Only a few more of these for last year's prompts!

Prompt: Bandaging Wounds


"You're an asshole," Phil accused.

Clint snorted, then grimaced in pain.

"Serves you right."

"Killer bedside manner you've got there, Phil," Clint replied dryly.

Phil clenched his jaw and didn't respond. Instead he focused more completely on the task before him. He put a steadying hand on Clint's shoulder, both as a comfort and to keep him from moving. Clint went quiet as well, laid out on his stomach on the cot with his arms crossed under his head. Phil carefully palpated the four deep bruises setting in across the agent's shoulders and back, each with an angry welt at the center. One of them deep enough that it had broken the skin.

He watched Clint's jaw tick as he drifted to close to the worst of the marks set just to the left of his spine. It was the one sluggishly bleeding. When Phil pressed a little more firmly, he felt a slight give in the rib beneath his fingers. Clint shifted his head, but didn't cry out.

"A couple of fractures," Phil deduced, as he carefully cleaned the wound and taped a bandage over it. Then he broke and shook out some ice packs from the first aid kit. He wrapped them in thin towels and placed them across he worst of the darkening bruising.

Clint rested his cheek on his crossed forearms so he could look at Phil.

"I'm not going to apologize."

"I don't expect you to," Phil assured. Because Clint never apologized for putting himself in harm's way. Phil had given up on that years ago.

"I'd do it again too," Clint went on.

"I know you would," Phil replied calmly. His voice must have been too level, because Clint's eyebrow arched incredulously.

"You're mad at me."

Phil closed the first aid kit with a snap and sighed, turning to fully meet Clint's eyes.

"Yes I am."

"Phil…" Clint shifted like he was going to try and sit up, but Phil put a hand on his shoulder again.

"Don't move. Let the ice do it's work."

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" Clint demanded.

Phil blew out a harsh breath.

"Nothing, Clint. You did exactly what I expected you to do."

"Then why are you mad at me?" Clint snapped.

"Because you don't have a self-preserving bone in your goddamned body!" Phil retorted.

Clint shook his head and pushed up from the cot, shoving away Phil's restraining hand and letting the ice packs slide off his back. He settled on the edge of the cot, boots pressed into the ground.

"I was wearing a vest," Clint pointed out firmly.

Phil scowled.

"I know that."

"So, what's the problem?" Clint challenged, frustration clear in his voice.

Phil blew out a slow breath and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring Clint in the eyes.

"Clint, the asset was wearing a vest too."

Clint stared back unflinchingly.

"The asset was a fifty-year-old scientist who'd never seen the wrong end of a nerf bullet, much less a real one. Could he have taken the hits? Yeah. He had a vest on. He'd have lived. But why put him through that if I can take the hits instead."

Phil stared at him, knowing he couldn't really argue. Clint had done the right thing. He had done what Phil would have done if he was close enough. But he couldn't help his anger. Clint was hurt again. Because he was Clint. Because he was selfless and reckless and would always take a hit to protect someone else from it.

And as much as Phil knew all of that. Clint being hurt tore at Phil's heart in a way nothing else could. And with flashbacks to Croatia burning a hole in his retinas, Phil wasn't ready to watch Clint take a bullet for someone else. Not ever again.

"This isn't that, Phil," Clint said suddenly, blue gray eyes sharp and knowing.

"I know," Phil allowed. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. If you didn't worry about me, who would?"

Phil chuckled a little at that.

"Now would you lay back down and be still?"

"You gonna stop being a mother hen?"

"Not likely."

Clint barked a laugh and quirked his brow.

"Okay then. At least you're honest."

Clint stretched back out on his stomach and let Phil replace the ice packs. When he was settled, Phil rested a hand on his shoulder again.

"You're a selfless little shit, kid, and I'd never hold that against you. You just mean too much to me to take it lightly either."

Clint was quiet for moment, chin resting on his crossed forearms. Then he turned his head again, resting his cheek so he could see Phil properly once more.

"I know I give you a hard time…but you not taking this shit lightly? You're the only one that does that. The only one that would rather I just run away from the fire instead of towards it, you know?" The was something vulnerable and sad in the smile that turned up his lips then. "I'm always gonna run towards the fire, Phil. But I'd take you giving me shit about it over you not any day."

It was a round about way of saying that he appreciated that Phil cared, but Phil got the point.

"In that case, kid, I'll never stop giving you shit," Phil promised with a teasing smirk, then more seriously, "or giving a shit."

Clint grinned in response to the vow.

"Get some rest." Phil squeezed his shoulder and stood. He retrieved Clint's iPod from his bag and tossed it onto the pillow next to his head. By the time Phil got to the door and glanced back, Clint had put his headphones in, curled his body more tightly around the pillow and closed his eyes.

Phil couldn't help his fond smile as he quietly stepped out to call in the mission success.


Papa bear Phil is one of my favorite things :)