Pietro looked over his shoulder as a noise sounded behind him.
Clint was on his hands and knees on the floor next to his bed, Natasha crouched beside him. Her hand was laid on his back and he was coughing hoarsely, struggling to breathe as the coughs shook his body.
Pietro ran over to him, leaving blue strands of mist wavering momentarily in the air before they evaporated, skidding to a clumsy halt beside the archer and kneeling on his other side. The choking noises finally subsided and he swayed, collapsing to one side. He let out a quiet gasp as his left forearm and thigh hit the floor.
As he tried to get up again, Natasha detained him, pushing him down so he was lying on his side.
"Lie still for a moment." She advised, sounding oddly gentle.
He was trembling visibly, shutting his eyes and drawing in long, deep breaths. Pietro's heart twisted in a painful sympathy. After about five minutes of lying there, allowing Natasha to run her fingers through his hair, Clint opened his eyes. He pushed against the floor with his hands, sitting up onto his knees. Raising a hand to his head, he shut his eyes briefly before brushing back his hair and blinking a few times, clearing his blurred vision.
Suddenly frowning, he took his hand away from his head, turning it over and over. He flexed and clenched his fingers a couple of times.
"What's wrong?" Natasha asked anxiously.
Clint took a while to answer, looking at his hand through eyes narrowed with confusion. "I can't feel my power. Usually I can feel it, like, in my blood." He explained quietly.
Before Natasha could reply he lifted his hand and pointing it at one of the counters- which bordered the left and right walls of the room. Red mist gathered, shrouding his trembling fingers in glowing scarlet.
"Clint, stop." Pietro ordered, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice.
Clint drew his hand to the side slightly but it quickly flicked back, as if it was magnetized.
"I… can't." He half choked out the words.
"Control. Clint, please. Try and control it." Natasha begged, about to try and pull Clint's hand back.
"Don't touch me." Clint warned, making her freeze. "I can't stop it."
"Then what…" Pietro began; Clint cut him off.
"Run."
Pietro was about to protest but Natasha quickly ushered him up and out of the room.
Clint narrowed his eyes as the door shut, trying to regain control. His fingers trembled as red mist flew from his hand, surrounding the cabinet door. Before he could try and stop it, the door from the counter was ripped off its hinges, clattering to the floor. The scarlet encasing the motionless object dissolved, evaporating into the air.
Clint fell backwards, legs stretched out in front of him, keeping his head from hitting the floor by using his arms to prop himself up. The door opened and Pietro raced in, sliding to a stop and kneeling next to Clint.
"Are you alright?" He asked, growing afraid when Clint didn't answer immediately. "Clint?"
"Yeah… yeah, fine." Clint replied, a little out of breath.
He scrambled to his feet. Pietro steadied him as he swayed and Clint shook his head to clear his blurred vision.
"I'm never going to get it right, am I?" He muttered, sounding downcast.
"You will." Pietro encouraged. "You just… need some time."
The words felt lame on his tongue.
Clint shut his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Pietro he didn't believe that for a second. I'm just wasting his time, there's nothing he can do to help me, so why is he even trying?
The walls felt like they were closing in on him. He was suddenly aware of the fragility of the ceiling, of the floor. I have to get out of here.
He put on a burst of speed, pushing past Pietro and Natasha and racing out of the room. He ran down the corridor, turning the corner sharply before abruptly stopping and collapsing against a wall. Sliding down and falling the ground, he clutched both hands to the back of his head, his breathing fast and heavy.
Pietro sped after Clint, leaving Natasha behind. He skidded round a corner and stopped beside Clint, who was sitting with his back to the wall, both knees up in front of him. His face was hidden by his arms and he was drawing in quick, irregular breaths.
Natasha came into view and Pietro held up a hand, gesturing for silence. She seemed to understand, crouching silently next to Pietro, her worried eyes fixed on Clint. He was obviously trying to calm himself by deepening his breathing but was failing, still panting quickly.
"Clint?" Pietro quietly tested asking his name.
The archer didn't respond, shaking his head slightly and burying his face in his knees. Reaching out a hand, Pietro hesitantly laid it on Clint's back. After a few minutes, he noticed Clint's breathing begin to deepen. Clint swallowed and inhaled a couple of long breaths, blowing them out slowly.
"Are you okay?" Pietro whispered quietly.
Clint hesitated for a second before nodding.
"Was that what I think it was?" He murmured after a while, voice muffled by his arms.
"I think you might have just had an anxiety attack." Natasha replied softly, confirming his fears. "Are you hurt?" She added as Clint didn't answer.
He raised his head, taking his hands away. "No." He muttered, "I'm fine."
Out the corner of his eye, he saw Pietro cast him a dubious look. Clint sighed silently and pushed his hands against the floor, hauling himself to his feet. Pietro immediately scrambled up beside him, Natasha getting to her feet on his other side.
"Clint, are you sure y-"
"I said I'm fine." Clint interrupted Pietro, his voice sharp. Too late, he realised he was being churlish and sighed at his own stupidity. "Sorry. I didn't mean…"
"It's okay." Now it was Pietro's turn to interrupt. "Don't worry about it…" He paused, not wanting to offend Clint's pride. "Can you walk, or do you need help?"
Clint shook his head. "I got it."
He took in a silent breath and began to walk back to the medical room, surprisingly finding it easier than usual.
Please say I'm going to control it. He thought to himself. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore.