Kidnapped
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was annoying Clint to no end. It really was. The first thing he was going to do when he got out of here was beat the hell out whatever guard was there with that damn leaky pipe.
It had its uses though. Every 14,000 or so drips a new guard would come. That's how he's been telling time. He guessed it was around every second it dripped, so roughly every 4 hours there'd be a guard change.
The past few days have bored him that much, yes.
He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall he was propped up against then to try relieve the god damn pressure in it. He couldn't be entirely sure but judging by the amount of guard changes and his current dehydration level he'd guess it's been a little over 3 days.
He wouldn't even mind if this happened during a mission, then at least he'd understand people taking him. Get him away from the action, throw the others off guard, but this was just stupid and he hated himself for being caught out.
He was jumped on the way back from the store late one night. Natasha and Tony had sent him out for a late night snack, and what they wanted they usually got one way or another. After leaving the store with his bag of goodies he was jumped from behind by at least two and forced into an alley way. A few seconds later, after putting up a fight, he was pricked with something and woke up in this damn cell.
It was dark but his eyes eventually adjusted. He was in a warehouse of some kind, his cell in the very corner of the the back room. He knew it was a warehouse because every time the door opened for a guard change he could see out into the large area. Whatever they were doing it was loud, it was constant, and it was definitely illegal.
"Wake up." There was a sharp rattle on the bars that had him snap his eyes open. He didn't even lift his head from the wall, instead he just turned his eyes to the southern accent. It was the man - asshole 1 - who had been here when he first woke up in this cage. Little over 5 foot, suit on, dark hair, a smug smirk that Clint couldn't wait to smack right off. Classic bad guy. Clint hated it. "Looking like shit there."
He'd bet he was. He had been in his comfortable clothes when he was asked to go out - paint stained sweat pants and an old t-shirt. Days here had them manky and smelling, and the pants weren't only paint stained anymore. Can't hold back a bladder as long as he's been here, it's just not possible.
"I still need answers."
"Told you before," Clint started, his voice horse from both lack of use and lack of water. "I have no way to get Stark's weapons."
"I once heard that all Avengers had access to them." Asshole 1 hummed curiously.
Clint sighed and closed his eyes again, bringing a hand up to rub at them. He really needed a nap.
"We'll see when they come for me." He said quietly, nuzzling the wall a little to get comfortable. "You can get up close and personal with some of then, how about that?"
"None of them know where you are!" Asshole laughed, booming and loud. Clint winced a little at it, his head was no way prepared for that. It was over dramatic, un-genuine, something was up. "I know you're all good, but come on man. There's no way"
"You know they once found me when I was in the middle of the Sahara Dessert because I missed pick up and SHIELD refused to send another?"
"I don't believe that for one second." Asshole sighed. There was a scraping sound and Clint opened his eyes to see the man pull a chair over to the bars. This was new, he never stayed like this.
"Either did I." Clint went on, shaking his head. "Thought it was a mirage until Thor gave me a hug. Never ask Thor for a hug..."
"Weapons. Now." The man pushed. He pulled his pistol from his waist band, as if that would intimidate Clint in any way. He's usually gone by now, to leave Clint stewing in his thoughts for another few hours before asking again. Something had him desperate, something needing information quickly and he seemed to be willing to get it any way he could.
Clint smirked and sat up a little straighter.
"Oh my, have my friends found me after all?"
"Shut up." He growled, his friendly demeanour gone. Clint listened a little harder and could hear the running and moving outside the room. Asshole loaded the pistol and pointing it Clint's way. "Weapons."
"Fuck you." Clint spat. He didn't have the energy to try move or defend himself, so the bullet went right into his thigh without much effort.
A scream escaped him for a moment but that's all he allowed to show. He instinctively rolled away from the wall and leaned over to grip the side of his leg. He bit hard on his bottom lip until he tasted blood. He was a little more worried about the blood gushing out of the hole in his leg though. There was no way for him to stop it if he didn't get out of here soon.
"I'll work my way up to your head until you tell me." He was too calm for someone who just shot a man. Clint worried he's actually done this before.
"There's nothing to tell." Clint ground out between his clenched teeth, eyes not leaving the man even though he so really wanted to close them. He raised the gun again and the panic in Clint's mind set in. He held his hands up in surrender. "Wait, no, really! You chose the wrong Avenger, you really did, I make all my own stuff!"
"Bull shit." The man spat, standing to kick the chair away. Clint didn't like how high the weapon was raised, but shock was slowly setting in and black was creeping around his vision.
"I've made my stuff since I was a teenager, honest! All I know is there's a weapon cache in the tower but there's no way you're getting that."
"You underestimate me."
"I underestimate no one really-"
An explosion that rocked the building cut off his sentence. He followed his instinct and rolled onto his side - covering his head with his hands in case any debris fell.
There was a commotion outside - screaming, shooting, explosions, and - Clint smiled faintly. He'd know the sound of repulsor's anywhere.
"Get the fuck up." Asshole spat before Clint felt himself being dragged to his feet. A fierce blinding pain shot up trough him when he put pressure on his right foot, but the guy wasn't giving him a chance to remove the pressure at all. A strong forearm was wrapped around his neck, slightly cutting his airflow off but really it was just enough pressure to hold him in place. Still his hands raised to try scrape the arm away. He felt the barrel of the gun held against the side of his head and the pair waited.
Being sitting for so long meant suddenly being vertical had him light headed. The black crept a lot more around his eyes and he had to blink quickly to fight it away.
He must have slipped away for a moment because next time he blinked there was a stand off. Muffled voices shouted at one another - he could feel the rumble of the guys chest behind him as he screamed instructions. When his vision cleared enough he could just make out two shaped in front of him. Tony stood in full armour, hand raised and ready to fire. To his left was Natasha, gun raised and a look in her eyes that said she was a split second away from blowing his head out. There was still muffled noise from outside, they others were still fighting.
Natasha's mouth was moving, calm and composed as she always is in these situations. Tony's was behind his mask but the bass his ears were picking up were definitely his. He shook his head quickly to try clear his hearing. It made him a little light headed but when it cleared he could hear a little bit better. Natasha was watching him closely, she needed a plan. He nodded and closed his eyes.
His right leg was throbbing horribly right now but he knew what had to be done. He took as deep a breath as he could with an arm around his throat and put his hands back on said arm for a bit of support. Pulling on his hands as best he could he braced himself and swung his right leg back to strike the mans groin with all the force he could. It worked in stunning him - the arm around Clint's throat dropping from him. The pain it caused Clint's leg had him clattering to the ground with a holler of pain. He rolled away from the man as best he could before the sound of gun shots stopped him. He waited for the pain of another bullet to hit - face down on the ground with his hands covering his head.
But the pain never came. Just the damn throbbing in his leg getting worse and worse. A moment after he assessed himself he felt hands on his shoulder. He turned swiftly and swung upwards with a fist, but Natasha was quick enough to easily dodge.
Natasha's hands were up in surrender to let him know she wasn't a threat as he took deep breaths to try calm the adrenaline down. He watched her kneel down by his side and reach out - her hand falling on his cheek to keep him focused her way.
"You're ok." He read from her lips, she was speaking slow and careful. "Never sending you out alone again."
He couldn't help but smile a little, his body starting to shake uncontrollably as the energy finally left him.
He was safe, he knew he'd be. He knew they'd save him.
Darkness crept and he let it take him away.
Being kidnapped sucked. He really needed a nap. So he took one.
