Chapter 10, wow! Thanks so much for sticking with this story and being amazing readers :D Keeping the A/N short; it is a longer chapter. Review replies at the beginning because of the way this one ends. Also, no Natasha in this chapter (sorry!) and you'll see why later. New chapter next week.
Guest: Awh, thanks so much :) Hope you enjoy!
*passes out tissues in case needed* Still don't own Marvel.
"Jesus," was the first word out of Bruce's mouth as they flew over their destination. He, along with Tony and Thor, peered out the windows of the Quinjet to look at the mass destruction below. The TV stations and reporters didn't do the scene justice. It looked as if entire towns had been picked up and dropped down repeatedly. Flashing lights of emergency personnel could be seen among the wreckage, along with the brightly colored vests of aid workers.
"Faster we get down there the better," Tony muttered. In another few minutes, the Quinjet was parked in a small safe house hangar a quarter mile or so from the main area of destruction. "Grab all of the supplies you can carry," he ordered, picking up various boxes of medical equipment. Both Bruce and Thor followed suit, walking down the ramp of the jet.
"Remember Thor, no hammer," Bruce piped up.
Thor nodded in response, remembering how the hammer would give them away even more. He doubted that he would have to use it, unless he had to fly, which was unlikely. He placed his hammer back in the jet and picked up four cases of equipment, letting the ramp close behind him.
It took them ten or so minutes to walk down to the main location where tents and medical areas were set up.
"Here with supplies!" Tony announced. Immediately five or so workers turned to him and rushed over.
"Where did you get all this stuff? Why are you here?" many of them asked. Most of the workers were too caught up in the supplies to notice who had delivered them. Those that did notice offered nods of appreciation and large smiles.
"Just looking to help out," Bruce explained, distributing pain killers, needles, bandages, and various other necessities. They began handing stuff out and taking it wherever it was needed, trying to be of service. All the while they were praying for signs of their comrades.
Some small, white tents had been set up outside for people that had been recovered from the wreckage. Ones that were well enough were treated there, while more critically wounded ones were sent to the overcrowded hospital.
"How far inland have you gone?" Thor asked, looking at where the medical tents stopped.
"Only about a mile. We haven't cleared anything past about a hundred yards from here, and we don't have enough people to go looking any further. You're welcome to take a peek if you want, see if there's anyone out there," one of the nurses brought up as she passed.
Tony elbowed Thor lightly in the ribs. "You go. Bruce and I can distribute stuff here. You're super strong, right?"
Thor cocked his head in mock annoyance.
"Right, of course you are, you're a freaking god," Tony smirked. "You see anyone trapped, you get them out and bring them here."
Thor nodded in response and stepped away from the medical tents. The debris, made up mainly of mud, broken glass, and shards of metal and wood, cracked under his heavy boots as he walked forward. Once he passed the hundred yard mark, the destruction became much worse.
He kept walking forward, turning onto the first street he came to, hoping that there was someone alive to find.
Clint watched in horror as Steve's eyes closed upon him hitting the pavement. He scrambled forward, desperate to find a pulse on Steve's neck. His bloodied fingers left stains where they touched, but he breathed a short, painful sigh of relief when he found a faint pulse.
He grimaced, sliding his legs out beneath him and joining Steve on the ground. Now that Steve was unconscious, Clint could let the pain worm its way onto his facial features. Ever since they had started walking, breathing had become much more difficult. The constant pain developed into throbbing, excruciating agony whenever he moved in the slightest. His lungs weren't taking in the oxygen they needed, which was also causing him a great deal of dizziness.
He hadn't wanted to let Steve know, the man was going through enough was it was without having to worry about Clint on the side.
Clint braced his hands against the ground, half smirking when his right hand connected with a pen. He brought it closer to his face, genuinely surprised that it hadn't been broken when the wave had hit. Clint spun it around a little in his fingers, grateful for something to take his mind off of his current predicament.
That was when he remembered the slip of paper inside his jeans pocket. The small strip of paper that he had taken from their motel, in case he ever needed to write something down.
With a grunt of pain, Clint shifted himself so that he could get the paper out of his pocket. It was still damp and dirty, but it would have to do. Clint ran the pen along the edges of the paper, shaking it a few times before the ink was released.
Clint pursed his lips, realizing what he was doing. He had thought about doing it before, but had never actually done it. That was how helpless his current situation was. With tears in his eyes and blood from his hands on the paper, Clint began to scratch shaky letters onto the parchment in front of him.
When he had finished, he neatly folded the paper and grasped it in his hands before tossing the pen to the side.
Steve still hadn't moved a muscle. His hair was dirty and bloodied and his face was a paler shade of grey than Clint had ever seen it. It was such a stark contrast to the red on his face and lips. His knee was a giant purple bulge and the gash marks on his legs hadn't healed much, even with the serum. Amid all of this, Clint knew that Steve could make it. With medical help, he'd be back on his feet in a few weeks maximum.
As Clint took another shaky half breath, he wasn't so sure about himself. If he leaned back too far, he couldn't breathe at all. He had to stay perfectly straight in order to get any air into his failing lungs. If the time came, he knew what he had to do.
That time came sooner than he thought. Crunching came his way and steadily got louder, as if someone were walking towards him. Clint quickly picked up pieces of rubble and began throwing them, making some sort of noise on the street.
The footsteps stopped for a moment, then picked up quickly in his direction. Clint kept throwing his small stones until the person turned a corner and was looking directly at him. Clint was positive that he was about to cry
Above him, in civilian clothes, looking utterly terrified, stood Thor.
He immediately crouched down next to Clint, his eyes filled with worry. If Clint could laugh, he could have. He would have yelled and screamed and cried and smiled all at the same time. What he ended up doing was breaking into a huge grin and leaning his head on Thor's shoulder.
Thor's arms immediately went around Clint's body in a gentle hug before he disengaged and looked Clint over. "We were so worried," he whispered. Clint nodded his head over to Steve and Thor's face fell even more. "Is he still…" Thor ground out, swallowing thickly.
Clint nodded and made the gesture of something hitting him over the head.
"Why do you not speak?" Thor asked worriedly. Clint pointed to his chest and made a clawing motion, to which Thor nodded. "Any idea where Natasha is?" Clint shook his head sadly. "Alright, we need to get you out of here," Thor started, standing up. "Are you alright to be moved?"
Clint shook his head a few times. He pointed to Steve instead. "You are here and awake now. I can come back for Steve in ten minutes. You need medical attention."
Clint smirked at the thought. Hell, they both needed it. But the truth that Clint had finally gotten around to accepting was that Steve had a better chance of surviving than he did. "Medical can't help me now," Clint thought, bouncing the thought around in his head until it settled.
With burning eyes, Clint pushed Thor gently so that he turned to face Steve. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked with a cracking voice. There was no way that Thor could carry both of his injured comrades at the same time.
Clint nodded again. He held his hand up to Thor, showing him the note. "Give to Natasha. She'll know what to do," he wheezed out, grimacing as his lungs tried to take in more oxygen. His shattered ribs ground and poked together.
With a shaking hand, Thor took the bloodied note and placed it carefully in his own pocket. "I will come back for you," he promised. "Ten minutes and I will be here with help." Don't die on me. That was the addition to that sentence that Thor didn't have to say in order for Clint to understand.
Thor didn't have his hammer, meaning he couldn't fly Steve to safety and then fly back. He would have to walk the entire way.
Clint blinked his eyes and reached up to grab Thor's hanging hand. "Thank you," he whispered. It may have been a trick of the light, or of his under oxygenated brain, but Clint thought he saw a tear slip out of Thor's eye. As if he knew the truth as well.
"It is an honor fighting alongside you. We have many more fights to win," Thor replied, grasping Clint's hand so hard it almost hurt. This may have been the aftermath of a tsunami, but it was still a fight nonetheless.
Clint backed up as much as he could, chest heaving as Thor got his arms under Steve. He picked him up bridal style, making sure to not let Steve's head loll backwards too far. Steve, while he stood a solid, muscly six feet tall, looked small and broken in Thor's arms. Thor checked for a pulse one more time before nodding.
"Not his fault," Clint muttered, pointing to Steve as Thor stood up fully. "Make sure he knows that." He knew that Steve would blame himself for what happened next. He would blame himself for not being conscious and forcing Clint to go first. Clint knew that Steve would have done the same thing for him in his position.
"I will, Clint," the Asgardian said, nodding his head solemnly. "Ten minutes, I promise." He stole another lingering glance at Clint, as if he were trying to memorize the way the archer looked before turning back down the way he had come. His steps were heavy and slow, given that he had to carefully navigate through rubble while also carrying an injured supersoldier.
It took two minutes for Thor to be out of sight. Clint relaxed back against the rubble just enough so that he could gasp in a few mouthfuls of air.
It took five minutes before his vision became spotty. Clint had always hated not being able to breathe. Asphyxiation and drowning were his two worst fears. He was now facing both of them.
It took seven minutes for him to start losing feeling in his body, but he still kept his eyes open. Maybe out of hope, maybe out of stubbornness. But with each shattering breath he took, more fluid filled in his lungs that he was powerless to stop.
It took nine minutes for the hope to start running out. Clint lazily counted each passing second on his fingers, forming the words with his lips.
It took ten minutes before his vision started going. Ten minutes before he started seeing the farm. He could feel the warm sun on his face and the grain in his hands. He could hear his children's laughter all around him.
It took eleven minutes for Clint to finally close his eyes. The shattered, destroyed landscape in front of him disappeared from view. His children's faces engulfed the blackness of his vision. With all his might, he prayed that his team and his family would be safe. His breaths were little more than gasps at that point, harshly moving in and out until the pain and the fluid became too much and they didn't move anymore.
It took twelve minutes for Clint to slump back against the wall and utter a final sigh. There was a pained smirk stuck on his face.
It took thirteen minutes for Clint's heart to stop sending blood to his drowning lungs.
It took fourteen minutes for Thor to return, only to realize that he had come back too late.