Avengers don't get into car accidents.
They don't. It just never happens. When was the last time you saw an Avenger cruising down the highway in their '64 red Corvette and someone cut them off? You haven't. It's never happened.
Expect for the human Avenger. The regular guy. Hawkeye. You might see him driving around in his crappy car or walking around the city. That's because he doesn't have a metal suit or a magic hammer to fly him around.
Like today, for example. When he and his trusted protégé, friend, ride and die, sidekick, and overall pain in his butt, Kate Bishop wanted to get out of the city for a little while and have a bit of fun. They had to drive because they can't summon a magic hammer to take them places.
But he doesn't have regular people accidents. He had bad luck. Horrible luck in fact. But he was a firm believer that nothing happened to him by accident. He had the idea that every event he went through or every person that stumbled into his life had a purpose. Everything had a reason.
So when he looked in the rear view mirror and saw the blacked out car speed up behind him, with no intention of slowing down, he knew that this wasn't going to be a run of the mill rear end.
Because Clint Barton just doesn't have accidents.
Clint returned to consciousness slowly, his senses returning one by one. He smelt the stench of burnt rubber, smoke, and the faintest waft of Kate's perfume. He heard the distant sound of sirens and the vague sounds of civilians milling around. He could feel the sticky oozing blood that dripped down his face, matting his left eye shut. Then he felt the pain. Oh God, the pain was everywhere. From the dull ache of bruises already starting to form to the sharp stab in his side with each breath he took.
He quickly took innovatory of his injuries. With eyes still closed, he gingerly touched his face right above his left eyebrow and cautiously felt the cut. He moved to his already swollen nose and hissed at the sharp pang of pain that hit him. Broken. He bit back a groan as he felt his side. One? Two? Three sprained ribs. Broken nose.
Wait. He already knew that. Concussion too? He smirked humorlessly. Of course, might as well add that to the list. At least The Avengers had a good insurance plan.
He pried his eyes open and lifted his heavy head off the steering wheel, glancing at the cracked clock on the dash board. He had only been out a couple minutes. He knew that he was going to have to move quickly. Whoever had rammed them would be back soon. He needed to get himself and Kate to safety or at least ready to fight.
KATIE!
Clint cursed. He had nearly forgotten about Kate. Darn concussion. He panicky looked over to the passenger seat and saw that his protégé was unconsciousness but breathing. She seemed generally unscathed. There were only shallow cuts on her face and arms from the shattered glass that once was the passenger window.
Clint allowed himself a sigh of relief. Clint was grateful that he had apparently taken the brute of impact. He honestly didn't know what he'd do if she had gotten hurt. He told himself that it was an irrational fear. If she was bound and determined to keep fighting crime, getting hurt was inevitable. Don't get him wrong, he was proud of her. She reminded him of himself at that age and was proud to share the name Hawkeye with her. He knew that if anyone deserved it, it was Katie.
He knew she'd be more upset about her purple tinted aviator sunglasses that sat on the dashboard, broken clean in half, then the accident itself. She wouldn't be upset, Clint thought with a smirk, she'd be downright pissed. From what he understood, they hadn't been cheap and she had them for a grand total of one week.
A shuddered breath beside him, brought Clint's wondering thoughts back into focus. Kate stirred in her seat and blinked wearily at him.
"You ok, Hawkeye?" He asked. She nodded slowly and ran her hands through her dark hair, smearing a little blood from the cuts on her hands, on the purple hairband that was now sitting crookedly on top of her head.
"I think so. How about you, Hawkeye?" Before he could respond, she blinked again harder this time, and surprise filtered over her features as if she just saw him for the first time. She scrunched up her nose. "You look horrible."
Clint huffed. "Yeah, well I don't feel much better than that." He patted her leg gently. "Com' on Katie," He slurred slightly, "we need to get out of here. Think you can move?"
"Yeah, I'm good." She replied, chiding him with a raised eyebrow reminding him of her dislike of being called 'Katie'.
Satisfied with her answer and ignoring the silent scolding, Clint painfully turned and reached into the back seat. He smiled as his hand found his trusty bow and quiver. He pulled them onto his lap and went back to retrieve Kate's. If there was anything good about their current situation, Clint thought, it was that they were originally headed to the shooting range and had both of their weapons on hand.
He slowly unfolded himself out of the car and handed Kate her bow and quiver over the top of the car. Or rather, what was left of it.
Clint cursed under his breath as he surveyed the damage. They had really did a number to it. Oh, his poor, poor, precious car. The front was completely smashed into the concrete wall that divided the lanes of traffic. The back end hadn't fared any better.
Katie spoke suddenly, softly and tilted her head towards the now stalled traffic. "Clint, we've got some company." He followed the incline of her head and cursed again, this swear much more colorful than the last. Five burley men, all in matching tracksuits, stalked towards them.
"Hey, bro." The biggest and ugliest one called out. "You think you could get away with what you did, bro?"
Kate's narrowed her eyes at him. "Why would the tracksuit Draculas try and run us off the bridge?
The tracksuit Draculas, as Clint and Kate called them, were a Russian mob that loved to drum up all kinds of trouble around the city. Clint found himself making it his personal mission to stop them in his free time. When he wasn't at his day job, that is.
"Cllliiinnnt," She drew out his name as if speaking to a child. "What did you do?"
Clint ducked his head and busied himself with his bow as her look intensified and transformed into a glare. He adjusted the quiver across his back and snapped his bow out to its full form. "Let's just say I broke up a party of theirs last week and cost them a lot of money."
Kate scowled, mirroring his actions and placed an arrow on the bow. "You went without me?" She playful whined, losing the arrow. Clint smiled as the arrow sailed through the air and hit its target, going through the side of a tracksuit mafia member who was still thirty feet out, bring him to the ground.
Gosh, she was good.
The rest of the group stopped suddenly wondering what had brought their comrade down. Taking advantage, Clint quickly loosed an arrow and sent another to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.
"Well you're here now, aren't you?"
They both ducked behind the remnants of the car as bullets rang out through the air. He watched Katie peer around the edge of the car and send another arrow off, effectively taking out another member.
"Yeah, but this isn't any fun. We're already taken three down in, what? Two seconds?"
Clint's injured side protested as he loosed another arrow. It was a trick arrow that exploded as soon as it made impact with the ground making sure the three they had downed didn't get back up so quickly.
"You're never satisfied, are you?" The words lost their biting edge as Clint all but gasped them out, falling against the car, clutching at his side. A headache settled in his right above his left eye. His concussion was finally catching up with him. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the fog that was creeping around in his mind.
Kate watched him warily. "Take a breather, old man. I've got the last two." True to her words, her next two arrows easily took the remaining men out.
The sounds of bullets ceased. Now they could clearly hear the panic of the people around them trying to get out of harms way and the sirens that were getting closer. Clint decided he'd just let an ambulance take him instead of calling the Avengers. There was no reason to call them over such a minor indent. Besides, he was sure they'd see it on the 7 o'clock news.
"Hawkeye!"
Clint's eyes snapped open. He didn't remembering closing them. It was apparent by her tone and the look on her face that it wasn't the first time Kate had called his name.
"Clint, are you ok?" She leaned closer to his face, eyebrows furrowed together. "You don't look to hot."
"S'fine." He mumbled, waving her away.
She stood up, placing a hand on her hip. "Yeah, no you're not. I'm calling Cap."
Clint forced himself to his feet, ignoring his screaming muscles. He leaned his forearms on the roof his hopelessly totaled car and watched the scene around, before resting his head in his arms.
"Don't call Cap. I'll text him later."
He heard Katie snort and start to say something when she suddenly fell silent for a moment. He closed his eyes once more and grinned as she suddenly launched into a sting of expletives that even made him blush.
She had found her glasses.
They forced him to spend three days in the hospital. Which was actually less than what his normal trips lasted. Extended hospital visits usually came with territory of being the human Avenger. They had forcibly wheeled him out the front door despite his fervent claims that he could walk out on his own. They said something about avoiding lawsuits in an attempt to shut him up.
Clint suffered, not so silently, thru the taxi cab home and trudged up the steps to his apartment. He pushed open the unlocked door and saw exactly what he expected to find. Kate standing in his kitchen, purple coffee mug with a big H on it, in hand. She stood there in loose pajama shorts and an oversized tee shirt, her hair piled on top of her head. Lucky, his golden retriever, sat loyally by her side. If the bandages on her face and arms didn't tell a different story, he would have never guessed she'd been hurt.
"Oh it's just you!" She said, sounding relived. "I thought it might have been a burglar and I really didn't want to kill someone in your apartment."
He tossed her a disgruntled look as he pushed past her making his way to the couch. "If you're going intrude into my personal space, you can at least lock the front door."
He was teasing and Kate knew it. By this point she already had her own key to his apartment. So she ignored his quip and moved the coffee pot. She filled up another mug with the freshly brewed coffee and handed it to Clint after he lowered himself slowly onto the couch.
"Aww, coffee." He sighed, giving Katie a small grateful smile.
Lucky jumped onto the cushion beside him and Clint leaned over to touch foreheads with the dog. "Hey pizza dog," He said softly, "Did you miss me?" Lucky licked his nose and laid his head on Clint's lap as if to answer his question.
Clint looked at Lucky and Kate, contended for the moment. Gratitude tugged unexpectedly at his heart strings. Nothing ever happened to Clint by chance. So if these people were in his life, then it was for a reason.
Because nothing ever happened to Clint Barton by accident.