Clint lay awake.
It was night, very early morning even, but he didn't feel like sleeping. He just lay on his back, both hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Blinking slowly, the sound of blood rushed in his ears. He stretched his legs experimentally, narrowing his eyes as it sent a dull pain rushing through his body.
"This is not going to end well." He muttered to himself, relaxing again. "I'm never going to walk again… What do I do now?"
He frowned as he realised he had just spoken out loud, to himself. Okay… Talking to yourself… First sign of madness Barton. Sighing, he sat up and flicked a switch on the wall behind him, turning on the dim lights. He sat on the edge of his bed, legs hanging off the side, for hours, though it only seemed like a few moments to Clint. What do I do if I can't walk? Just stretch all the time and sit here and do… Nothing? Could get a wheelchair I suppose… He made a face as he imagined himself in a wheelchair.
The door opened, startling Clint from his thoughts, and Pietro walked in. He paused halfway, looking at Clint as if he wasn't sure why he was there.
"What are you doing awake?" He asked, continuing in his stride and sitting beside Clint on the bed.
Clint shrugged and Pietro tilted his head to one side.
"Have you slept at all?"
The archer shook his head. Worry flared inside Pietro.
"You should." Pietro suggested.
"Why?" Clint frowned in confusion. "What time is it?"
"It's 7:00am Clint." Now it was Pietro's turn to look confused. "Are you telling me you stayed up all night and didn't know?" At Clint's nod, he let out a sigh. "Go to sleep."
Clint shrugged again. "There's not really much point now…" He dropped his voice to a mutter. "Might as well give it a go."
He slipped off the edge of the bed, pain shooting through his legs as his feet hit the floor. Pietro immediately sprang up and Clint raised his hand, a clear command for Pietro to leave him. The younger man gave a slight nod, but stayed standing, ready to help Clint if he fell. It's going to work, Clint thought to himself determinedly. He took a deep breath, limping forward a few paces. Holy mother of god, I'm actually sort of doing it. He had to lean against the wall after a few steps and Pietro ran up to him, putting a hand to his shoulder.
"Okay?"
Clint nodded. "Fine."
He slowly made his way back to the bed, sitting down on the edge and raising a hand to his forehead.
"Well done." Pietro praised quietly.
"It's not enough." Clint insisted, beginning to get frustrated. "It's just not enough. I need to be able to walk because I just… I just can't live like this anymore."
"Calm down." Pietro murmured, his voice soothing. "It's okay."
"No, it's not!" Clint almost growled the words. "I hate it… I can't stand it…" He broke off, running his hands through his hair and clutching both to the back of his head, his face covered by his arms.
Don't you dare have a mental breakdown. Pietro frowned worriedly as Clint began to tremble a little. Wait… What if it isn't his legs? What if the shock just made him think he couldn't do it? He needed to get Clint up; doing something the archer would always give one hundred percent to. An idea suddenly struck Pietro. If he was right, and it was a psychological thing, then it might work. If he was wrong… Then he'd just get beaten up for no reason.
"Hit me."
"What?" Clint muttered, his voice muffled by his arms.
"You heard." Pietro said, getting to his feet. "Come on. Hit me."
Clint took his hands away from his head, looking up at Pietro in confusion. "Have you gone completely mad…? Why?"
"Maybe and because of reasons I'll tell you if I'm right. Now…" He held his arms to the side, giving Clint an open target of his chest. "Come on."
"I'm not going to hit you Kid."
"Why not? It might help. Clint… Get some anger out."
"I'm not angry at you Pietro. You know I'm not angry at- What was that for!?"
Pietro shoved him again. "Fight back." He ordered. "Come on Barton. Where's all that training gone?"
"It's not gone anywhere. But I'm not going to fight you Kid… I can't walk anyway."
"Oh, don't be such a moron." Pietro muttered. "Let's fight Hawkeye."
He poked him again and Clint lightly swatted a hand in his direction. Pietro easily jumped back, out of the way.
"Too slow Barton." He taunted. "Where'd those reflexes fly off to?"
Clint gave a slight shrug, obviously not wishing to engage in the fight Pietro was attempting to provoke. Realising he couldn't make Clint move with words, Pietro heaved him up and shoved him into a wall. The archer immediately kicked him off and Pietro gave a small smile, not caring about the slight throb in his chest that the kick had caused. It was working.
"Quit it Kid." Clint warned. "I'm not in the mood."
"You're angry. So take it out on someone who doesn't give a damn about getting hurt."
Clint turned away, shaking his head. With a roll of his eyes, Pietro aimed a roundhouse kick at his shoulder. Reflexes suddenly lightning fast; Clint caught his foot, twisting him over. The next thing Pietro knew, he was on his back on the floor, Clint stood beside him, looking down at him with an annoyed expression. Pietro smirked up at him and swept his leg under the archer's feet, causing Clint to fall down to the ground. Pietro leapt to his feet at the same time Clint did. A clenched fist met his jaw and he fell back down, collapsing onto his hands and knees as blood welled in his mouth. There we go.
Clint crouched beside him.
"Sorry. Sorry, it's a reflex. I didn't-"
"It's good." Pietro assured him. "That's what I wanted."
"Why? I don't… Damn it Kid, you're bleeding."
"Nicely observed Hawk." Pietro smiled.
He scrambled to his feet, wiping the back of his hand to his mouth. "Yuck." He made a face, sticking out his tongue as he brushed the blood off his hand, onto his shirt.
"Why did you do that Pietro?" Clint asked, still a little horrified by what he'd done.
"Your legs."
"What about them?"
"Do they hurt?"
"No."
Pietro smirked as Clint's face slowly fell into realisation. "Psychological. Shock of the injury might have… Oh… It was the seizure…" Pietro's eyes glazed with memory. "That made you think you weren't able to move without it hurting."
"But it did hurt."
"Yes, but half of it was in your head Clint." Pietro told him kindly. "You were able to move, your mind and body just didn't want you to."
"So… You had to give me a reason to get up… And the only thing you could think of was to have me fight you?" Clint murmured quietly. He sighed at Pietro's nod. "What does that say about me then?"
"That you're a fighter." Pietro answered carefully. "We all are."
"Sometimes I wish we didn't have to fight." Clint admitted quietly.
"It's our job, isn't it?" Pietro paused for a heartbeat. "Or… At least… your job."
Clint frowned a little. "You not with us Kid?"
"Well… I'm not really a proper avenger or…"
"Kid." Clint cut him off. "Make no mistake Pietro." He smiled briefly. "You are an avenger… Through and through."
A/N- Sorry it's a bit late. Writers block everywhere.