Day 16

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Steve trudged along, carefully following his footprints in the snow back the way that he had come. It was slow going as with every step he sunk down into the fresh snow almost up to his knees. He kept at a slow but steady pace, not wanting to expend more energy than he had too.

He hated the damn cold.

The cold and snow had never particularly bothered him before, but ever since he had been frozen in a block of ice for fifty years, he had a strong aversion to the cold. He didn't consciously remember his time in the ice or even when he had been thawed, but obviously some subconscious part of his mind remembered and liked to remind him of it whenever there was so much of a nip in the air. And this was so much worse than a small nip.

He saw the smoke and quickened his pace slightly, anxious to get out of the damn snow. They had been so lucky to find the cave and it was likely why they were all still alive. It had a small entrance that angled upward, just barely wide enough for Steve to fit through, but plenty wide to let out smoke from their fire. There was a small, downward shaft that connected the entrance to a pretty good sized cavern under the snow, just big enough for three people, the fire and their limited supplies.

Between the shelter, their easy access to water by melting snow, and Steve's ability to travel to the nearest shore every few days and stock up on fresh fish, their needs were fairly well covered. In theory, they would be able to comfortably survive for several weeks as they waited and hoped for rescue. As terrible as it was that they were stranded, their situation was almost ideal.

Almost.

"How is he?" Steve asked immediately as he entered the cave.

"No change," Natasha said flatly. She sighed heavily. "The only thing I can say is he's at least not getting any worse." She glanced over at Steve wearily. "How was your day?"

"Productive," Steve said with a strained smile as he produced the six large fish he had caught that day.

"That's something, at least," Natasha said with a strained smile of her own as he reached down into the bowl of water sitting in front of her, pulling out a wet rag. She rang out the rag and then turned and carefully laid it out across Clint's forehead.

During their escape, Clint had been clipped by a bullet. All in all, it hadn't been a terribly severe wound, it was a fairly shallow crease in his bicept. They had bound it and the bleeding had clotted pretty quickly. Two days into their hiding though, Clint had begun to develop a fever. When they unwrapped his wound in order to check it, their worst fears were realized. Clint had a severe infection. And they were stranded in the middle of nowhere with no means to be able to find any kind of civilization.

And so, over the past couple days, Steve and Natasha had been forced to sit by and watch as Clint slowly declined as the illness completely took over. At this point he spent most of his time sleeping restlessly, and even when he was awake the fever had disoriented him enough that he wasn't aware of what was going on around him.

Clint's outlook was bleak. And Steve wasn't sure how much longer he could just sit and watch his friend deteriorate.

"Do you want to get some rest?" Steve offered as he eyed Natasha critically. There were bags under her eyes and she blinked heavily as she looked down at Clint. It looked like she was only holding on by a thread. "I can sit with him for a while."

"Not yet, but thanks," Natasha said.

"You're sure?" Steve pressed. At the first sign of her nodding her head, Steve went on. "Natasha, you look exhausted. You have to sleep at some point and…" He trailed off, not wanting to admit it out loud.

There isn't anything more we can do for him.

"I know, I know, I just…" Her voice wavered and cracked, and for a moment Steve was convinced he was about to see the mighty Black Window burst into tears. She dropped her head into her hands as her shoulders sagged in complete defeat.

Steve shifted so he could sit next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, the only thing he could think to do to show support.

"Barney…"

Steve's gaze snapped down to Clint at the sound of his whispered voice. Clint's eyes were half open and glazed over, lolling listlessly from one side to the other.

"Clint?" Natasha said lowly as she leaned forward and put the back of her hand on his cheek.

"No… Barney…"

"Sh, he's not here, Clint," Natasha soothed and then shot an anxious look at Steve. "I think his fever is spiking."

"I'll get some more water," Steve said as he picked up the bowl that was now only tepid water. "We should probably see if we can get him to drink some."

Natasha nodded distractedly, her worried gaze remaining pinned on Clint as Steve shifted back to the front of the cave. He didn't need to go far. He dumped the water just outside the cave and then used the bowl to scoop up some clean snow. Then he headed back into the cave.

"Clint, it's okay, you're okay," Natasha was saying quietly as Steve settled back in next to her, placing the bowl down and gathering the pieces of fabric they had made last time Clint's fever had spiked.

Clint was shifting restlessly on the ground, groaning lightly. "No… no… please, I won't… no…"

Steve quietly began packing the snow onto the fabric and then folding the fabric to create makeshift ice packs. He started tucking them under Clint's neck and shoulders, but Clint restlessly kept rolling off of them.

"Clint, please, we need you to stay still," Natasha pleaded, placing her hands on either side of Clint's face. "Look at me, you're okay. I promise, you're okay."

Clint gasped, his back arching off the ground as he swatted a weak hand at Natasha. "Barney… no… please… I'm sorry…"

Natasha sat back on her heels, looking on helplessly as Clint struggled against an attacker that wasn't there. Steve's heart twisting at the sight, wondering who could possibly have struck such fear in their archer.

"Clint, you need to drink something," Steve said once the water in the bowl had melted a bit. He had calmed down marginally, but was still gazing around blearily. He sent Natasha a wary look before he carefully threaded his arm behind Clint's head, leveraging him up a bit. "Here, drink some, you'll feel better."

Clint instinctively leaned toward the bowl and Steve tipped some water into his mouth. Somewhere in Clint's fevered mind, he must have realized how thirsty he was, because then he began to drink greedily, even putting a hand up to the bowl to keep it in place. Steve was beginning to feel relief creeping over him…

And then Clint coughed on the water, which seemed to trigger a panic. As he continued coughing he flung out a hand and sent the bowl skidding across the cave.

"No…" cough cough. "No, please Barney… d-don't…" cough cough cough. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" cough cough.

"Clint…" Natasha said, pain clear in her voice. She looked absolutely gutted by Clint's words. Finally, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around Clint's still struggling form, holding him close to her. "He can't hurt you anymore, Clint. I promise. Please believe me. I will never let him hurt you ever again."

Clint was gasping for breath, but seemed comforted in Natasha's embrace. He struggled a little for a few moments, but then finally gave in and leaned into her. Steve suddenly felt uncomfortable, like he was intruding on a very private and personal moment. To busy himself, he retrieved the bowl and then headed back outside to refill it.

By the time he came back, Natasha had settled Clint back down onto the ground and it seemed like he had faded back into unconsciousness. Natasha held one of Clint's hands cupped between both of her hands with her head bowed over them as if she were deep in prayer. Steve silently knelt down next to Natasha and started rearranging the ice packs that Clint had knocked away. Then he picked up another rag and wet it in the snow, carefully placing it back on Clint's forehead.

"Who's Barney?" Steve finally ventured quietly.

Natasha was quiet for a long time. When she did finally speak, she didn't look up. "His brother."

Steve started at that. "His brother?" The way that Clint spoke his name with such fear, Steve never would have guessed there was such a close family connection.

Natasha sighed heavily as she finally looked up at Steve. "Barney… isn't a good person. Never really had been, but it took Clint a long time to really see that. And when he finally saw it… it almost cost Clint his life."

Steve stared down at Clint in shock. He had known Clint Barton for two years now and had no idea that he had been through anything like that. His heart twisted at the idea that Clint had been so betrayed by his own brother… and also in awe of how despite that Clint still strived to do good everywhere he went.

Their rescue almost came too late. When Tony, Bruce and Thor finally tracked them down the next day, Clint's fever was so high that they had taken to just piling snow on top of him. It would be a long recovery process for Clint, and he never would remember exactly what had happened or what he had revealed to Steve. And Steve never brought it up. But he did find himself drifting closer to Clint when they were out in a crowd. Shooting suspicious glances at any men that got too close. It was always in the back of his mind that Clint's brother, who had almost killed him, was still out there.

And one thing Steve knew for sure was that Natasha was right. Barney would never hurt Clint again. Steve would make sure of that.