A/N: So, kind of boring, but needed.

Also, beware minor-ish time skip.

Oh, and a little something important to know. I don't know if you guys have been confused about this at all, but they live in America. It's just that it's run by a king and queen instead of a president. (Because I'm awesome like that. .)

Breakfast and Medical Attention:

~Phil~

Steve, Tony, Thor, Loki, Bruce, and I are all sitting at a large table for breakfast, Thor is on my side and Steve is across from me. Tony's in between Bruce and Steve, naturally, and Loki is next to Thor and across from Bruce. Steve breaks the long silence. "I can't believe it's been a month." Tony grabs Steve's hand, knowing they both need a little bit of comfort. I knew everyone liked – likes – Clint, but it's worse than I thought. Everyone's acting as if he were their best friend.

Tony licks his lips before speaking. "We still have a week, though, right?" Bruce nods. "Good. If he can wake up in the next week, then, he'll be fine. He'll… He'll wake up and… Uh… I don't know. Be fine?" Steve tries to smile and takes a bite of his food, but I just sit here and stare at my hands. My hands – the hands that were holding Clint when he… "He'll make it. We just gotta give him time."

My hands subconsciously ball into fists. "We've given him plenty of time." Everyone stares at me, speechless because of my obvious anger. "He's had a month. If he was going to wake up, he would be awake right now." A tear falls down my cheek and I bow my head. "What if he doesn't come back? What if he isn't strong enough? He's going to die and there's nothing... nothing I can do…" More tears roll down my cheeks and Thor and Steve simultaneously put a hand on my shoulder.

"You heard the doctor. His injuries themselves are patched up pretty well, aside from the obvious pain he'd be in if he were awake.. The doctor himself said he might wake up." Might. That's what we've been reduced to. Guesses. I hate it. I just want Clint back! "He'll make it, trust me." Steve pats my back. "Besides, he'll probably be awake tomorrow and we'll all be laughing about this." Tony tries to smile comfortingly at his boyfriends words.

"Yeah, Phil. Everything'll be fine." Tony scarfs down some more food. "It's not like there isn't any hope left. We still have a week. Seven days. It'll be fine." I nod, but we all know none of us believe it.

~Clint~

I put all of my focus into my hands and fingers. I think really hard about what I want to do and I try to close my hands. It doesn't work. I groan to myself. I'm never going to wake up at this rate. And I think I heard the doctor say that I've been unconscious for an entire month and I can't help but wonder how everyone's doing. I just wish everyone would be so down about this when they came to visit me – and everyone's visited pretty damn often.

Phil visited every day, along with Thor, obviously. Nat aimed for every other day, but she missed a few; she has places to be after all. Bruce and Loki came randomly, but frequently. Steve and Tony visited me every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Except, today's Friday and they aren't here. Is it bad if that makes me sad? Even Phil hasn't shown up and he's been coming as soon as he can in the morning.

I'd actually be kind of lonely if it weren't for the doctors coming in and out. It gets really quiet, dark, and boring when you're trapped inside your head. It was actually a little cool at first, but now? Now it's just being a pain in my ass. I can't do a damned thing about it, either. The doors squeaks open, because no one's kind enough to oil the damn thing, and I hear footsteps. I tune my ears to the noise, hoping it's Phil.

"His condition looks fairly stable, sir." I inwardly sigh. It's just my doctors again. They talk about weird medical terms, which I'll probably never understand, for at least half an hour before they finally shut up and leave. I try to focus on my hand again. My fingers feel all tingly, but I can't move them. I think harder – try harder. There's still no movement, but my fingers feel like they're loosening up a bit, which is good.

I try opening my mouth, but that doesn't work either. Can I open my eyes? Nope. I would scream my anger out at the top of my lungs if I could. I've been cooped up in my own mind for an entire month; just let me move already, damn it! I move back to my jaw, which still doesn't move. I take a deep breath and think back to my hands. My fingers twitch, so I try again. My hand collapses into an almost-fist and slowly tightens more. That's progress right there!

I focus on my other hand and it closes. I slowly open my eyes, which shut as soon as the blinding sun intrudes. I breathe and open my eyes again. I'm surrounded by white walls and I'm all alone, but I can see again. I inhale sharply as I sit up, the pain in my chest still excruciating. I gently toss the sheets off of me and I grunt in pain. I throw my legs abruptly over the edge and clutch my stomach for dear life. Damn that hurts. Whatever happened to the damn morphine?

I push myself off the bed and fall ungracefully onto the floor. I use the bed to pull me back up. "This is…" I cough into my shoulder. "Harder than I… thought it'd be." My voice is really scratchy from not using it. I carefully move one foot forward and take a step. I continue the process until I'm at the door, which I collapse onto. Turning the handle, the door swings open and I fall on my face into the hallway.

Doctors immediately rush over.

A/N: Umm… I warned you it was boring. But it really was necessary! Besides, I don't ever like stories with comas where the coma-person is just suddenly able to do everything right away. It's horribly unrealistic. :/ (This isn't THAT unrealistic, right..?)