So sorry for the once again late update...

For a rather upset guest that reviewed a few days ago..

Sorry, but Natasha's gone. I'll admit it's out of character, but this whole thing is just me having a little fun. So, sorry you don't like this? But I won't change a drastic point in the story for one angry reviewer, who didn't even bother to log in to complain.

Anyway, think of this as a sequel to chapter 21, where I get to hurt Phillip a little more. Like I don't do that all the time.

Still fourteen.

He didn't know how to describe it, exactly. All Phillip knew is that he was already sick for almost three days, again, and vaguely that Steve was with him for something, but it usually doesn't cause him to wake up and have his chest on fire. Like, 'holy shit I can barely breathe' on fire. It felt like something was crushing him, even on his side, it just hurt and would barely let him get any of the oxygen that his lungs were screaming for, he coughed and coughing made it worse and just breathing in general made it worse. Only when he sat up in his bed could the pain lessen, even if the simple motion caused his head to pound furiously. And Phil was cold, like shivering cold, which was weird cuz he could feel the heat on his skin and it felt like something was coming out out of his ear that was pounding furiously and he felt like throwing up and everything just hurt.

"Dad!" He remembered that screaming only made everything even more terrible. Phillip didn't remember if Clint was even home but he needed someone. The red head faintly heard his door open and a pair of hands grab his wrist and his arm, they pulled away for a second before returning and started to usher him to come down to the floor.

"Jesus kid, you're hot." Steve huffed and made sure Phil didn't fall flat on his face when he came down from the ladder. The soldier kept his hands on him for balance, he didn't think that Phillip even knew his eyes were closed and he had a hand tightly pressing against his ear. "Amelia!" He yelled for his niece and gently ran a soothing hand down Phillip's back when he flinched.

Amelia came in grumbling in the doorway. "Steeve, it's three in the morning what-" She stopped herself when her eyes looked to Phillip. Gasping in breaths and clearly about to collapse in pain.

"To the car." Steve ordered simply, keeping his hands on Phil and guiding him out the door and to the elevator, Amelia right behind them. The captain had Phillip sit down and took his hand away from his ear. He faintly noticed the thick yellowish substance coating his nephew's fingers. "Hey bud, look at me." He said softly, putting a gentle hand on the back of his neck. "What's wrong?"

With much hesitance, and trying to ignore the pounding that the light from the elevator caused, the teen let his eyes open but trained them to the floor. He sucked in a large breath before sputtering. "I can't...can barely breathe...hurts." Phillip looked up at his uncle and started coughing again, feeling like hundreds of razors decided to have a bouncy castle party in his throat. The red head didn't even want to know what exactly he was hacking up. Steve squeezed his neck comfortingly and pulled him up when the doors opened again.

"It's alright kid," He soothed and had the two pile into the car. Amelia wordlessly let Phil rest his head in her lap, running a hand softly through his hair. Steve took a second to draw in a breath because no, there was no need to panic. Phil was sick all the time, it just happens to be worse tonight. He had to face that yeah, something might be very wrong, Steve didn't think Clint could take on cancer along with everything else. An irrational fear he'd always had, but if that was in their cards they'll deal with it, like everything else.

Phillip kept his eyes closed the whole ride to the hospital, nothing made the pounding in his head any better. His breathing was still shallow and he was still freezing even thought Steve told him otherwise. A large wave of nausea had him curling into his stomach when they hit a pot hole. Undoubtedly his uncle was breaking more than a few traffic laws if they were going this fast in the city. He had to cover his mouth with his hand when they hit another bump because he will not throw upon this car.

Phil supposed passing out was the next best thing.

Clint dropped everything when Steve called him in the middle of nowhere and told him what happened.

And it was always the machines that got to the archer.

Like, non-living things were made to keep living things, living. Some forced you to keep breathing, some made sure your heart didn't give out, there were some which keep your temperature steady, some can see inside of you. Clint himself was used to most of the life-saving stuff, but never will be used to seeing one of the kids hooked up to one.

Admittedly, it was just an oxygen mask and an IV, the whole thing just reminded the archer of when Phil was four. When he almost lost him. So, the kid's immune system was pretty weak, that still doesn't give the universe or whoever the right to scare his family half to death every time he coughed.

But anyhow, so far for the past few hours it was just run of the mill Lobar Pneumonia, left lung. That sure went down well when Phil found out, woke up briefly only a few hours after they got him situated in a room. He said it might've been from the flu that's going around in the high school. And of course since Phil got he had to make so much more dramatic. Clint was actually so relieved. Pneumonia was fine, he could deal with pneumonia, they have before. It'd be a rough week, it could get worse, but it was treatable.

Steady fever of 103, shallow breathing, a small amount of blood in mucus, on and off chills, and chest pain. A lot of chest pain, according to Phillip. Caused by inflammation in his lung, they called that pleurisy in doctor language. The teen was also exhausted and just weak in general, he could barely lift his head up the first few times he woke up. Doc's put him on antibiotics, but nothing was kicking in quite yet. Clint was assured many times by the nurses that it took at least fifteen hours, still worried him though. The little amount of food Phil ate only had him throwing it up again.

It was getting frustrating.

Cue the scratchy intravenous tube inserted into his arm.

They had Phillip's bed inclined so he can sit up, take some of the pressure off his chest. He could breathe a tiny bit better, but Clint insisted on him keeping the oxygen mask on for a while. They drained his ears, fever caused a rupture in the ear drum and it was flooding with pus. A clot of mucus and pus was apparently clogging up one of his lungs. He hacked up some of that every now and then, along with some blood. And that was just a joy for his chest. Still was cold, and hot at the same time. Fevers are just weird that way.

Phil kept fading in and out of consciousness. Amelia left, probably for school. It was...Tuesday? Phil went with Tuesday. Ha, she had to go to school, that was really just the one thing he could think of as a positive, 'cept for all the late work that Mark would undoubtedly make him do. He saw Clint come in the room one time, exhausted and worried and probably just scrubbed the mission he was on.

He was just so tired he barely even recognized Fury when he walked in. And a large dark man covered in leather and eye patch was sort of hard to miss. He let his eyes fall closed and settled on listening.

"Can I safely assume you're bailing on the rest of your mission in our friendly neighbor North Korea?"

"Sir, I will make it up as soon as I can."

There a pause and a sigh, some shuffling. "Screw it Barton, it's surveillance, I'll get some other punk ass rookie to deal with it. You," More shuffling, nearer to Phillip. "Deal with him."

There probably should have been some of the normal heat in his tone, but Phil couldn't detect it. Possibly, maybe it was some sort of sympathy? Contrary to popular belief, Fury is not a heartless, professional old man. He liked Clint, he was a good agent, and knew how devastated he was when Natasha died. There sure were times where Fury would've gladly cut him loose, but like he said, Clint was a good agent, and a good man. Nick saw that, and respected it. Again, he wasn't a heartless professional, and would not tear a good man away from his boy.

"Thank you, sir."

"And cut it with all the 'sirs', making me feel old."

"Yes, sir." Phil could practically hear the smirk in his father's voice. There a few footsteps and an opening and closing door, Phillip heard his father sink down on to the seats he knew were next to the bed. He sighed heavily and Phil finally forced his eyes to open, seeing him with his head in his hands.

Cue unnecessary guilt.

Phillip sighed a cleared his throat, ignoring the urge to cough more after. "I'm gonna be okay, dad." The teen assured him, voice being slightly muffled by the mask still around his head. Which was probably a good thing. Considering the way he sounded like a eighty year old, two pack a day smoker. "You should've gone."

Clint turned his head towards him. There was this flash of distress in his eyes for only a second before he blinked it away and waved his son off. "And miss all this fun?" The archer joked. "Not for the world, kid." He turned in his seat to be facing away from Phil and to be leaning back on the bed. "Don't worry about it, just surveillance. Would've been boring anyway."

The red head smiled and weakly adjusted the tube coming out of his arm. "And everyone else?"

"Don't mess with that." Clint scolded and flicked his hand away, ignoring the soft complaint of 'it itches'. His tone turned back to regular nonchalantness it usually is. "They stopped by a few hours ago when you were asleep. Amy had to leave and get her uniform."

"Oh, Sebastian Elementary uniforms." Phillip huffed and remembered the dress code for grades 1-8 before the high school banned them.

"Yes, all you guys show a mutual hatred for them." Clint chucked. "I'm sure they'll be back to bother you later."

He craned his neck to only see Phil drifting off again. A sudden chill wracked his body, successfully waking him up to start hacking up mucus. The teen pulled the mask away from his face to hang around his neck while the wet, raspy coughs kept coming. His sore chest constricted tightly and started to turn into actual pain again while his stomach had a temper tantrum. He accepted the bucket Clint retrieved for him without his noticing and promptly threw up the little he had left in his stomach. With a groan Phil flopped back on to the inclined mattress.

"I hate pneumonia." He croaked tiredly before adjusting the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose. Clint put the bucket on the table to be washed later and sat on the foot of the bed.

"Pneumonia seems to love you though." Clint sighed, grabbing another blanket out from under the bed and tossing it over Phillip's torso. He wouldn't tell him, but the kid had no skill in hiding that he was cold, still weird cuz he was still skin hot. Phil huffed a raspy laugh before letting his head drop and his eyes close. Clint gently patted his leg before returning to the position he had earlier on the chairs, hoping to maybe get some sleep himself.

"So is your nurse nice?" Abby asked nonchalantly, playing with Phil's toes from where she sat on his bed. Pete was slumped in a chair near them and Mark was next to the bed with Amelia (now successfully free of any school uniform). She had to keep talking, otherwise Phillip would feel like it's a pity party and she knows how much he hates the kid gloves treatment. Add the fact that Phil isn't the strongest right now and he'll get snippy real quick. It didn't help that his pride had him taking off the oxygen mask when his family got there. As much as Phil would deny it, it had really helped.

"She's fine." Phillip shrugged in the same manner, taking in shallow breaths.

Mark picked up the oxygen mask and held it out near Phil. "Are you sure don't need this? You seem a little air-deprived." The dark haired boy, however, didn't care about his brother's pride. He was having trouble breathing and damn him if he didn't do something. It was almost like payback for all the times Phillip looked out for him.

The red head weakly waved him off and shook his head. "I'm fine."

Abby steered the conversation. She smirked and separated his big toe from his middle one. "I'm gonna get you Elizabeth anyway. She loved us."

"She loved you." Peter pointed out simply. "You were cooperative and polite. Phillip, you're...you." He shrugged sympathetically.

Phil glared but didn't say anything about it. He turned back to Abby. "You don't have to get me anything Abby. She's had enough of me last time we were here. And doesn't she only works in the ER?"

The blonde smirked. "You know I will anyway, so don't even try to get out of it. None of your stubbornness will ever match the-"

Abigail cut herself off and resisted the urge to flinch when Phillip started coughing. It was awful and wet and sounded like it hurt, she didn't miss the way Phil held his chest and started to tense up in pain. He stopped coughing suddenly and curled into his stomach, his breaths coming out in shallow sputters. Amelia was immediately next to him on the bed, facing his back with a gentle hand in his shoulder while Mark handed the red head the oxygen mask. He took it without complaint this time and gasped in the air.

Phil was still breathing labored when Peter stood up and started towards the door. "I'm gonna find a nurse." Phillip sat up, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest, and was ready to object when Peter sent him a glare the younger teen didn't know he was capable of. "You're gonna lay your ass back down without a word. You can barely breathe right now, so don't give me any shit and I'm not going to let you suffocate just cuz you're too stubborn to ask for help dammit."

The other kids were taken aback by the sudden, harsh words, Peter swallowed and quickly hurried out of the room, he wouldn't admit it, but the older boy felt a bit overprotective over Phillip ever since the accident a few months ago. Phil blinked in surprise, but followed the demands and laid back down. He hated to admit his chest lightened, even if the difficulty to breathe didn't. Amelia kept gentle running his shoulder and bicep, Mark was hovering and Abby had a hand on shin for some measure of comfort. Somehow, it actually helped.

All was for nothing when his head instantly started to feel like daggers were protruding from his brain. Phil lurched forward and grabbed his head in his hands, letting out a shout before successfully losing consciousness.

Tony eventually tracked Clint down to the roof, standing feet apart and hands behind his back, facing the skyline if the city. It'd only been an hour since they had to put Phillip on a ventilator, since they found out his lung was filling with pus and had to drain them with a tube in his chest. No family in the room for at least five more hours, the archer nodded slowly and immediately got up and walked away from the rest of the family.

"They never had to put him on a vent before." Tony had to admit he was still surprised when Clint knew he was there without even turning around.

"What?" The billionaire asked, looking around.

The blonde's tone turned harder and Tony saw his fists clench. "Nothing's had to breathe for my kid before, Stark."

"Oh, cut the bullshit." Tony rolled his eyes and stepped towards him. "He's fine, the vent's for reassurance, his lungs are clear, they put him on meds. So quit it with the drama." The genius sighed and softened when he saw Clint shake his head. "Look, I get it. Your kid's almost dying, I've done this before. It sucks ass, alright? You can't do anything to help 'em so you have to suck it up and wait to see if it's better or worse. You, Barton, are waiting, but for the wrong thing."

"And what should I be waiting for then?" Clint spun around and threw his hands up in exasperation. "For Phillip to be just dandy? For the medication to actually work this time because it probably won't." He sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. Tony just stood silently, listening. "Do you realize how many times doctors said he'd be okay? How close he actually was last time? How out of it? Running a fever of a 108 and spiking at 109 makes anyone think they're on a cruise with Morgan Freeman, you wanna know what the dying four year old saw?"

Tony found that he probably didn't.

"He saw Coulson, Tony. He didn't even know who Coulson was, I hadn't told him. But the kid kept telling me he saw 'one of your friends, daddy. He says he's Phil too. He's here to help me'. Like a fucking angel or something."

Both men went to sit on the ledge of the roof.

"What's stopping that, from happening again?"

"No talking, don't touch it and try not to swallow too much, alright?"

Elizabeth gave Phil a gentle smile and pat his leg. Abby actually did request Elizabeth for Phillip's nurse. Partly because she just wanted to see the woman again, but mostly, not that she'd tell anyone, because she knew that the lady would take care of him. The teenager in question did like Elizabeth, it's just that along with the IV and intravenous, a tube in his throat breathing for him and another making side he doesn't choke on his spit and another in his chest occasionally pumping out disgusting yellowish-shit sort of pissed him off. So forgive him if he didn't really acknowledge the woman's politeness.

She smirked at him anyway and shuffled towards the door. "Only fifteen hours honey, I'll let your daddy in for now."

Moments later the blonde man came rushing in the door, turning back so Phillip couldn't see him only for a moment to swallow. Clint turned back with a small smile and sat down next to the bed. "Hey kid." He said roughly. Phillip immediately was signing back to him.

You look burnt out.

"All good things to those with insomnia." Clint huffed humorously. "You've been sleeping for most of the day, I'm not letting you stay up all night on your own. And always a loophole with you, isn't it?"

Nothing can silence me. Phillip gave him a triumphant smirk. What time is it?

The archer glanced at his watch. "Almost eleven. Everyone else dispersed a few hours ago, has school tomorrow. Does your chest still hurt?" He questioned, gesturing to the tube.

Can't really feel it. Phillip shrugged and pointed to the tube in his neck. This, makes me feel like gagging. I want to rip it out.

"Don't." Clint pressed, taking his hand away. "They'll cuff you to the bed. Not fun." He spoke from experience. "Im surprised you're not so drugged up you can barely sign. Is the vent going fast enough? Like, do you need more air?"

No, Phillip creased his eyebrows. Just hate all these tubes in me.

"Yeah," He sighed and leaned back in the hard plastic chair. "I suppose five is a lot." Clint smirked and lightly slapped Phil's arm. "My record's six though."

The red gave him a lopsided grin. No way.

"Yep." The assassin put his feet up on the bed and started to count his fingers. "Intravenous, blood transfusion, IV, vent, some shit in my nose, and another in my stomach." He took one of Phillip's hands, gently rubbing his thumb against his palm. Clint yawned while rested his head against the bed. "Admittedly, I was out for most of the time I had em, but it still sucks."

Phillip squeezed his hand right back. You should really sleep, dad. He signed.

He'd deny it later, but Clint was exhausted. Hence why he was slowly letting his eyes close. "Well...what I should do...is very different..from...what I will." The blonde let out a puff of air before quickly slipping into dream land.

The archer flinched awake to Elizabeth opening the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Barton." She greeted sweetly, unaware of the blonde uncurling his fist from the blade hidden in his pants. "Well, sort of morning, I should say."

Clint groaned and cracked his neck while untangling his hand from Phil's and stretched out his muscles, feeling the satisfying pull and relaxed. He cracked his spine, apparently sleeping sitting up in a hard chair screwed with your back. "What time is it?" He asked, looking to Phillip, who fell asleep a few hours after him.

"'Bout three thirty in the morning." Elizabeth supplied, checking the teen's temperature and nodding to herself. "104.7. Looks like his fever's spiking finally. Hopefully it'll break by the morning."

Clint blinked in sudden awareness. "Is he okay right now?"

"Oh, of course Mr. Barton, just prepare for the sweat." She chuckled and tossed him a towel.

He easily caught it and set the towel on the table next to him. "My favorite part." He murmured.

Elizabeth smiled and sauntered towards the door. She stopped for a moment before turning back to Clint. "You're a good daddy, Mr. Barton." She mused.

Clint was only slightly surprised at the sudden proclamation. His eyes flickered to her, then back to Phil and he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the bed. "I'm trying to be."

Elizabeth ignored the squelching noise when she had to quickly slide out the ventilator from Phillip's neck, his chest already tube-and-pus-free. The teenager sputtered for a few seconds before gasping, then breathing back to normal. She didn't take notice to Clint's quiet sigh of relief from where he was standing arms crossed next to them.

"See?" She said soothingly. "Easy as that. Now that anything hurt too bad? Can you get air easily?" The nurse listed the routine questions while cleaning everything up.

Phillip swallowed and coughed before rubbing the front of his neck. "Um, no. Nothing really bad." He answered quietly, voice coming out rough.

"Good," Elizabeth scribbled it down on a chart and looked up to Clint. "Throat'll be sore for a few days, that's normal. Let's have him try to eat something, if all goes well you guys'll be outta here by the afternoon." She smiled and gave them a curt nod before leaving.

Clint turned on his heel to face Phillip. "Feel okay?"

"Yeah," The red head answered. "Better than before, at least."

"Good." The archer flashed a smile and ran his fingers once through Phil's hair. He smirked evilly and reached for a pudding cup on the table. Clint sat down and jiggled the cup in his fingers. "Time for the fun part."

Phillip cringed and Clint inclined his bed to sit up. "I'd really rather not throw up anymore."

"C'mon." Clint urged and shoved the pudding cup in his hand. "Abigail's party thing is two days away, you want the excuse of 'I kept throwing up' for her not to be pissed at you?" Phillip had no intention of eating, and Clint waited. Staring at him. "I hope you realize that I'm not leaving until you eat the pudding."

Phillip huffed and glanced under his breath, hesitantly peeling the top off of the pudding cup. He swallowed a slowly spooned the pudding into his mouth. Took him almost twenty minutes to finish one cup, but hours later, it didn't come back up.

They took this as a win.

Oh, me and my awful endings.

So I actually did a bit of research on pneumonia, so hopefully that was accurate..

Reviews make me smile! :)