Thanks so much to everyone who left a comment or favorited or followed this fic since I started to post it. Every comment is appreciated and loved and fed with cookies and scotch ;) My gratitude goes again to missm0neypenny for the awesome beta job and to anuna and venitinmentem for the encouragement and thinky thoughts, you all are awesome!
Thicker Than Water - Chapter 4
Clint's momentum almost takes Aaron down with him. He drops the flashlight to get a better grip on his brother as Clint goes boneless with a strangled yell.
"Shit, shit, shit," Aaron curses as he regains his footing and clutches Clint to his chest like a rag doll.
Aaron's bruised shoulders protest at the sudden movement and his headache ratchets up a notch as pain flashes through him hot and fast. He swallows it down and curses under his breath as he carefully lowers Clint to the ground and retrieves the flashlight.
One sweep of the light shows him the loose end of the bandage, hanging around Clint's knee. Without the pressure, blood has moved past the fabric and run down Clint's leg. Fuck, Aaron thinks as he rolls Clint onto his right side to have better access to the wound and puts the flashlight in his mouth to free his hands.
Aaron shucks his pack and unravels the bandage. The wound looks worse than it did before, the ragged edges red and puffy, emanating heat. Blood continues to sluggishly well out of it and Aaron sets the flashlight down beside him before he presses the slipped bandage's dressings to both injury sites. Clint moans when he feels the pressure on his leg, but apart from an attempt to fist his hands he remains motionless.
Aaron's stomach drops when he feels Clint's blood soak through the bandages a few minutes later and he forces his mind into mission mode, setting morals and emotions aside to do what's necessary. He refastens the bandage and presses harder. Clint jerks and draws in a deep breath, whimpering as he releases it. Aaron's bile rises at the pitiful sound. He's never had such problems keeping his cool in a situation like this, but then he's never been with an injured family member. He swallows his emotions and exhales slowly.
"I've got you, Clint, relax," Aaron says, his voice steady and warm as he unconsciously repeats Clint's earlier assurances back to him.
"Wha' happ'nd?" Clint asks drowsily.
"You took a nap, princess. It seems you've been bleeding for a while."
"Huh," is all Clint replies, but it quickly turns into a moan when Aaron puts yet more pressure on the wound-sites.
Aaron curses under his breath when he feels Clint's blood soak through the fabric. His mind whirrs,. Clint can't lose much more blood and there's only one solution he can think of. He bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath before he lets go of Clint's leg. Aaron rummages in his pack for his multi-tool and his other water bottle. He nearly sighs with relief when he also finds a second battlefield dressing and he places all these next to Clint, then takes off his shirt and cuts it in strips which he lays on Clint's side to keep them off the floor. Aaron ejects the magazine from his Beretta and removes two bullets. He quickly unscrews them with the help of his tool, then he pries a length of wood from a close-by support beam and lays it next to the Zippo he takes out of his pants. He unravels the useless bandage again and discards it before he douses a length of fabric with water and lays it neatly around the gaping wound in the front of Clint's leg.
He shakes his brother's shoulder and waits until glassy eyes fix on him before he says, "Clint, I'll have to cauterize the wound. It won't stop bleeding and if I don't do this, you'll bleed out. And I won't have that, not if there is anything I can do about it. Do you understand that?"
Clint nods weakly and holds his brother's gaze. Aaron smiles reassuringly then flicks on his lighter, holding the tinder into the flame and watches as the wood slowly starts to burn. He hands Clint the leather glove and watches as he raises a shaking hand to his mouth and places it between his teeth. He nods again and Aaron sprinkles the gunpowder onto the wound, then sits across Clint's legs.
He mouths, "I'm sorry," then lowers the glowing ember to Clint's thigh.
Clint's scream is muffled by the leather gag, but the stench of burning flesh and the look of agony on his brother's face threaten to turn Aaron's stomach. Clint writhes beneath him until Aaron smothers the flame with the wet cloth. Aaron removes the fabric to find that the blood flow has stopped, the skin looks angry and charred. Clint breathes heavily and is shaking slightly when Aaron helps him turn further onto his front and wets the cloth again. He upends the second bullet onto the other wound and briefly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lights the gunpowder. Clint bucks weakly, a muffled sob tears from his mouth. Aaron gags again at the stench but gives the flame the chance to do its work before he smothers it the same way he did the previous one.
He takes the glove from Clint's mouth and Clint sags, silent tears running down his cheeks.
Aaron wraps the last of his bandages around the wound when he feels his bile rise once again. His hands are shaking and the stench of burned flesh overwhelms his senses. He swallows hard and breathes deeply through his mouth until the nausea fades.
He slowly straightens and faces Clint, who is spilling the last of their water all down his chest. Aaron closes his hand around his brother's fingers and steadies them. "Here, let me help."
Clint takes a slow sip, and although the flashlight points towards his leg, Aaron can see the ghost of a smile flits across his brother's sweaty, pinched features in the faint glow that reaches Clint's face.
"Thanks. Ya did good, kiddo," Clint enthuses and Aaron smiles.
Tears silently run down Clint's cheeks by the time Aaron is done, his nerves going haywire with the multitude of pain signals and he loses himself in them for a second, his mind completely blank. The last thing Clint remembers before his world turned white hot is Aaron, his eyes pleading for understanding, saying I'm sorry.
He feels sick, but there is just nothing in him to bring up. His throat painfully dry, he reaches for the bottle of water Aaron left by his side. His hands shake so badly that he spills water all over himself, but the first sip is heavenly.
Then Aaron's hand curls around his own and he helps him steady the bottle. Clint gratefully takes a sip and it helps him focus. His leg throbs relentlessly, worse than before, but a ghost of a smile flits across his face as he looks at his brother, who is almost invisible in the faint glow.
"Thanks. Ya did good, kiddo," he breathes out through the pain and watches Aaron's rigid posture relax minimally before he has to close his eyes as a wave of pain rushes through him.
Aaron's hand closes around his shoulder; Clint blindly reaches for his brother's arm and clamps his fingers around it when the pain doesn't let up.
"I've got you, I've got you," Aaron's voice seems distant against the rushing of blood in his ears. There's a faint rustling and then something small and round is pressed into his free hand.
"Found some vicodin in my pack, I think you should take it." Clint nods and Aaron helps him sit, guides his hand to his mouth and holds a bottle to his lips to wash the pill down. "It should help take the edge off."
You being here is taking the edge off, Clint thinks, just holding on to the solid presence next to him. Aaron is silent, but his hand is warm on Clint's clammy skin, it grounds him, lends him strength.
"You're not like them," Clint mumbles.
"Not like who?" Aaron asks and there is something in his voice Clint can't pinpoint.
"Dad, Barney," Clint answers, his heart clenching at his older brother's name.
"Tell me about them, Clint," Aaron replies and now Clint can clearly identify the curiosity in his voice.
So he gathers his strength and starts talking.