"Clint, where are my eyes in the sky? That's too close for comfort." Steve grunts into his comm after he narrowly avoids a kick from behind.
There's no response. "Clint? Hawkeye?" Nothing. "Someone find Clint. I think he's down."
"I shall go and retrieve our mighty hawk!" Thor shouts. Immediately flying over to Clint's last known position.
While Thor's flying around, he scans the building roof tops for his friend. Just when he's about to turn around, he sees Clint lying on his back on top of a building at the end of the street. His legs are sprawled in front of him and there's a pool of blood around his head.
"I have grave news my friends. Friend Clint is down, I need assistance to help him get back to aid. I shall fly him down to ground level.
He carefully picks up Clint with care no one thought he possessed and flies down to ground level. He frowns to himself when there is no reaction.
Steve runs over and Thor let's Clint down. Steve immediately throws himself under a shoulder and lifts Clint up. With their combined height, Clint becomes fully supported by them and his toes lift up off the ground.
Tony hadn't realized how short Clint was until he sees the scene. He secretly asks Jarvis to snap a picture so he can tease Clint about it later.
Clint's head was bloody. His blond hair was crusty and dyed red with it, his face had scrapes on it and blood dripping down his face. The blood dripped over his eyes and down his neck, making a pretty gruesome sight.
Together, they carry him into the jet and lay him limply on a cot. Bruce runs over to examine him. He knows without examination that it's not looking too good.
Twenty seven stitches and a bandage wrapped head later, Clint is laying down on the same cot. The blood still has yet to get wiped off his face, and the pillow under his head is dried with crusty blood.
Natasha sighs, and walks out of the room. The smell was making her nauseous.
…
Clint wakes up groggily and opens his eyes. His head is killing him and when he opens his eyes he expects it'll make the pain worse. Except he can't open his eyes. He thinks he is, but he can only still see black. He hears the beeping next to him speed up as he panics.
"Clint! Calm down. You're not blind, there's a blindfold on your eyes because it's dimming the light. Your eyes are too sensitive right now." He hears Natasha's voice and he calms, stilling on the cot.
"Why?" He feels around his and goes to sit up. Only to be hit with a wave of dizziness as he starts to. He collapses back onto the bed with a ground. He clutches his head and winces.
"Don't move, it'll only make it worse. You've been kind of out of it for a while now. Trying to escape everyone and you've been in pain. Bruce decided it was best if we covered your eyes." Natasha explains. "You have a major concussion and we found you knocked out on your perch. It took Bruce twenty seven stitches to sew you back together."
Clint raises his hand to touch his head. He winces at the contact of the bandages wrapped securely around him. Natasha grabs his hand slowly, so she doesn't surprise him. "Don't touch it you idiot." She chuckles.
At this moment, Tony walks in. He laughs. "You should've seen how short you looks next to Steve and Thor, how tall are you 5'3?" Clint jumps at the voice and swivels his head in the direction. He grumbles as the thought processes. He's actually 5'2. Whatever drugs he's on makes him admit it. To Tony. God, he'll never hear the end.
"Actually five two." He mutters groggily. Tony pauses before laughing even harder. "Your shorter than me!?" Clint pouts to Natasha and she smiles. Natasha had been jealous of Clint's height for a little while now, it makes it easier to be a spy because he's lithe and light on his feet.
…
A couple days after. Clint had been bedridden and his legs were losing muscle. He felt it. Each time he tried to stand up he passed out, collapsing into someone's arms. The blindfold had come off yesterday. Finally. He couldn't stand the itchiness.
When it had, the light assaulted him and caused tears to fall out of his squeezed shut eyes. The heels of his palm were shoved into his eyes, making black and white spots pop in front of his vision. After a couple minutes, his eyes adjusted and he relaxed as his eyes no longer felt as if they were being burned out of his skull. And his pounding headache receded.
But now, Clint had a white knuckle grip on the door handle as he was about to walk into the bathroom. The migraine that had just assaulted him has been the worst yet and he couldn't even think straight. He's gasping in pain and little by little he's slowly putting more and more weight into the door. Until his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses, seizing.
Steve hears a shout from a room over and jumps off his chair. He runs to the next room from the hallway and is surprised to see Tony, who's standing over a shaking Clint. Jarvis was immediately alerted and now Clint was shaking and blood was bubbling out of his mouth. Steve pushes him to his side and all of the contents are expelled from Clint's stomach and mouth. The barf mixed with blood covering the floor. It's been three minutes and 47 seconds when Clint starts to calm down. His shaking ceases and his head falls limp onto the shirt that Tony had folded beneath him.
Bruce, who had arrived midway through checks his pulse and head. "He's just resting now." He says somberly.
He pushes open Clint's mouth and looks at his tongue, he winces. There is a chunk missing from the left side and the tip, having bit it off. It's still bleeding sluggishly. Bruce winces in sympathy.
…
While bruce is stitching Clint's tongue, yet again, he realizes that there are scars all over his tongue from other times. He plans to ask Clint when he wakes up.
Only ten minutes later, Clint comes too. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut. Wrinkles forming on the bridge of his nose.
"Clint?" Bruce asks tentatively.
"Ya…" he mumbles, wincing when his tongue starts to hurt and his head starts to pound. "Damn."
Bruce chuckles. "You remember what happened?" Bruce asks this, knowing that he probably doesn't .
Clint shakes his head. Wincing in the process, regretting it immediately.
"You had a seizure." Bruce says this awkwardly. Not knowing how Clint will react.
"Ag'n?" He looks around confused. That's when he notices his tongue. "Bit m'tongue?" He asks. Bruce nods, then realizes what Clint said.
"Wait, you've had a seizure before?" He asks, concerned for Clint's health.
Clint realizes his mistake but knows that he can't take it back. "Well, I'b had a lah ob concuthions." Bruce understands. "You should probably try getting hit on the head less." He suggests light heartedly. "It's not really good for your health and some day, I feel like your luck streak will run out and you'll get stuck with a permanent symptom. Like blindness, a stutter, epilepsy, and many more that I can't think of." Bruce says.
Clint sighs. "I'b heard dat before, by oder doctors. I twy." Clint's eyes start closing. "I think I'b been doin' bedder. Only had four dis year so far." Bruce frowns. "It's only…May. Okay never mind. At least your still intact. Go to sleep Clint." Clint's eyes close. "I'll be here when you wake up." A light snore is released by the man on the bed.
Seeing his teammate, his friend, his family, lying on the bed. Prone because he hurts to much to move. Bruce feels a sudden feeling of protectiveness surge through him. He hears hulk inside of him
"Protect the arrow man!" Bruce smiles, hulk will take care of Clint. He knows that.
Thanks to KatieMacAlpine for reviewing!
Next chapter coming soon, I already started writing it. It's prompt is Harsh Climate.