
Moving back to allow himself room to work, Steve's knees knocked into the archer's body, turning it slightly. A small trickle of water spilled out of Clint's slack lips. Noticing this, Steve rolled the man further onto his side. After the last drops of liquid came out, Steve placed Clint flat on his back before attempting to breathe for him again. When he did, Clint's chest rose fractionally. Face set in determination, Steve interlocked his hands and centered them on Clint's sternum. Counting out the compressions, he rhythmically pushed up and down. After thirty beats, he paused to force two hard breaths down Clint's throat. Then he returned to the chest compressions.
One, two, three.
He was eight years old and staring at his father's simple grave in the church cemetery.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.
He was sixteen and holding his mother's hand as her eyes closed for the final time.
Breath, breath.
He was twenty-six and screaming as Bucky fell.
Six, seven, eight.
He was twenty-seven and drowning in the arctic.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen.
He was ninety-two and waking up to find himself alone.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.
Snap!
Clint surged up, lake water and bile tumbling from his mouth. Steve hoisted him higher, rotating him to the side to ease the vomiting process. Clint coughed, puked, sputtered and choked. And Steve held him through it, supporting his back, bracing his shoulders. Finally, the spasm ceased, leaving Clint gasping, blinking and shivering. Steve dragged the archer to himself, clamping his arms around his friend and basking in the amazement of Clint being alive.
"Urgh…" Clint groaned, shifting slightly as pain in his rib cage protested the embrace.
Steve maintained the connection only a moment longer before he pulled back, grinning uncontrollably. "Welcome back, Clint."
Slightly confused and too out of breath to talk, Clint settled for merely nodding. Steve clapped a hand against his shoulder, facial expression unusually vulnerable, telegraphing his earlier desperation beneath his current relief and happiness. Woozy and weak, Clint leaned his weight into Steve's arm, allowing the soldier to carry his weight. His head hurt. His lungs hurt. His ribs hurt. But he was still alive. Something for which he owed Steve. Clint struggled to sit up straighter, attempting to make eye contact with his rescuer.
"Th-tha-thanks," he managed to pant before another coughing fit overtook him. His entire frame shook from the force of it as his lungs emptied out the remaining water. Strings of saliva stuck to his gums, even as he tried to spit it all out. Steve quietly supported him. Once he finished hacking, Clint found his body still trembling and it was then he realized he was freezing.
"C-cold," he stuttered.
Steve's eyebrows creased in worry and he glanced around for any helpful items. But there were only rocks, sticks and dead leaves, frozen in muddy piles scattered throughout the surrounding area. His own clothes were soaked through, leaving him with nothing to offer the agent. Realizing how helpless he was, Steve reached into his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and was dismayed, but not surprised, to find the device ruined from the trip underwater. He turned to Clint apologetically.
"I know. I'm sorry," he murmured.
Clint frowned when he saw the shivers running through the captain's body. "S-so I g-guess we're both s-screwed, huh?"
Steve shook his head. "Don't say that."
"Don't s-say s-screwed cuz iza bad word or don't s-say it cuz you think we're gonna s-survive?" Clint questioned impishly, words slightly slurred.
"Both," Steve replied, smiling self-deprecatingly.
Clint huffed a small noise of amusement, then fell silent as he concentrated on breathing, taking big breaths to make up for when he hadn't been able to breathe at all. Steve sat next to him, shuddering in the cold air. Without conscious thought, Clint tilted his body into Steve's, using the captain to prop himself up. Steve simply shifted to accommodate him. The sky overhead began to prepare for the early winter twilight, clouds drifting north, taking the snow with them.
The pounding headache in Clint's skull didn't stop him from assessing their bleak situation. He and Steve were both sopping wet with freezing water, sitting in the open in the freezing temperature, with night fast approaching, and no way to contact help. He knew the logical thing to do would be to stand up and get moving. To start walking through the trees behind them, hike their way up the hill to the highway, try and wave down a car, and hope a good samaritan would be willing to give them a ride, or at the very least, allow them to borrow a phone. They had to get their blood flowing. It was their only hope to avoid hypothermia.
But he was so tired. There was a steady pressure squeezing his brain, while the grinding in his chest whenever he moved his torso assured him of a broken rib, and the pins and needles in his nearly numb limbs were impossible to ignore. And the landscape was so peaceful. The lake was picturesque, blue water crowned with lapping white waves, the trees on the opposite bank coated in fresh snow. A couple of birds twittered around them, occasionally taking brief flights from one shore to the other. The only thing that didn't seem to belong in the charming scene was the super soldier shaking beside him. Clint opened his mouth but Steve spoke before he could.
"You okay?"
Clint considered the question. "Yeah," he finally decided. "You?"
Steve turned his face to the water and was silent for so long, Clint wasn't sure he would answer. Then, Steve inhaled and Clint perked up to listen to Steve's words. And instead heard the distinct growl of Iron Man's thrusters. The red and gold armor streaked through the sky before coming to a stop in front of them.
"What do we have here? A capsicle and a hawksicle?" Tony hovered a few feet off the ground.
"Stark!" Steve exclaimed happily.
"You two can't be left alone. We let you go off by yourselves for a single afternoon and look what happens," Tony tutted in faux disapproval.
"How did you find us?" Clint questioned.
"Oh, it was easy after Jarvis gave me a heart attack with that amateur video footage of your car plunging off the side of a bridge," Tony informed them curtly.
"What?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, apparently some driver pulled out their phone and caught your little accident on film. The video's trending now, if you're interested. The quality is crap but it's still pretty exciting," Tony said, dropping down next to them.
"No thanks. I already got the full experience. I don't think I need the replay," Clint declined.
"Tony, get Clint back to the Tower. He's freezing." Steve clumsily got to his feet and reached down to offer his hand to the archer.
Clint frowned. "We both are."
Steve grabbed the agent's forearm and hauled him upright. Still a bit unsteady himself, Steve nearly toppled both of them over. Tony quickly rescued them with a stabilizing grip on their arms.
"Easy there, Frosty. I'll have you both by the fireside in no time," Tony promised. "Natasha's on her way. She's got the car and why the hell is there blood on Clint's chest?" he finished in a rush, noticing the crimson spilled across the front of Clint's uniform.
Clint and Steve exchanged surprised glances before looking down at where Tony had mentioned.
"I don't remember getting hurt…" Clint muttered.
Steve reached out an arm to inspect the staining red and Tony caught his wrist.
"That's because you aren't the one who's injured, Birdman," he said, glaring accusingly at Steve from behind his mask.
"I don't remember getting hurt either," Steve protested.
"Well, this," Tony lightly shook the arm with the four inch gash in it, "Doesn't seem like the type of thing that's easy to ignore."
"I had more important things on my mind," Steve defended, reclaiming his arm.
Clint snatched it away the second he did, studying the cut for himself. Steve gave a long-suffering sigh and didn't pull away.
"I guess you were just trying to match your face?" Tony said sarcastically, gesturing to the many scrapes littering the captain's exposed skin.
"Why don't you survive a car crash and see how pretty you look?" Clint grumbled, squinting through his headache to assess the damage to Steve's arm.
"It's fine," Steve assured him.
"I think I'd prefer to let the medical professionals determine that," Tony cut in. "You two are both getting a thorough check-up when we get back to the Tower."
Clint groaned and it was only Steve's old-fashioned manners that kept him from doing the same.
"Please tell me Dr. Gamard is on vacation," Clint begged.
"What's wrong with Gamard?" Tony queried.
"You might as well call him Dr. 'Can't Keep my Hands to Myself'," Clint retorted.
"He's a doctor. He's supposed to examine his patients," Tony defended his employee.
Clint crossed his arms. "Have you seen the way he 'examines' Cap?"
Steve's cheeks flushed in embarrassment "I'd rather avoid another encounter with him, if it's all the same to you, Stark."
Tony sniffed indignantly. "You two are overreacting. I think you're just jealous you don't have your own personal medical staff."
"That's because you insist we use yours," Clint pointed out.
"Hey, what do you know? Natasha's here." Tony quickly changed the subject. "Let's get going, gentlemen. Who would like to be the first to board the Iron Man Express?"
"You go ahead," Steve said to Clint.
"You look like you're about to collapse," Clint argued.
"I'm not the one who lost consciousness," Steve countered.
"Oh no. Tell me you didn't kiss him," Tony interrupted.
Clint and Steve rolled their eyes at him.
"Ha! You did, didn't you?" Tony pressed gleefully. "So, Clint, how does it feel to be one of the few people in history who can honestly say they've been kissed by Captain America?"
"Actually, I slept through it," Clint humored the teasing scientist.
Tony winced. "Yikes, Cap. Looks like you need to up your game."
Steve smiled indulgently at Tony's antics before reminding him of the very real threat of hypothermia and the even greater threat of keeping Natasha waiting.