Lets hope doing one of these a day will kick my muse back into gear!
Multiple Clint ouchies
Stabbed
There was a time, when he was younger, that running up the stairs of the main circus tent to get to the back row of seats winded the ever loving crap out of Clint.
Unfit, Buck told him. No way he'd ever make it in the business like that. So the next morning he was brought on a run, then cardio training, then sword training, then archery, then run, then cardio, then sword, then archery, then...
And on and on it went until a few months later he was in top shape. Sure, most times it didn't help at all when he was young. He hated every second of it and thought that he'd never have to run this much. But he soon learned the reason they were adamant about it. Important to be in shape, sure, but it's just as important to be steady and solid using your tools during a show. Or during a late night run around where he had to play point while the others break into a mansion to keep the circus going...
That memory was floating in and out of his mind as he lay on the rooftop, sprawled on his back trying to fill his lungs with air.
It was burning him - so fucking bad - to get even the littlest bit of breath in. He had chased a rouge AIM member up to here and taken him out in hand to hand - the guy currently lay unconscious on Clint's sprawled out arm. Cap wouldn't have been impressed if he actually took the guy out permanently, even if he deserved it.
He shouldn't be this out of breath after it though. There's no way a short scuffle would have his chest heaving and his whole body aching. Sure the guy got some lucky shots in, but come on, this was ridiculous!
Getting old, Barton...
"Code 4, all clear. Status?" Steve's voice filtered through his comms.
He had to respond. Clint swallowed hard and fought back some nausea, shutting his eyes as if shutting out the world would help. Running did that when he first started, he'd have to tell Buck to stop and let him throw up wherever they were. He'd get a rap across the head for it, be told to clean it up, and after the third time he learned to keep it down instead.
How long had it been since his last mission? The Avengers had been quiet lately, maybe he hasn't been keeping himself in as good a shape as he should have been.
Voices were spinning in his head, a mixture of confirming area's were clear and status reports, someone telling someone to calm someone down, someone saying something about take-out tonight, someone calling for alcohol instead. His mind couldn't focus on it.
His mind could just focus on this fucking pain and how his right side was on fire all of a sudden. On fire but freezing cold, that couldn't be right.
Was it warm today? Maybe it was. The sun was beating down earlier, they were out on the balcony with some cards and drinks before the call came in. That'd do it then. A cool down from adrenaline on a warm day, he was just cooling down, it was ok, there was nothing going on. He was winded, he was just sweating it all off.
"Barton!" His eyes snapped open at the yell, not knowing where it came from. He was in no way able to defend himself like this.
There was no one around him, he glanced around from his prone position to see who yelled his name. But no one.
Why was he on a roof top? There was a reason. There was black creeping around his vision now, hazy, was this a dream? Real life didn't really look like this, did it?
"Status Barton!" A male voice, it was too loud, coming from his ear. His imagination? He lifted a hand and felt his ear, something small and hard was there.
A comm.
A mission.
That was it. That was the body lying on his arm right now, that made sense.
Clint pushed the man off, grunted at the effort and sat up. Fighting off the dizzy spell, fighting off the nausea, fighting to get air into his lungs, fighting off the urge to just lay back down and sleep because god damn that would be amazing right now - all of that was becoming more and more difficult.
"I'm alright." He grunted, dropping the bow from his hand to have a bit of support standing up.
His whole body protested, his side blinded his whole system a bright white as heat spread out from it. It took all Clint had not to scream out from pain.
Breathing was impossible before, but once he stood there was definitely no air getting in, it was all just escaping, like a one way valve was suddenly installed.
"Location?" Natasha. He'd know that voice anywhere, but it didn't help the panic that was taking over like it usually would.
A wave of dizziness had him looking down to try get his balance back, and he came face to face with a puddle of blood at his feet. Edges caked dry, it was there a bit of time, the centre was still somewhat fresh though - glistening.
He glanced over to the man he had taken out earlier, but there was no visible wounds on his person. Clint had taken him out with a choke, maybe the back of the guys head was bleeding? Whacked it on the way down to the ground? If it was Clint would have to help, the guy would probably die otherwise.
"Clint, location?" Natasha repeated. But Clint was busy making sure his mark was still alive. He took a step and something stung on his right side again.
Glancing down he saw a tear in his tact suit, something sticking out of it that definitely shouldn't be there.
Tentatively he touched the area around where the item was, a small cylindrical shape, a handle he thought. Clint frowned when his fingers coming away red.
He wasn't winded, this was a little bit worse than that. And just like a with a paper-cut, once you actually realise you have it then the pain hits. Man, it hit hard.
"Oh.." He muttered, the dizziness taking hold a little too much this time, sending the world tilting.
His mind was black before he even felt the impact of the rooftop.
"Some bruises, a few little grazes, looks like a broken knuckle that might be a bit of bitch..." The words were confusing Clint's mind. They were out of place in the haze, though that was slowly clearing itself now. He had to shake it off.
He knew that when he heard the voice though he had to open his eyes, because he knew it was pissed off at something. If he didn't respond, it will be worse for him in the long run. That was the only thought he was certain about right now.
After a few tries his eyelids finally responded and opened themselves up. The room he was in was definitely medical wing Tony had built. He knew by the damn ceiling fan that was making his dizzy above his head. Every damn time he woke up here it was there annoying him. Then there was pain, a dull ache deep in every part of his being. He couldn't pin point it right now, but it was there.
When his vision cleared enough to make sense of his surroundings he rolled his head to the side. It was a mistake. The dull pain turned blinding in some parts. He closed his eyes and let a whimper escape at the burst that spread throughout his body. Something happened that had him used and abused by doctors, he knew this pain.
He had to have CPR. The ribs were definitely bruised, if not broken, but not maliciously. He won't even mention the pain breathing caused right now...
"Something else as well, I think..." Natasha's voice softened somewhat from before, though the tap on the top of his head had his eyes snapping back open to see her frowning his way. "Ohh yes, that's it... A god damn knife deflating your god damn lung. What the hell, Clint?"
"I don't-" He coughed harsh, his throat feeling like he had swallowed an entire bucket of sand. The movement hurt everything, had his lungs burning and had that now familiar feeling of no oxygen getting into his system taking over. It took all he had to fight away the blackness again.
Maybe he didn't though, because he doesn't remember Natasha sitting down by the bed and taking his hand but when he next looked her way she was doing just that, and he had been sat up in the bed a little bit instead of lying flat. He lost a bit of time, he hated that feeling.
"Sorry." He mumbled, low. His throat hurt, he wouldn't be speaking for a while, comfortably at least. Although maybe he'd try if it got a smile like that from Natasha every time.
"Glad you're back, Hawk." She said quietly, her free hand moving up to stroke his hair softly. "But do that to me again and a knife will be the least of your worries."
