A/N: Sadness Ahead! and it's a LONG one!
Shout Outs: To those wonderful readers I've discovered who gave me lovely shout outs on their own stories and profile pages. You guys are awesome!
Chapter 7 –Rally—
Only Avengers were allowed in the hospital room. That was a stipulation from years before when New York General became the fall ground of many injured heroes. As most had no family to speak of, the hospital staff had to devise a way to keep the chaos controlled, the right parties in the room, and the wrong ones out. Back then groups of world defenders were only loosely tied together by friendships, brotherhoods, or common interests. When one person fell, it became nearly impossible to be at their bedside. In a way, New York General had a hand on forming every collective superhero squad in the world. Their example passed to the hands of many other mutant or powered beings across the globe. If you wanted to see Spider-Man, you had to show an Avengers card. Wolverine? X-Men I.D., please, and so on. Even loosely knit pockets of vigilantes began to band together, making themselves stronger, on the precaution of having the ability to take care of one another should the worst happen.
Hospitals had a policy of discretion when it came to all heroes, but especially to the Avengers. Keeping the press out became more and more of a challenge the higher the profile of Earth defender. It wasn't easy hiding the fact that almost every Avenger was off duty and only Vision was manning the Mansion.
Spider-Man leaned in a coveted corner of the wall, just above T'Challa's head. The wall crawler made it a little easier on the general small space to stay up and out of everyone's way. Thor leaned on the window sill next to Panther. Bruce sat in one of the few chairs with Steve standing above him and Pym in the second chair. Natasha was beside Clint's bed, her hand stroking the little patch of skin not covered in electrodes, tubes, and wires. Tony sat on the floor on Clint's opposite side. He hadn't moved or spoken since he took the spot.
Their heads swiveled to the door as Dr. Castillo walked in. She smiled a little at them, then turned and shut the door. "Hello, everyone."
Steve, always the leader in times such as this, leaned forward and shook her hand. "Dr. Castillo. I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but…"
She waved her hand. "I know, Steve. I've been down this road with your lot a few times. It never gets an easier on me either. As long as I've been your doctor, I think in some way we are friends. I don't like what I'm going to have to say to you."
Steve retracted his hand. He clasped both behind his back tight enough to let the fingers go numb. He thought he'd prepared himself for the worst. The entire room seemed to take a collective breath all at once.
Castillo never minced words, or let things settle in easy. She was an expert on superhuman physiology but occasionally dropped out of her realm to deal with the mere normal humans she considered worth her time. Clint Barton had been her patient for years. She'd been made aware of his brain tumor, but little beside that, and had no knowledge of its progression, until he appeared in her hospital ward hours before. Banner dropped in with Nightcrawler's help, and issued orders like the trained neurosurgeon he was. He would have scrubbed in on Clint's emergency treatment too, if Castillo let him. But she could see at once he was too emotional to be trusted with something as delicate as brain surgery.
"The first thing I want to ask is how much everyone already knows about Clint's condition." Castillo started with. She'd been around the archer long enough to know his propensity to hide the worst of his ails. Even she'd been shocked when the MRI showed his diffuse metastatic cancer.
Pym answered. "Meningioma grade 2. Took his vision out almost two months ago. He said it's been in there a while. I found," Pym stood, and handed over the bag he'd brought with him from the Mansion. "these in his car. Refill slip indicates he's been taking them but not regularly. Anti-epileptics, hypertensives—"
Castillo nodded, took the bag with a sad smile, and set it aside. "Yes. That's right. Has he told you anything else?"
Natasha shrugged. "What else is there to tell? When are you going to say he's waking up? Why did you put him in a coma?"
"Tasha…" Bruce whispered.
Her head spun toward him, red hair swaying around her shoulders. "What?! What use is all this lead in? Every minute we waste here, Clint risks missing his chance at the cure."
"He told me, doctor." Bruce admitted. He sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. If he didn't Hulk out by the end of the day, he'd be shocked.
"Told you what? Someone better start saying something!" She demanded.
Castillo reached over and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I want all of you to know that." She took Clint's file from under her arm and began to flip through some of the pages. She didn't exactly need to refresh the things she'd found, but it gave her a place to focus her attention that didn't include the crestfallen faces warily waiting for the ax to fall.
"Hawkeye has a grade 2 Meningioma in his frontal lobe which is working to compress the normal structures in his brain. His hearing went first, but that was missed because he already has a compensation for it. He has had four seizures that we know of, lost consciousness six times, and has been taking five prescriptions to manage the tumor growth and its side effects." She glanced up briefly over the rim of her reading glasses. Apparently many of the things she'd said they had no awareness of. Years ago Clint had given her proxy to share his in depth records with any active Avengers member. Often times he avoided her for patient care just for that reason. "I'm sorry if any of this is news to you, but this is Hawkeye we're dealing with.
With that disclaimer, she returned her focus to the file and read, "Hawkeye has Stage 4 adenocarcinoma. That's a type of invasive cancer that, we assume, began in his stomach and has since spread to his liver, small intestines, esophagus, and spleen."
"What lies are these?!" Thor cried.
Steve felt his knees about to give out. He grabbed the end of the bed to prevent falling over. Tony's head dropped into his hands as his shoulders shook.
"There has to be a mistake!" Peter exclaimed.
"We knew nothing of this!" T'Challa added.
Castillo let their surprise set in. She had no doubt in her mind Clint had hidden this from them. After letting them settle again, she went on. "This cancer comes and spreads fast. It's possible that the finding was incidental after discovering the melanoma in his brain."
Hank sat after handing her the bag of medication, but could do so no longer. He paced in front of Thor and T'Challa who shoved him to the side. They waited for the doctor to profess this was all some sick, twisted prank on the part of their friend. But her expression never changed.
"The reason you are here right now, is one of those cancers created a condition known as DIC or disseminated intravascular coagulopathy. This condition has caused thousands of small clots to form throughout his body and at the same time can result in massive hemorrhages. As the blood flow to Hawkeye's brain has already been put in jeopardy by the growth of the tumor, it was this location that clotted. We have attempted to dissolve it with 70% success."
She took a breath, closed the file, and raised her eyes. "One side of Clint's brain lacked adequate blood flow for forty-three minutes. At this point, 30% of it still is not adequately perfused. After running multiple tests, we've determined that part of his brain has completely lost function."
Peter lost his grip on the wall and landed on his feet. He collapsed into the corner. Hank fell back into his chair. Tony, still, rocked on the floor beside Clint's left hand and spoke to no one.
"He's brain dead. That's what you're trying to tell us? That Clint is brain dead, right?" Rogers asked.
"Some parts of his brain are still showing small signs of activity. Because of the spread of his carcinoma, the rate of growth of the meningioma in his brain, and his current loss in function, I'm sorry to say that Hawkeye's prognosis in this case very grave."
Natasha crumbled back against the wall. Her face remained as emotionless as a granite statue. A hurt, a rage she couldn't even fathom ground against her bones. "You knew about this?" She snarled at Banner.
Bruce couldn't help his nonchalance. "Should you be surprised? Clint only ever told me those things, no one else." He couldn't see Tony's face. The billionaire refused to look at anything beside the useless hands in his own lap. "If everyone knew Clint was really dying, not just going blind, he thought they might just give up on him. He wanted to give us all something to do. Find a cure. Help him. Fix him. He knew I would kill myself in the lab with Stark to do just that. That's why he told me."
His attention returned to Natasha. "He didn't know why you left. He wanted to tell you, but he couldn't. He thought he might never be able to before it was too late. He left us to find you and he left us to give Tony and Logan something to do. They couldn't cure him and if they tried too hard, they might have even found out the secret he tried so hard to hide from us. So him leaving was his way of giving all of us exactly what we needed." Bruce looked at the Captain. "For once you couldn't make up your mind. Clint knew he was off the team, Cap, he's not an idiot. He didn't even tell me he'd actually had a seizure, let alone four. He called and checked in with me the same way he called you. I tried to convince him to come home. Eventually he agreed."
Banner lastly looked at the doctor. "He was in a lot of pain from the stomach cancer. He didn't want to be in pain. He didn't want to be in a hospital. He knew he was going to die and he requested, if he had to die like this, to be at home in his own bed."
"He's still very touch and go right now. If he becomes stable enough to move, we will. I suggest taking him by a portal to minimize time but nothing too strenuous. He's not in any pain now." Castillo looked at the others. "I'm so sorry. I wish this news was different. Are there any questions you have for me?"
No one spoke. They were too absorbed in the shock to speak. Castillo stood, waiting, making sure that nothing she said held the slightest loss of clarity. Bringing news of this caliber to the ears of an Avenger was one of the rarest things she'd ever been asked to do as an expert in metahuman physiology and care. Since their inception, the Avengers had lost only three active members. Of those three, a single death resulted and that belonged to Scarlett Witch. Castillo hadn't been the expert brought in on that case. She didn't deliver the news that an Avenger had been killed. She never envied the person that held the task.
She had faced Iron Man and told him that he very likely would never move or feel any sensation from his neck down for the rest of his natural life. She was even there to patch up Clint's leg after he accidentally ended up shot trying to prevent Tony from killing himself. She witnessed the absolute, all-encompassing depression of the team when that news hit them. And then Castillo assisted in Tony Stark's remarkable recovery. This, however, was so much more. For everything the Avengers could do, for all the lives they had saved, this one life was virtually over. All they waited for now was Clint to take his final breath and leave this world for whatever lay beyond.
"Is that all, doctor?" Steve asked. She could see how desperately Captain America tried to keep it all together, for the very sake of his team. If he unraveled, the snowball effect would be catastrophic.
"Actually, Cap, there are a lot of people downstairs asking my staff too many questions. I think it might be a good idea if you said, even a few words, to them. When you're ready." Dr. Castillo touched his shoulder again as she turned for the door and slipped out.
Steve continued to absorb it all for a few moments longer. It wasn't possible and it didn't seem right that Clint had been hit so hard, so fast, and literally ripped out of their hands when a cure had been on the horizon. Now they had nothing. They couldn't even speak to him. Steve never did give him a decision either. He procrastinated like a pro and that conversation where Clint threw everything he'd ever done for the Captain right back in his face might be the last talk they ever had.
"I guess we shouldn't be surprised someone told the press." He said quietly. He pushed off the end of the bed and headed for the door. He'd talk to them himself, let the rest of the team have a chance to speak and console each other without him hovering.
As he walked out, Tony's first spoken words put a dagger through his heart.
"I never got to say goodbye."
:(:):(:):
Steve wondered what he could possibly hope to say. He'd never prepared a speech like this before, so he couldn't fall back on some old lines he'd repeated four or five times throughout the past. This was cold, raw facts that chiseled him up inside. It tore at him to know the truth, the real truth, of what Clint suffered through on his own. He once hated how bottled the Avenger kept his true problems, but after years of trying to change him, Steve had simply given up. Barton was always going to hide no matter what the others tried to say.
Steve didn't want to be the leader, not when times like this came. He wished there was someone else he could turn to and pass the buck like the others could. That reason, though, was why Steve remained the leader. No one else wanted to do the things he'd been called on to do.
"Captain?"
Steve lifted his head. Some of the nurses called him over and he approached. "Yes?"
"There's too many of them out there and too few of us in here! You've got to reign them in a bit." One of them said, three others nodded.
"We understand, sir, and all of us are just so, very, sorry one of you is a patient. But its turning into bedlam!"
Steve patted the counter with his hand. "All right, all right. I'm taking care of it now. Have they set up a press booth?"
Surprised, the nurses exchanged glances.
"Press?" One asked. "Captain America, there's no press out there."
"What do you mean? If they aren't out there then who is?"
Steve waited for the nurse to send in the buzz code to unlock the sealed door way. When it opened, he met a sight that even his wildest imagination failed to create. The turnout rivaled any Fight Night Clint ever hosted. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of beings from twelve or more known systems and some Steve didn't even recognize. There were Asgardians, Light Elves, Fallen Kree, Novas, Mutants, Metas, androids, experiments, men, women, their kids and even just normal friends. The former First Lady, Martha Bishop stood with Bill and Kate. Linnor traveled all the way from Alfheimr with King Haladarrel himself at his side and the former royals Rinon, Fehreh and Doodle. Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif represented Asgard with Veurr at their side. Most, if not every, available X-Men or mutant within a four hour distance had arrived. Theirs were the faces of the oppressed and nearly slaughtered that Clint saved during the mutant registration roundup. Out of hiding, perhaps for the first time in years, they came to see him or at least show their support.
Everyone, Steve realized with a pounding pride in his chest, had come to see the human who touched lives in a way that even Barton himself never would have anticipated. Growing up as an abused child, orphaned, living the life of a circus performer, had he any idea that laying on his death bed these legions of very different races would come together to see him off one last time?
Strong, Steve told himself his steadfast resolution. He had to be strong for them.
The crowd parted some to let him through. Bodies jostled against bodies. Very few even spoke. The minute he entered the very silence of his grave presence took away whatever life, or hope, remained in the room. He found a lone sofa in the waiting room. The three young mutants who shared it moved at once to let the Captain use it as a podium. It was time for a little truth telling. He was good at that.
"Everyone . . . I just want to thank you for coming. This, all of this, was very unexpected. I don't know what you've heard which brought all of you out, some from incredible distances, or how fast word has spread. I only just learned the full scope of what we're dealing with a few minutes ago from Dr. Castillo, whom many of you know personally. I wanted to speak to you myself. But to be honest, I had no idea it was Hawkeye's friends out here waiting. I thought it was just some reporters digging up a scoop. So, thank you all.
"Clint was diagnosed with a tumor in his brain which has since taken away his ability to see. Iron Man and Dr. Banner have been working to give him some semblance of normalcy since then, and have both made breakthroughs. Tony was a little too good at it and Clint actually took off on us for a bit. I'm sure he looked up a number of you and hid out in your stash houses. It's all right. If Clint isn't disappearing now and again, it would be strange."
A few people laughed but in general the mood was a nervous anticipation. Steve had yet to reach the root of the matter.
"A few hours ago, Hawkeye suffered a stroke. In addition to the tumor in his brain, he has stomach cancer. That has since spread. I know a lot of you probably want to see him, but right now he isn't stable enough. He's in a coma, some of his brain has started to die," Steve had to stop. His voice cracked and he closed his eyes, swallowed, and the room began to feel the weight of his pain. Finally he went on, "It's very likely he will never wake up."
Steve did not waited for the overwhelming wave of grief to hit before he continued on. If he didn't keep speaking, he might never finish. "There is still a chance for us to save him. Its small, but its something. My team and I are going to travel to the Mechlan stretch of the universe past Nowhere and appeal to an ancient race known as Sarhorns. They may have the ability to heal him, even now, and they have granted us an audience with their ruling party. I need someone to volunteer to take over Avengers Mansion in our absence."
A hundred hands went up at once. One group in particular stood out.
"Wolverine, you've helped us so much in the past, I have complete faith in you coordinating things in our stead."
Logan acknowledged the complement. "I'll gather a team. Don't worry, Cap." He nudged Gambit on his left who instantly nodded in acceptance. Most likely McCoy, Jean, and Morph would join them.
Cap had no intention when he walked out of the hospital room to go anywhere himself. He thought that traveling out of the galaxy to appeal to these Sarhorns was ridiculous now that Clint may die at any moment. But seeing the look in all those faces changed him instantly. He had to do this. He had to keep trying. Even as he picked Wolverine his mind worked out which Avengers would come and which would stay. This was the thing he excelled most at, and why the other teams looked to the Avengers to move first in all major battles.
"Is that understood? Anyone needing Avengers' assistance will coordinate with Wolverine through the Mansion. I would like other volunteers, one from the visiting realms and worlds to go with us and make this appeal on Hawkeye's behalf. He's still an Avenger, one of us. And he will be until the day he dies."
There was a small jostle between Fehreh, Rinon, Doodle, and Haladarrel as to which ruling body of Alfheimr should be allowed on such an expedition. As the eldest, Doodle won. The word of a seven-thousand-year-old elf trumped that of a 600-year-old any day. Fandral volunteered for Asgard, though Thor was chosen the likely candidate. Bog Thy of the Fallen Kree would represent his nation. Clint's employee and alien friend Bill elected himself for his realm, and on and on the nominations went. Steve had no idea how many they might fit into Peter's ship, but he was going to take as many as he could.
Kate pushed herself forward through the crowd of elves and Asgardians, Kree and mutants, until she stood in front of the Captain. She was holding Clint's old SHIELD bow.
"I thought he was mad at me." She said, and the room quieted to hear. "He wouldn't talk to me, I thought he was mad I took it, that I forced him to throw those darts only to miss. I didn't know, Cap."
She pulled the bow that she slipped across her chest off and held it up to him. "I thought he might want it back. To hold onto. Maybe it'll help remind him he needs to come back." Steve took the bow, stepped off his makeshift stage and pulled the girl into his arms. Kate wanted to be strong. She didn't want to cry in front of everyone and somehow managed to hold it all in. Sparing her a long time in his embrace, Steve pulled away, taking Clint's honored bow with him.
He didn't know where the heroes would go, but they were not going to leave the immediate area. Even those who'd come from worlds and realms away. The watch over Barton had started. It would only disperse with his death or his assured survival. Steve already made the split second decision about what the Avengers' next step was going to be. Now he had to take it.
Peter Quill broke through the group of onlookers and caught up to Steve before he passed through the locking doors. The nurses/hospital bouncers set on him almost instantly, but Steve vouched for the Guardian.
"Not getting too far without my boat, Cap." Peter told him.
Steve nodded. "Didn't intend leaving you behind. Where's the ship?"
" 'Cross town till about four seconds ago. I radioed Rocket to bring her around."
"We're leaving in five." Steve said.
"I'm with you."
They returned to Clint's room and already the Avengers were preparing to leave. Either they'd sent a spy to listen in on Steve's speech or they had arrived to the conclusion together. Thor, T'Challa, Natasha, and Pym were set to leave. Only Tony and Peter looked to be staying behind. Steve approached the end of Clint's bed and laid the old SHIELD bow along Clint's side. Somehow he hoped something would have changed, that Barton would be sitting up in bed smiling and laughing at him. The left side of Barton's face still showed the signs of his stroke. It was possible it would never repair if he woke on his own.
Peter had been following until they reached the doorway. Hospitals on Terra spooked him till this day, and he had little reason to ever be in them. He never visited friends, for he had so few on this planet to begin with. Clint was different. They'd met rather suddenly six years before when an infinity stone was lost on a world Clint just happened to be stranded on with Stark. He facilitated the rescue of both Avengers then. Stark looked appreciably better than that time they were first introduced. He wanted to say so, but couldn't. His eyes were fixated on the empty palm of Clint's hand which rested on the white hospital sheet. A hand like that reached out to him once, and he didn't take it. A frightened child watching his mother be consumed by the same cancer, Peter had run from his responsibility as a son.
The others might not have understood why Star-Lord walked over, picked up Clint's hand, and tightened his fist around it, but that didn't matter to him. As a child he couldn't help his mother survive this disease. Grown, with a ship, a crew, and a direction, Star-Lord had that ability. He held tightly onto Clint's hand.
"I'm here." He said to the unconscious body. "I'm here, Hawk, and I don't want to go, but it's goin' to save you. You hold on till then. Don't get some stupid idea about dyin'. A lot of people are out there because of you. You've got one job. Don't screw up."
The words were crass and full of emotion. Star-Lord was not the most elegant Guardian of the Galaxy, but somehow he managed to voice exactly what everyone was thinking. Squeezing Clint's hand again, as if unwilling to leave until the archer knew full well he was there, Peter let go. He slapped the back of his hand against the side of Tony's chest the Avenger couldn't feel.
"You're staying here with him, right?" It wasn't really a question.
"I'm not leaving him." Tony agreed.
"Fine. Well I've got thirty-five aliens out there ready to invade my ship and what? Four of you? What's the numbers, Cap?"
Steve looked around again. "Bruce, Natasha, Thor, and T'Challa."
"You coming?"
"I'm coming." Steve affirmed. "I owe that to him."
"Space is going to be tight, so everyone get cozy." Peter's com signaled him. He tapped the collapsed helmet pin beside his ear and listened for a moment. He confirmed something with the speaker, and looked up. "Rocket's in position. We're burning fuel and the next charge station isn't until Vega. Let's get moving."
The door was already open, but the Avengers did not expect anyone else to come in. But someone did enter. He was a tall man, rivaling Thor's height, with a sharp sloped nose that ended in an Elvish point and thin pink lips. Dark curly locks of hair were trapped beneath the hood of his blood red sweatshirt.
"I'm sorry, this room is private." Steve told him.
The gentleman's chocolate irises crossed to him with a mixture of curiosity and detachment. "That is an interesting concept. Privacy."
Star-Lord cocked his head back. "Did you take classes from Drax or something? Who are you supposed to be? Red Riding Hood or the latest boy band?"
"Neither." The man replied. He walked in a little more and glanced at the form in the bed. "He is not much to look at. All this fuss being made of him. I suppose everyone has a reason to live."
"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I just found out my brother is going to die!" Tony exclaimed. He'd been internalizing all of his rage, pain, and hate until this moment. The man had just walked into the virtual firing line of Tony's emotion.
"Is that really such a terrible thing?" the man asked him.
Iron Man reached forward, placed his arm on Star-Lord's chest, and shoved the Guardian out of his way. Tony stood only inches from the newcomer. "I don't know who the hell you think you are—"
"Tsk, tsk. You should not curse. Especially over such a place. If you knew who I was, you may not use such a language with me."
"Enlighten me then!" Tony shouted.
The man reached forward and before Tony could think to pull back. The skin of the man's hand brushed the side of the Avenger's face. A weight like the Hulk's fist dropped out of the sky and slammed Stark into the floor. He hit the tile with a crash. Quill reached down to help him, but the strange new man held out a hand and Star-Lord stopped instantly. Beneath him, Tony held his head between his palms and writhed along the floor in silent agony. Whatever the man had done, it robbed Tony of his voice.
Natasha drew her gun. T'Challa dropped into a fighting crouch. Peter clung to the ceiling again. Pym placed a hand to his expanding suit button along his belt. Bruce began to turn green. Steve poised at the foot on Clint's bed, ready to defend the dying Avenger. Only Thor seemed to understand what the others could not. Terrified, exhilarated, and even hopeful, the Asgardian pushed to the front of his friends and dropped to one knee. His cape floated down around him and settled along the floor.
"Forgive my friend. This has been a tragedy on us. We meant no harm, Sarhorn." Thor pleaded. "Stay your judging hand until our side may be made known."
Quill looked at the writhing Tony, then up at the man. "You're kiddin' me, right?"
When the Sarhorn's eyes turned to him, Peter lifted his palms in supplication and backed away another few steps. Taking Thor's advice, he stayed on his knees, too. He was not about to be branded as the guy who screwed the pooch on the meeting with the only cure they had. If this creature wanted to have all due courtesy, he was going to get precisely that. Thor motioned carefully to the others and slowly, they dropped their weapons and lowered into a similar pose. Even the Captain fell to his knees.
"Please—" Thor attempted to say, but the creature's hand raised and the Asgardian silenced at once.
"What did you do to Stark?" Star-Lord asked, ignoring the decorum he temporarily cared about.
"He asked to be enlightened. I have enlightened him." The Sarhorn replied judiciously. He crossed the line of kneeling Avengers and approached the side of Barton's bed. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned down to stare at the human. "A considerable amount of fuss generated over this soul. And you traveled so great a distance to discover a single one of our race. You thought we might come in all our glory and resurrect him." The Sarhorn straightened. "I am nothing more than a messenger. Stand."
The Avengers obeyed his order. Tony came out of his fit as swiftly as he was thrown into it. Bruce stooped down and helped him up. A wildness had come over Stark like a storm. It was like watching him emerge from a fight with his adrenaline super charged.
"I know what you are!" Tony exclaimed.
"You have been given a glimpse, yes." The Sarhorn replied. "We once fully revealed ourselves, but the weight of what we truly are weighs too heavily on the hearts of mortal men. You, Tony Stark, have a particularly hard heart."
Tony was too unstable on his feet for him to stand unassisted. Bruce held onto him. Tony leaned over and whispered into his friend's ear, "I need a pen and paper. I solved the theory of relativity. And it's not E=MC squared. It's so much more complex with the entire differential of time and space factored in to the tenth power on the energy side."
Bruce couldn't decide if Tony was being serious. For both of their good he guided the genius into a chair and forced him to sit. Tony spied a pen in the doctor's pocket, stole it out, and began writing on his own hand. Bruce stuck beside him, terrified the man had lost his mind.
Ignoring Tony's hysterics, the Sarhorn returned his attention to the others. He stood very straight, as if he might be uncomfortable in the form he had taken. The skin, perhaps too tight, pulled into flawless sheen of pearly white color, not quite albino, and not quite Caucasian but somewhere in between the two.
"A man will always plead for his own life. He will beg, describe the things he has done and those things he will one day do. Even Nero, a figure I am sure originates in your shared history, begged on his knees to be spared the fate he had to come. In the end, even he fell. A man's own confession speaks little of the truth of his character. Nero swore to right his every wrong."
Steve took half a step closer to the being. "Please, I know you didn't have the chance to speak to him, but Clint Barton is one of the—"
"That was our doing."
Steve's words choked in his throat. He glanced at Clint's body, kept functioning through electrodes, fluids, heparin, and a ventilator. Part of Clint's brain was dead, and more of it continued to die. Steve's shock returned to the Sarhorn. "You did this to him?"
"What we have done is a kindness."
"Kindness!" Bruce exclaimed before Quill could. "He's lying there dying! He's in a coma and you said that's a kindness?!"
The platitude of the Sarhorn's face never changed. "Three weeks from today he was going to have a traumatic brain aneurysm. You would have been just passed the Nova system then en route to Nowhere and the last location of my brother beyond that point. Clint Barton, this man you cherish, would have bled into his brain, and died slowly, painfully, in your arms before ever reaching the meeting you hoped would save him. Hastening the progress and allowing you these moments beside him is benevolent, yes."
At such a revelation the team had nothing to say. Did this creature possess the ability to come and go as he pleased? To quicken death in their friend? Had he the ability to create a systemic illness perpetuated, or even caused by, the cancer Clint already had?
"What are you?" Steve asked.
"Many races, nations, and creeds have different names for our beings. We predate the creation of man and have born from the whispers of the stars. Those things that tie you to the world, reality, do not constrain us. Much the opposite. Men once shouted to the skies to call for aid, and we would come. In modern times they believe, wholly believe, they must track us down." He gave Natasha a sidelong glance. "You need not have traveled so very far."
"He's telling the truth. All of it." Tony said. He had finished writing on his left arm, switched hands, and struggled using his left in an effort to drawl on the right arm.
The Sarhorn smiled at him. "To see into the heart of a man often one needs to look no farther than the company he keeps. In the dead of space, dying in your arms there might be any manner of words you could conjure so that support may be garnered in his name. Here, among both friends and enemies a broader picture is developed. What you ask is no small task. This gift is not given to anyone who asks. Why would you want to spare his life at all? He has lived a full one. Helped his scores of hopeless. What more could be asked of him? What more accomplished?"
Steve took over again. "Clint is the very best of us. To ask me what he could do with years more on his life is like trying to define all the things he's already done. I couldn't even tell you. None of us can. But we can tell you that he will not change. I know. I've tried changing him in the past. Clint's not just a good man, he's a great one. The world still needs him. Not just this world but a lot of others too." Steve motioned toward the door and the many legions of heroes waiting out there. "Hundreds of them all showed up. Don't tell me how they knew to come, I'm guessing you had something to do with that. All of them want the same thing: Clint to live."
The speech's delivery held considerable impact, though the Sarhorn's face never changed. He was as emotionless as Tony's helmet.
"Inspiring words. Another of us sent the message across the realms. We wished to understand the true hearts of those this man touched. Would they abandon him in his worst moment? Would they sense the impending death and rally to him? Most did the latter. Few could not bring themselves here for the pain weighed upon them too great. Death is such a finite thing. To cross its edge means something different to so many. Who can understand the depth of what death means to a man? Is it a release from a prison that life creates? A hell of suffering for one's past sins? Heaven?"
Tony snickered once. He couldn't help himself. The man finished writing on his second arm and having no more available skin of his own took Banner's offered left arm and used that instead. Bruce, convinced now Tony had gone crazy, was torn between trying to placate him and pleading for Clint's very life.
Tony said as he continued to write, "We all know who you are and what you're here for. Making suppositions of the superfluous understandings of modern man in comparison to the current knowledge you possess from the foundations of the universe itself is just such a juxtaposition to subject us to."
Some of his teammates looked at the Avenger, wondering what possibly happened to him.
The Sarhorn smiled. "That is true. Have you finished the seventh quadrangle, Anthony Stark?"
"I'm on the fourth. Don't take this away until the sixth, at the least, please." Tony replied.
The Sarhorn agreed. "Clint wished with everything in his being that his friends would not suffer for his sake. Pain is to be expected when a loved one dies. Not all of it can be mitigated away, though it can be lessened. It is better he not be part of what we discuss." He took his hands from behind his back and clasped them in front of his shirt. "You would have his life spared this day, but I would wish you to understand the full scope of what you expect. Saving his life may postpone the anguish of loss for now, however, your decision may change if you understand events to come. Are you ready to choose?"
"We want Clint to live." Natasha answered instantly. There existed no waiver in her voice, no doubt, no second guesses.
The Sarhorn first turned to her. "To live this day? To be cured of his ails and to return to his normal life again?"
She nodded, tears in her eyes. "All of it, yes. That's what we want. If you want something from us. If you want a trade, or—"
He waved his hand. "Nothing of the sort is ever necessary. If he lives today, then he will die seven years from now."
Natasha's body quaked as if she'd been hit by a physical blow.
"He will be thrown into a dark pit and will fall forty feet, shattering both his legs." The Sarhorn continued to her, and the rest of the team's, growing horror. "Within that pit are all manner of night's monsters. He will die there, painfully and alone. Knowing this lies before him, do you still wish that he be saved the peace he currently has?"
Her sharp gaze turned on the Sarhorn. "That's not fair."
"You wish to save a man who has fulfilled his own life. All the facts must be presented to you." The Sarhorn replied. "What is your answer?"
"Save him." She said. Seven years to have Clint back. Seven years to stop the fate that may befall him. Natasha could work with that.
Now the question fell to the next Avenger in line, Peter Parker. "These creatures do not kill outright those unfortunate enough to be trapped in their grasp. He will die slowly, as each piece of him is torn away from each other until nothing remains that could identify him."
"You can't be serious!" Parker exclaimed.
"He can't lie. None of them can lie. They aren't designed to." Tony announced.
"Save him." Parker said.
The Sarhorn's gaze fell on T'Challa. Understanding the basis of this line of reasoning now, the Panther thought of his answer already. He waited to see what more of the story may come. He could not have prepared himself for the words.
"T'Challa, you will be faced with a choice. To save the woman you love, or to save this man. If you were not blinded by your own needs you might have saved both, but you do not. It will be you they blame for his death, for your failure, and you will live the rest of your days with the shadow of his soul hovering over your own. Would you still save him now to face that future?"
Everyone privately wished for the same answer to leave T'Challa's lips that had already been produced by Natasha and Peter both. The Wakanda leader did not take his decision lightly. Affecting Clint's future alone was one thing, altering that of his own took the matter to an entirely different level. How long would he survive under the hatred of his fellow Avengers for failing to save Clint?
"Yes. I would save him now." T'Challa said after a time. His voice, though, showed the reservation surely invading his bones.
To Pym, the Sarhorn said, "Your childlike manipulation of an infinity stone creates the catalyst for which all of these events arise."
Pym, still, elected to save him.
To Thor, "Your friends believe they do honor to this man by setting in his future a time of utter horror. He will be bent beneath the oppression of a mismanaged mission. Watch the betrayal of a close friend who leaves him just swiftly enough to be Clint Barton's last sight in the world. He will suffer extreme agony before the beasts he cannot even see through the darkness of the pit tear him apart. You will be laughing when he is screaming your name, and too consumed in your own small victories to heed his cries."
Thor scrubbed his hand over his face. He had to turn away. "Such words you speak. Such evil to destroy our very future and rip from us the friend we have attempted on all of our lives to protect and you ask of us to choose the better death! I confess I cannot! I would not rather watch him die in this bed or at the hands of ravaging creatures! Neither. Neither and I cannot be forced to choose which!"
"It's not a choice." Tony said. He dropped his pen, it had run out of ink, and stepped between the others to stand in front of the Sarhorn. "You don't get to choose it. We get to live through it. Things are already in motion, aren't they? Besides, you don't make any of the decisions. You're just the messenger, right? Why did you let me see that?"
The Sarhorn shrugged. To Stark, who could now see the very essence of what the man was, the human motion seemed so bizarre.
"You must see the things you do not comprehend. Touch them, feel them, solve the problems you will never grasp. Everyone requires something different to survive in their existence, Anthony Stark. You require sight. Have you finished the seventh quadrangle?"
"I finished the twelfth." Tony admitted. He looked physically exhausted. "Save him." He added, a look of pleading desperation in his eyes.
"You must not lose that knowledge. Keep it close. It means the very survival of your entire race." The Sarhorn touched Tony's face again and, almost relieved, the Avenger waited for the swell of information to pass out of him. Releasing that strange broader understand of the universe, the opening of his eyes to worlds, information, and the truth of theory based understandings threatened to completely fry his brain cells. Much longer, and Tony thought he might just collapse. Thor caught him when his knees went weak and guided him back into a chair. Bruce placed a hand along the hanging marks of Tony's neck and carefully massaged where the pain hit him worst.
Bruce asked, "Will he have a good life? Until then, until the moment he has to die in the most horrible way any man can be asked? Will he be happy before that happens?" As he said it, some of the others felt a little guilt over not thinking about the idea themselves.
"As happy as any man in his position can be. This is not an easy life he has chosen. It is filled in loss, pain, and occasionally victory. Some of those around will live to see a thousand years pass before they meet their end. He will always be the first among you to release his soul. This does not change that. He is trapped in a mortal body and one day you must face the reality that he will die."
"But until he does…"
"He will have times of joy." The Sarhorn said.
Bruce nodded as if that was the only news that mattered to him. "I guess that's all we can hope for. Save him, then, please. Please."
Only Steve Rogers and Peter Quill remained.
Quill shrugged. "Hell, Save the guy. None of us are gonna live forever, right? I'm not gonna be the guy that rocked the boat. All this feely stuff isn't my thing."
Steve hit him and Quill folded over with an exhalation.
"I am well aware." Lastly the Sarhorn's gaze fell on the Captain of the group. He saved him for the end specifically. He had all the information he needed, and more. And still the Sarhorn felt that to understand just the type of decision they were making, Steve must have every fact. Even before the Sarhorn offered the information, Steve requested the details. Why did Clint have to die in that abandoned cave? Away from his friends, those he loved, and alone? Why was he going to suffer the cruelest of fates? Before Steve could ever agree to lose Clint's life, he must know.
The Sarhorn gave him the facts. He explained how a war was coming that would encompass every system, trillions of souls, and nearly every hero the universe had to offer. Lives were going to be lost. Friends left in the dust never to reawaken. Innocents would flee in planetary evacuations from the coming onslaught and it was there that Clint found himself. Set in the epicenter of the destruction, he rushed to the protection of twenty billion men, women, and children that could not escape their world destroyer fast enough. The evacuation was going to fail. The only thing that could save all of those lives was a single, perfect shot from the universe's one greatest marksman. Nothing convinces Clint to stop. He determined to save those souls, even knowing that what he must do would mean his own demise. T'Challa's wife and child are among those that may die without Clint's aid. Barton set out to save them. Natasha would be on that planet, trying to evacuate the masses. Saving her meant saving himself. Steve might stop him, but he will not.
"In dying, Clint Barton will spare the lives of twenty billion. This is his trade. That is the choice he will make." The Sarhorn ended.
"What if he doesn't? Why can't I go instead? Why must it be Clint?" Steve asked.
"Clint Barton will always enter that pit over you so long as he is alive. You see, I have not come to this place to save him. But to save you, Captain Steve Rogers. Understand that to save Clint today means to save yourself. To curse his future to that death that many will honor as the greatest victory this galaxy will ever know. It is also the greatest sacrifice. That sacrifice should be yours. If he is saved now from his death bed, he will take on himself the death that should be yours by right. Do you understand what I am saying?"
"I can't allow him to die for me." Steve said instantly. He felt as taught as Clint's bowstring. What sort of choices were these? Everyone wanted to save Clint, to cure him of his cancer, to bring him back to them. They accepted that he would one day die. Even Barton would understand that. What Steve could not, wholeheartedly could not, reconcile was that such a thing might simply be to prevent Steve's own life from being extinguished.
"If Clint Barton is allowed to die now, this day, it will be you who saves those people." The Sarhorn said.
"Then I'll save them. I'm not letting him do that if I can." Steve said.
"Then Clint Barton will die now."
Natasha uttered a strangled cry. The others too, could not wholly voice their own horror at the idea. After everything they'd been asked, tortured over, and discovered, how could they then ask one more thing of Steve? Their Captain was in place to make those decisions no one else could. Those that meant the very sacrifice of his friends if the need came. He chose to close the Chitauri portal, knowing Tony may not make it through and live. He nearly chose to remove Clint's arm so that he might save the archer's life. He laid on landmines and bombs, took bullets and killed men, all to save the very people he cared about. To ask the Sarhorn to save Clint Barton merely because they didn't want to face losing him just yet, was selfish of them. Clint may die with hope in his heart. He wasn't suffering any longer. He would die in his sleep and that would be it.
"No." Steve said again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry you've come this way for nothing. I won't let Clint do that. I won't ever let him fall on another sword for this team. He's done it too much for us. He's spent his entire life living for us. I will not let him be torn to pieces by animals just because I can't bear the thought of losing him now."
"Steve . . ." Tony whispered, but had nothing more to say.
"If it's supposed to be my sacrifice let it be mine. Only mine."
"You would rather take his death upon yourself, despite the seven good years you will have in the meantime? He would save all of them. You would hardly spare a quarter of that. You would sacrifice lives to spare his suffering over your own."
"I would die in a pit a thousand times to make up for what Clint's done for me, for this team, his entire life." Steve said resolutely. "And I will spend our time till then learning everything Clint's passed on to others. Maybe I will be a fraction of what he is. I might even be able to make that shot only he can. I have time to do it. No, I don't want to save him for that. I'd rather lose him now, peacefully, quietly."
The Sarhorn smiled, and nodded. "That is what we expected. I am sorry this challenge has arrived at your door, but understand that a gift of this nature must be fully understood and rationalized. There is nothing that Clint Barton can do to deserve it. There is nothing any of you can do. That is the nature of a gift. One does not pay money for it, beg for it, or steal it. A true gift is given without justification. Clint Barton is a man who would continue to use his life for the good of others, and there is much good left in him."
The ancient being's eyes closed briefly. It was then they realized he hadn't even blinked before. When they opened, he began to head for the door. "I have been summoned back again. Work rarely ceases, yet when it is good work, how can one not find pleasure in it? Your friend will live to do great things. You may tell him yourself when he awakens."
"But, you haven't even touched him!" Steve exclaimed. "And what about his future? I don't want Clint dying like that for us! I would never want that!"
The Sarhorn paused briefly by the doorway. "Clint Barton was healed before I ever entered the room. I told you, I am only a messenger, nothing more." With those stunning words, he walked out again.
Whereas the others were left in their mixture of pure misery, overwhelming relief, and distrust over his words, Star-Lord rallied at once. He chased after the being, shouting along the way to make him stop.
The Sarhorn paused, allowing Quill to stand before him.
"All that you just said in there? It's not going to happen is it? I mean, we can change it, can't we?" Peter asked desperately.
"Peter Quill, Star Lord, your father was—"
"Leave him out of this. Just tell me! We can change that. It won't happen if we know about it and stop it from happening."
The being smiled. "One's fate is never written in a stone slab. Choice is what drives it. You were given the choice of saving a man or allowing him to die. You are also given the choice to stop the events leading his death from occurring. Understand, and hear closely my words. To prevent this war from blotting out the very stars from the sky, you must make an audience with those realms who are to be affected. Alfheimr, Asgard, Blenheim, Nova . . . "
Peter searched frantically around for something to write with. He reached behind the nurse's station, where the men and women were frozen in place, perhaps since the moment the Sarhorn entered the hospital. He wrote the many names of the realms as the Sarhorn relayed them.
"You will need a representative who knows those realms well to be present. To speak to them and tell them it is time to prepare for war. You have seven Earthen years before it comes to their doors and will threaten to swallow up their entire life force."
Peter wrote as frantically as Tony had to take every word of it down. In the back of his mind he wondered how he could ever reach so many people all at once.
"Galaxies will be consumed in his need to satisfy his feeding. But his power comes not only from his being, but also from the thing which will strength to even the greatest of evils."
Peter stopped writing. The paper he wrote on crinkled into a ball in his grasp as the pen dropped, rolled, and hit the floor. He didn't need to hear the name of such a being because he already knew it. He'd already faced him and thought he'd defeated him. Worlds had died in that first battle. Billions of lives lost, galaxies were reshaped for all time.
"Galactus." Star-Lord whispered.
"He looks to control the Infinity Gauntlet." The Sarhorn said, nodding.
"He could kill everyone. Everything. He'd never stop at a few systems, he'd just blow through them all like a battering ram. If he got the Infinity Gauntlet nothing in this universe could ever stop him!" Peter could hardly believe the images his mind played out. Worlds on fire from Galactus' need to feed, consume, and destroy everything in his path. He was crazed in power and impossible to stop. Half the worlds' heroes came together so they may defeat him the first time. Many never came back from that fight.
Peter looked down at his paper, at all the people on all the worlds he must find, convince, and send off to prepare. The undertaking was massive. Seven years to complete it and to find the Infinity Gaunlet before Galactus? There wasn't enough time.
"We'll never accomplish this much. Maybe half, but these races are too spread out. There's too many places to search. It would take a universal peace conference to get even a third of these people here." Peter said looking at the Sarhorn. "This really is hopeless."
"You require a great many things. You must know where Galactus will arrive, the Black Hole of Dfusth. You need a way to contain him that will destroy the energy and mass he consumes, feeding it into a constant loop he can never escape. Tony Stark has just solved that equation. You need an audience with countless creatures who have no connection to each other or reason to ever gather." Suddenly the doors at their back flung open. Outside, the thousands who had shown up at the hospital to support Clint in his illness still stood, frozen in place.
"No reason, besides Clint Barton. Nothing, Peter Quill, is hopeless." The Sarhorn replied. "I am only a messenger. I delivered the message that Clint Barton was ill. He must be ill, near death, to warrant so many to come to see him. They must come to see him so my second message could be delivered, by you Peter Quill. There is nothing in this life done without a purpose."
The being swept his hand back, indicating the room of frozen heroes. "Go, fulfill yours."
Peter thought he'd heard everything. All the battles he'd fought, things he'd done, and friend's he'd made gave him the impression that'd he'd seen just about the craziest schemes the universe could conjure up. But this? This absolutely took the cake. His mind burst at its seems trying to wrap up all the little packages in his brain.
Clint Barton was known in every part of the universe. He'd carved a name out for himself the minute he wielded Thor's hammer in a fight against Loki and continued to establish a reputation that rivaled even Odin. He'd fought Kree, Chitauri, Shie-al, mutants, anything the planets could deign to throw at him and as a mere human he'd survived it all. When Quill first met him, it was like finding another kindred soul. That was how everyone described the archer of Midgard. Peter knew him by reputation only, a "crazy Yank from Terra who thinks a stick and a string are gonna stop a Kree warship" was how someone first described Barton. After Clint did stop that ship, and rode it into the surface of a dying world, and rescued Tony Stark, and survived until Peter happened along to save him, he finally understood why everyone held Clint Barton in such high regards.
All of those faces out there had their own Clint Barton story. All those years busting his body day in and day out culminated to this one moment. This message they all needed to hear. Clint was a catalyst at the center of an explosion.
Peter didn't realize he'd stepped into the waiting room until he was already there. He turned in place, looking for the retreating Sarhorn.
"Hey, wait! You know all of us so well, but who are you supposed to be?"
Another peculiar smile touched the Sarhorn's lips. "Many races have many names for us. You may call me Gabriel. And Peter Quill, you mother says she felt your hand in hers."
In a flash of white and blue light, the Sarhorn vanished. The doors flew shut, and the cacophony of hundreds of beings talking to one another drowned out Star-Lord's thoughts. For a time he simply stood in the center of the chaos, wondering if he ever saw the peculiar being known as the Sarhorn.
Next Time: War
HOOOOLLLLLLYYYYY Cow! What is this war? Why have I done this to myself? Please review!
