Trigger Warnings: Slight gore, slight body horror, Major Character injury.
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The static hum of voices was filled with grumbling motors, squealing brakes, and obnoxious car horns that seemed more like Nokia ringtones. The birds screaming from seemingly no where weren't helping any. Nothing was helping, actually. It was similar to New York in means of the insane noise pollution and the crowds, but one thing was distinctly different. Everywhere Clint turned, he was under the sun, there were no skyscrapers to shelter him here.

He kept trying to shelter his eyes with his hands as he stitched together some sort of plan to find Natasha. The only thing he knew was she was sent here, and then they lost contact with her. He didn't know why she was here-probably something with the radiation, obviously- or where to even start. Wandering around the city to get his bearings seemed good enough.

The jet lag was killing him, all he could remember from last night was falling asleep in the cab before being woken up by Bruce pulling him out by his arm. Then stumbling up some steps, Bruce muttering quickly about 'take off your shoes' and 'don't touch people with your feet' like he normally touched people with his feet or something. This morning was an even bigger blur, only being roughly woken up and being rushed down a dark flight of stairs came to mind.

Clint grit his teeth as some jackass slammed on their horn, fifteen others joining in like a pack of hungry coyotes. He turned the dial on his hearing aids a few times, trying to adapt to his environment while stumbling around half-asleep and half-dead. A little thought popped into his mind, the thought that this was a terrible mistake. This massive city with its buildings pressed flush together and total disregard for traffic laws, there was no way he was going to find Natasha.

But, he was the only one looking for her. SHIELD wasn't coming. Sure, she could probably handle whatever situation she was in herself, but that didn't mean Clint wasn't going to try to help out. Even though he usually just ended up bigger mess for her. She had spider-webs of plans all detailed out to the finest strand and intricately woven. She had back-ups for her back-ups, her disguises had disguises and Clint...Clint went in swinging and came out limping, every time. He wasn't an elite super solider spy, he was just a gutter kid with an iron will, heart of gold and some level six SHIELD advanced field training.

Even with all of Natasha's training and gadgets and tricks, nothing was going to stop a bullet. Even if Clint ignored it, Natasha messed up sometimes. There were days when they just knew this was their last run. Budapest for example; that was a tremendous futz up and it was their first 'mission' together. Of course, Clint had been sent to kill her, only his flimsy moral code had made him lower his bow and hold out his hand. Bad guys didn't have a moral code. If Natasha was down and she couldn't fight them off, there was nothing stopping the desk jockeys from stamping 'DECEASED' over her file cover and her ID number being retired.

Clint had been having dreams like that. Dreams where he was on one side of the glass and Natasha was on the other. His fists weren't strong enough to break it, and his pathetic pleas wen't unheard as he could only watch that strong Russian girl get torn down blow by blow or bullet by bullet and sometimes, arrow by arrow. Those dreams were the worst of them. Someone else in control of his body, wearing his skin to mask their horrible crimes, using his hands to kill his friends, covering them with blood. Those were the dreams that made him stay up for days and shift a little closer to whoever was on the couch next to him or pat shoulders more frequently. He just wanted some reassurance that his touches were friendly and light and welcome, or maybe it was a silent promise that he would never really hurt the ones he cares about. Not again. No matter how many dreams he had were he punched Tony in the arc reactor or shoved Steve off a roof or cussed Bruce up and down, he was never going to really hurt them. Never.

Something made Clint's chest feel tight. It wasn't a grief tight or an angry clench(despite how the sun was making his T-shirt feel like sopping wet burlap and those fucking horns wouldn't stop and his backpack just weighed a freakin' ton), it was an anxious feeling. He looked around him, trying to see what might be causing it. Of course he felt like he was being watched, there were people everywhere, but didn't make the sensation of fingers running down his back disappear. In fact, it made it a little worse. People everywhere, in every nook, cranny and alley, just people everywhere. There were men by fruit stands with thick mustaches that were blowing sour cigarette smoke, women trying to herd their children down the street, loiterers leaning against walls and making easy conversation; just too many people to pin-point whether someone was a threat or not.

Clint bit the inside of his cheek, trying combat the breath taking heat bearing down on him, the paranoia and the chaos ringing in his ears, trying to stay sane for just a few more seconds. He peeked around a few more times, just in case, and caught sight of someone familiar. Bruce was kneeling in one of the many alleys in front of a child with four other adults leaning over him with interest. Bruce pressed behind the child's ears a few times, watching as the little boy winced before mumbling something to one of the men who quickly handed him a cigarette and a lighter. Clint watched as Bruce lit it with some difficulty before drawing in a mouthful and cupping his hand over the boy's ear and blowing the smoke in.

The boy giggled before covering his ears, trying to stop the tickling. Bruce couldn't help but smile back at him, turning to the man and explaining something as Clint cautiously approached. Everything sounded dull and distant, making Clint worry that his batteries were dying before he realized he had turned the volume down.

"-about three times a day until the symptoms start clearing up." Bruce ended before following the other's eyes to Clint. The friendly, welcoming air dropped a little and the archer couldn't help but feel like he invaded something private. "Need something?" Bruce asked as he stood up, putting out the end of the cigarette with his fingers before pocketing it.

"Kinda lost." Was all Clint could think to say, slipping his hands into his back-pockets as the-presumed-family behind Bruce left. "Ear infection?" He asked, gesturing to where they had been before his well, his intrusion.

Bruce looked where he motioned before nodding, picking up his backpack and slipping it on. It was probably more comfortable than the messenger bag. "Nothing a home-remedy can't fix." He smiled at Clint, one of those tight-lipped polite smiles. Once again, Clint felt like he had done something wrong. Before, in the lab, Bruce had been so nice and conversational, out here he was...territorial. "You said you're lost?" Bruce prompted, clasping his hands in front of himself.

"Uh, well," Clint tripped over his words a little as that feeling of being watched returned. "Maybe I could just follow you." He shrugged, Bruce's eyes narrowing minutely.

"Do you have the things I gave you?" He asked and Clint nodded quickly, taking off the burden he called his backpack. He pulled out the Geiger counter and the 'marker', showing them to Bruce.

"Keep those out. We're going to need them." The scientist said, walking past Clint, back into the steady, ant-like flow of people.

Clint made a, irritated noise before following him, once again finding himself struggling to keep up with the smaller man. Bruce was at least a whole head shorter than him and little less than his weight In Clint's experience, short people were supposed to be the ones fighting to catch up with their stubby legs. But now, he felt like a bulky giant, lumbering along through a sea of people.

"I guess you [ - ] been [ - ] it, have [ - ]?" Bruce asked once Clint had managed to get close enough to (sort of) hear. The street noise was overwhelming, he could feel the honking rattling in his brain.

"Doc, you gotta look at me when you're talkin'." Clint sighed out.

"Sorry." Bruce apologized, slowing his pace so he could look at Clint. "The Geiger counter, you haven't been using it have you?"

"No, didn't even turn it on." Clint admitted.

"Not good." Bruce shook his head once before taking the counter from him and switching it on. Clint watched as the digital scale wavered, tipping here and there but never leaving the range of '1'. "You should have been marking the spots as you went. Could have saved a lot of time."

"I got a question, how do you treat radiation sickness or whatever?" Clint asked, cupping his hands around his face again as the sun seemed to get brighter.

"You don't, really. You get the radiated person away from the materials and wait." Bruce answered with a simple shrug, slowing to a stop as he adjusted a few things. "But, if they've been exposed to higher than four rems, well...nothing helps them." He said dryly, looking up at Clint. "They die in less than a week." The corner of his mouth twisted up in an apologetic smile before he looked down and carried on through the crowd.

"Yeah, but everything's good so far, it's not even over the one." Clint assured the back of Bruce's head just as the shorter man turned to say something to him-

Clint ducked on instinct, dragging Bruce down with him as the familiar 'budda budda budda' of a machine gun echoed in his ears over the yelps and screams of startled people. Bruce grabbed his wrist, staying crouched as he hurriedly led Clint behind a fruit stand made out of stacked boxes. It wasn't much for protection, but Clint realized it wasn't supposed to be a shield, it was supposed to be a hiding spot as men clad in the tell-tale drab uniform of military ran by.

"Stay here." Bruce whispered to Clint before attempting to stand, the guns growing louder.

"Hell no." Clint grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "You're not going out there without m-" He was cut off as Bruce grabbed his head, pressing his face into his chest as heavy artillery vehicles rolled by with men running beside them. That sandalwood and lavender thing must stained in Bruce's clothes. Clint looked up when Bruce lifted his head, his brown eyes scanning over the landscape for remaining soldiers as the sounds of battle grew louder.

"You're staying." Bruce said firmly without looking back down at him, getting up and running down another alley towards the fight. When the boom of a missile slammed into Clint's hearing aids, he took them out, giving himself a few seconds to adjust before following after Bruce, digging through his bag for his folded bow.

Bruce had scaled the side of a store, surprising Clint by how apparently nimble he was. Of course, Clint had a grappling hook arrow, so he didn't have to find little cracks for hand-holds. All he had to do was climb up and see Bruce with a cell phone pressed to one side of his head and binoculars on. Without his hearing aids, Clint didn't know what he was saying or who he could possibly be talking to, but the risk of losing his hearing completely was growing with every fired missile that ripped through the air.

Clint tried to see what all the sudden excitement was about. All he could see from up here was people scattering and various military vehicles trying to create a barrier in front of the market. The air suddenly fell still, leaving the archer's body still humming from the after shocks of explosions. Clint turned when Bruce suddenly gripped his shoulder, expecting him to be angry and motioning him to go back, but instead, his lips read 'look, look, look' as he pushed the binoculars into his hands. Taking them, Clint looked through the crowd of armed men hiding behind cars and higher rank officials shouting commands, trying to see what Bruce was talking about when he saw her.

Stumbling out of the market with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, a woman with a long black braid of hair approached the line of vehicles. Her arms started shaking violently and she collapsed to her knees, dry heaving a few times before inky black goo spilled all over the ground and her red dress. Clint lowered the binoculars for a second, looking down at Bruce who was hurriedly typing on his phone again. It would have been a great time to make a 'this generation and their cell phone addiction' joke, but machine gun fire made him snap his head back to the action.

"They're killing her!" Clint didn't realize he shouted before attempting to climb down the building and rush to her aid, but Bruce grabbed his arm before he could move and pointed back to the scene. The woman was laying on the red drenched pavement, staring blankly up at the sky as her blood surrounded her. Clint was about to ask what Bruce was seeing when she moved. Just a flinch, a hint of life. Then, like a possessed doll, she jerkily rose, dark skin faintly blushing green as the gushing bullet holes began to heal.

Clint turned to Bruce, his eyes wide with horror and jaw slack. All Bruce did was nod once and say 'gamma sickness'. Another around of gun fire caught their attention, turning to see that the woman was now viciously attacking the line of army men, tearing them apart as her skin turned a more sure shade of green, black veins visible from their vantage point. Bruce tapped the agent's arm before going to the grappling hook and sliding down the rope with a little too much ease. Clint didn't waste time in following him, feeling several blasts at once tear through the air and knock him off balance. Missiles were a little over kill, no?

Bruce kept checking over his shoulder for him, seeing the agent struggling to run a straight line. Clint was slowing him down, and more importantly, the agent was going to get himself killed. Taking his arm, Bruce opened his mouth to give him instructions on how to reach the next town, but only got out a little squeak as a man crashed out of a window behind Clint, wildly spinning this way and that before noticing them and freezing.

"Run." Bruce said, eyes locked behind Clint. "Run." He pushed Clint to the side, urging him to go but the stubborn ass just wouldn't. "Run!" He shoved him hard, turning just in time to see the gamma sick man tearing after them. He was showing more signs that the woman, his skin covered in dark green patches with black veins pressing against his skin, eyes glowing and glassy as he bared his bloody teeth that poked out from under his thick mustache.

Bruce stumbled back, just in time to miss him as he lunged, spared from being crushed by only a few mere inches. The Hulk sensed something in the air wasn't right, something was starting a fight with Banner and he wasn't there to show it he was the strongest. Grabbing his head, Bruce attempted to calm down and back up at the same time. Hulking out wasn't an option. There were people still packed into the city, not to mention what kind of serious shit storm could come out of mixing the Hulk and the military again.

The gamma struck man was twisting and writhing in the dirt, letting out short clipped howls of pain as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, back arching painfully off the ground. Bruce waved his hand for Clint to run, pressing himself against the back of a building for some sort of stability as the world tilted and spun, but the stubborn(stupid) agent shook his head. Eyes were on him, Bruce felt it stronger than he had been feeling it all day. He looked up just in time see another green bulging man leaning over the top of the building he was pressed against. His eyes were wide and his fingers were glowing at the tips. Jumping forward, and nearly tripping over the squirming man in his attempt escape, Bruce could only watch as one of Clint's signature purple arrows stuck solidly through the second attacker's throat.

"Come on!" Clint shouted louder than necessary over the pained and distorted howling, grabbing Bruce by the wrist and running with him through the small patch of dense forest. Bruce's pack was slamming hard against his back, and he debated dropping it just as he was lifted off the ground by the straps. "Shit!" Clint shouted, drawing another arrow to fire just as Bruce slipped out of the straps, landing roughly on the ground and scrambling backwards.

Clint didn't have time to react before the attacker hurled the heavy backpack at him. It was the one that had been writhing seconds earlier, identifiable by his mustache. Dark blood was leaking steadily out of his mouth and eyes, clouding his vision. Keeping his eyes locked on the man-beast, Bruce felt around for something sizable to throw, deciding on his phone just as the creature seemed to find Clint's scent. He threw it as hard as he could in the opposite direction, watching as the spun around and chased after the sound.

Bruce realized just how hard his heart was beating and took a deep breath in, attempting to settle himself before carefully crawling over to Clint, checking around them to make sure nothing was creeping up. He gently shook the agent, trying to uncurl him from his fetal position. Mechanically, Clint straightened out, hands protectively layered over his chest as his lips quivered out silent words. His breathing was hitched and shallow, telling Bruce that he had broken several ribs. Well, until Bruce realized the head of his arrow was poking through his chest. It had been pushed in backwards by the backpack.

"O-oh G-It's okay, stay here." Bruce said, gently patting his arm to reassure him before looking around once more, the unnerving feeling of eyes sticking all over him. "Just stay still. I-I have to get the phone to call Tony. Stay still." He gave him another few pats before standing up on adrenaline weakened legs as he went to where he had thrown his phone. The pseudo-Hulk must have went chasing after the battle since the little forest was clear of him. Bruce searched quickly for the phone, glancing up to check on Clint occasionally. He couldn't treat him out in the field like this. He couldn't pull the arrow out without risking him bleeding to death, and he couldn't leave it in without risking the same and various other things. Tony had answered his last call, so that was reassuring that he was coming, but Bruce still felt the need to stay in contact with him.

It actually felt kind of nice to have someone to call when things went sour. Some part of him was guilty for dragging him into this mess, but these people needed it. He and Tony had bounced 'what-if' ideas off each other a while ago, shortly after New York, one of those ideas had been a gamma emergency. Nations were still experimenting with it for a fall-out free weapon of destruction. Bruce's ideas were still being put to the test and his papers were still being read. The information he discovered and the research he did was deadlier than fifteen thousand Hulks. He was dangerous; mind, body, and soul.

"Crap." Bruce sighed, finding his phone crushed into a deep footprint. "Crapcrapcrapcrap." He uselessly tapped at the obliterated screen before standing up and looking back to where Clint had been. Had being the key word. It was now empty except for the backpacks. "Clint?" He called softly, looking around him for any signs of Clint having crawled off somewhere. There were a few drops of blood on the ground, but nothing else. No drag marks.

Something carried him away.