The screeching of tires and metal scraping on the rail is the last thing ac,int hears bore his head hits the steering wheel and then he sees black.
He wakes up with a groan. He's upside down. After quickly assessing his surroundings he remembers what happened. The seatbelt is hurting his rips and he can't breathe right. Clint fumbles for that buckle and pushes it down.
With a click, Clint falls on his head and into the floor. Well, ceiling. He groans and let's involuntary tears go when the agony spikes. When the pain ceases, still there but more like a painful throb, he grabs his phone from a foot away.
A shout comes out of his mouth when his right leg moves. It feels like it's on fire. He still manages to grab his phone and is left gasping from the effort. Without as much of a thought he unlocks the cell and calls Natasha.
"Hey?" Natasha question. After getting no response, she feels panic flow through her body. "Clint? Hello?" She gets worried when she hears a pained gasp.
"Tasha. I n-need help." She hears the phone drop with a clatter and assumes the pain was too much. "Got into a…car cr'sh…somwh're."
She immediately gets up and heads to her car. "Clint? I need you to stay awake. Where are you? I don't know where 'somewhere' is." She swears when she hears a thud in the background, his body hitting the ground. Hoping he's still alive.
Clint was unconscious, he passed out, body going limp and his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Natasha started tracking the call since he didn't hang up. A short minute later, his location was pinned and she was heading towards him.
…
She gasps when she sees his car. It was a windy and freezing night and she shivered when she stepped out of hers. Being careful of the ice, probably what his car skidded on, her sneakers hit the pavement running.
The black SUV was flipped upside outside of the rail, glass scattering the scene. She could already see Clint laying down inside of it, blood covering his face. She fell to her knees and reached in with the hopes of pulling him out.
She grabs his arms and pulls and he wakes up with a shout. His eyes, well eye because one is completely swollen shut, flies open and he located Natasha. "Tasha. M'legs hurt. Bad." Once he says this, she can see his right leg bent at an odd angle at his thigh and then bent again at his shin. She winces.
"Jesus Clint." She calls in backup, aka Steve. "Just hold on, Steve's coming. Stay awake." She says, acting calm for Clint's sake. She checks his eyes, relieved to find them relatively evenly dilated. Judging on the bleeding knot on his forehead, she's guessing he has a minor concussion.
…
When Steve comes over, he gasps. "Jesus Clint. Again?" Natasha reads her verdict out. "I need to get him out of here, so he can get to a hospital.
Together they manage to heave him out of the window. Clint groans the entire time, tears leaking out of his squeezed shut eyes. They stop moving him when his legs are fully out of the window. He lays on the ground panting for the breath lost.
Somehow, they manage to find a way to carry Clint without putting too much pressure on his wounds. Once against his eyes squeeze shut and his head drops to his chest. "I think you're jus'…makin'…it worse." Clint grumbles out with a groan.
"Sorry sorry." Steve and Nat mumble together. "Just a little further."
They manage to lay him across the back seat of Natasha's car. Steve drives while Nat sits with Clint, lifting his head into her lap.
Steve glances longingly at his motorcycle behind them. "You'll get it later, just drive to the nearest hospital" Natasha says, knowing what he was thinking.
…
At the hospital, Clint was carried off of the seat and onto a stretcher. He locks eyes with Natasha that whole time. He was panicking internally and she knew it. Doctors aren't really his mojo. She places her hand on his forehead, getting blood on her palm. Not that she cared. "It's okay Clint, just stay calm. They won't do anything bad, not without my permission." It's the last thing he hears before being wheeled away.
…
Natasha sat in a hard plastic chair, her head in her hands. It's been four hours since Clint was wheeled away and she still hasn't received any word on him. Steve was sitting next to her with his head leaning back against the wall. He was sleeping. He just walked all the way back to the crash site to retrieve his motorcycle.
Suddenly a doctor comes in the hallway, she doesn't think much of it. They've been getting her hopes up each time. "Family of Clinton Barton?" The doctor asks them. She looks up tiredly. "Yeah."
With a tap on Steve's knee, he's awake and staring at the doctor. "Hmm?" He says groggily, not yet awake.
The doctor smiles kindly. "Sorry for making you wait for so long. But we've got good news and bad news. Good new first Clinton i-"
"Clint." Steve states. "No one calls him Clinton."
The doctor smiles and continues. "Clint is resting in room 2492. And he's breathing on his own, so that's a good sign. You can follow me and I'll explain to you on the way," the doctor says this.
"Oh yeah, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Daniel Walters, but you can call me Dan." He starts walking down the hallway with Nat and Steve trailing behind him,
"Clint broke his right leg pretty badly as you guys probably saw, his right knee, fibula, and femur. His tibia was fractured too. The surgeons placed metal rods along his bones to keep them in place until they heal fully. Then they would probably be removed." He looks at his clipboard. "His left hip was broken so I suggest not walking until it's healed enough. Even slight pressure can delay the healing process." He takes a left into a room and gestures for them to follow.
Clint is laying on the bed with an oxygen cannula settled under his nose. His right leg was engulfed in a cast and was raised up a little higher than his other. Clint looked really pale and small in his hospital gown. His select few freckles stood out against his skin.
Bruises were littered around his face and arms. Eye puffy from the swelling. There were about fifteen stitches holding the gash on his forehead together.
…
4 hours had passed when Clint woke up. He had groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He winces as he pulls himself upwards, despite Naasha's protests. "S'the verdict?" He asks quietly. He knows it's not good, the throbbing pain in his leg made itself known the second he realizes he was awake.
"You probably won't be walking for a while. There are metal rods in your leg. Lots of physical therapy. You broke your right thigh, knee, and the inside of your shin. The outside of your shin is fractured. You also broke your left hip. Once again, no walking." She says this last part seriously.
"Look Clint, you'll be out of field for a while. Just stay down okay. Let us handle it." Clint growls at this. He hates being looked at as weak but this time, he knows she's right. He's been getting older, his bones aren't as resilient. Each wound takes longer than the last for him to feel back to a hundred percent. Clint sighs in submission.
…
About a week later is when Clint is caught. He hobbles into the kitchen in search of food. He locks eyes with Bruce. "Shit…" He mutters. Clint casted leg drags behind him as he tries to hop away. Wincing at each step as his hip is jostled.
"CLINT BARTON YOU GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE THIS INSTANT!" Bruce shouts. Knowing how Clint reacts to an order. Clint stops mid tracks and turns on his heel. A couple hobbled steps and he's by Bruce's side, being supported by the man and lower onto the couch.
"Is this why you missed your therapy appointment?" Bruce asks quietly.
Clint nods. He hates therapy. The nurse, while she is hot, is a bitch. And it just hurts so much. His leg throbs for hours after each session.
"The pain's only gonna get worse if you don't go. Trust me. Each appointment is made to the pain lessens and that you start to regain your strength. That's why the aftermath is less and less each time." Bruce explains. Clint knows this of course. He's not an idiot.
…
Time Skip: 3 ½ months
…
Clint limps heavily into the room. With a defeated sigh, he throws himself onto the couch next to Steve. "How'd it go? Where are your crutches?" Steve asks immediately.
"Hurts. And doc says I don't need 'em anymore. Just the brace." Clint looks beyond exhausted when he gestures to the bulky brace around his knee. It's black and velcroed onto him over his pants. It's ugly and makes it hard to move. The hard plastic material makes it so he can't bend his leg. Like at all. Not even a minute later Clint is laying on his stomach on the couch, sleeping while snoring slightly. Steve smiles slightly and starts to brush his hand through Clint's hair.
This chapter was getting long, so I decided to end it short. Sorry for those who waited and thanks for those who finished!
Thanks once again to KatieMacAlpine for reviewing.
This is a link for a brace that I imagined on Clint.
images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=Sewet5ui&id=CC7485F369EECCDDE27CE9471E712EEDED2175D6&thid= 5uiPhj325K1cTMM8QHaHa&mediaurl=https%3A%2F% %2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F358%2F2018%2F10% &cdnurl=https%3A%2F% .com%2Fth%2Fid%2FR.49ec1eb79ba23e18f7db92b571330cf1%3Frik%3D1nUh7e0ucR5H6Q%26pid%3DImgRaw%26r%3D0&exph=522&expw=522&q=big+leg+brace&form=IRPRST&ck=5C7AB0C6F0CE1CAB09C8FA4D8AC6B66F&selectedindex=2&ajaxhist=0&ajaxserp=0&pivotparams=insightsToken%3Dccid_Uy3Q%252FtXl*cp_1D43891F7C4C77C564B9508CE724F333*mid_04AF119B31AE387ED2DD61A2B8B0E5EEED1741B5*thid_ 3Q!_tXldnHzws48zP3H8QAAAA&vt=0&sim=11&iss=VSI&simid=607994355113132383
Sorry It's so long.