Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the October 1st Whumptober prompt: stabbed.
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Struck Through by luvsanime02
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Clint Barton can't make a fist with his right hand anymore.
Sure, most people would consider getting stabbed in the hand preferable to, say, getting stabbed in the gut.
To be honest, Clint would have preferred the gut if he'd been offered a choice beforehand.
As it is, he has too much muscle damage to repair completely, even with all of Tony's money and modern medical ingenuity. Clint can't even make a proper fist anymore, because the knife that stabbed through his hand severed too many important parts of him.
At least the scar is going to end up being kind of impressive. It had better be, considering that this relatively small wound is what has finally ended Hawkeye's career.
Clint's not the only Hawkeye anymore, of course. Kate Bishop is doing her own thing. Clint doesn't want her trying to fill his shoes full-time, though. Clint doesn't want Kate to go on assassination missions that leave her hollowed out inside and too tired to even sleep. Clint doesn't want to see Kate's fierceness turn brittle and breakable.
He doesn't want her to end up like him.
That's what Clint's worrying about the most right now. Not the hours and days and weeks of physical therapy still ahead of him, hoping to regain as much mobility in his hand as possible. Not how Clint can try and try as much as he wants, but he'll never have enough strength in his hand again to wield a bow.
No, he's more worried about how leaving the Avengers is going to affect Kate Bishop's life. Maybe Nat is right when she calls his priorities messed up.
Is Clint going to have to leave the Avengers now? True, he can't be Hawkeye anymore, but he could-
He could still be someone. Right?
Maybe. Maybe not.
One lucky hit, and this is the end. Of what, Clint isn't too sure just yet, but he knows that it's an end, and he feels something within him shift irrevocably. He's useless now, isn't he. When it'll matter, when his friends' lives are at stake in the future, he'll be useless.
Unless he finds some other way to be useful. Clint doesn't know how he'll go about that right now, but surely, he can figure something out eventually.
Once again, Clint struggles to curl the fingers of his right hand inward. His pinkie twitches, and that's all. Right.
He's fine. He'll be fine. Maybe.
Maybe not.