Trigger Warning: Gunshot wounds; Blood

Day Two
Nowhere to Run
Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

Three days ago, Clint Barton had escaped a torturous captivity, only to find that the compound had been isolated in a dense forest. Clint honestly didn't even know what country they were in. He traveled several miles each day, but had yet to come across even a hint of human life outside of the hostiles that were hunting him.

He tried to put as much space between him and the enemy compound as he could, but he knew he was covering less and less ground each day. He had lost a lot of blood during his "interrogations" at the compound, and after falling down a ravine on day two on the run his right ankle was at least sprained if not broken. He had thankfully found several water sources to help keep him on his feet, but other than a few berries here and there, food was almost impossible to come by. Each day he stumbled a little more, ran out of breath a little quicker, found the world around him a little less stable as it would tip and sway around him.

He was running out of time.

The only weapons he had were his bow and a handgun that he managed to swipe during his escape. The gun had nine bullets and he had cobbled together fourteen primitive arrows so far using sticks and rocks he found along the way. From the scouting he did each day from the top of some of the taller trees, Clint knew there were around three dozen soldiers that were hunting him down, sweeping efficiently in a long line through the forest as they tracked his increasingly clumsy escape attempt.

At some point he was going to have to make a final stand. And he was woefully unprepared for that. But early the morning of the fourth day, as he finally stepped out of the forest only to be greeted by a large empty space with what appeared to be an ocean about 50 yards away, that moment was finally forced onto him.

"Shit," Clint breathed to himself as he stared across at the water rolling in toward him.

There were no islands in sight that he could swim to. If he went left or right along the coast, it would only be a matter of time before his hunters caught up to him. If he stayed here they'd catch up to him in a matter of hours at the most. His time was up. Apparently it was time for that final stand he had been dreading so much.

Clint limped painfully along the treeline, scanning for some spot that might give him even the slightest tactical advantage. He eyed a couple of the taller trees along the coastline, but he knew that it would be far too easy to simply burn one of those trees down. At the very least he needed something he could put his back up against in order to keep all the enemies in front of him.

Finally he was able to catch a small break. He spotted a cluster of large boulders along the coastline. He surveyed the area. He could put his back to that and be able to see the soldiers as they emerged from the treeline about fifty yards away. That was going to give him his best chance of seeing this thing through.

He started gathering brush from the treeline before heading out of the cluster of boulders. The next thing he needed to do was build a signal fire. He no longer cared if he alerted the hostiles to his location – in fact, he'd rather bring them right to him so that he could face him on his own terms. But, there was also the small chance the Avengers might be in the area as they searched for him… and he was likely going to desperately need their help before this thing was over.

Once he had the fire lit on the beach a few yards from the water, he headed for the boulders. They sat in the water, the tide reaching up just passed the rocks. Each time a wave rolled in, an inch of water washed around Clint's worn boots. Carefully, and with a little too much effort Clint lowered himself down to kneel right up against the boulder. He reached down and cupped the water, bringing it up and splashing it across his face. The cold salt water bit at his skin and burned the fresh cuts he had from stumbling through the forest for three days, helping him feel a little more awake.

And then he settled in to wait.

It took much less time than he was hoping for. But he was ready for them the moment the first soldier placed a foot on the sand. The man was dead with an arrow in his neck before anyone had even spotted him. He managed to take out two more before the men finally figured out what was going on and then the dam broke as dozens of soldiers poured out of the treeline.

He was down to eleven arrows along with the nine bullets as he watched ten… fifteen… twenty-five… thirty-one soldiers appear from the forest. These odds were completely fucked. But he would never go down without a fight.

His muscles burned as he pulled back each arrow and carefully aimed before releasing. He couldn't afford anything that wasn't a kill shot. Bullets ricocheted around him, sending chunks of rock falling down, some sharp enough to slice his skin. These guys were shit shots, but as they got closer, so did their bullets.

Twenty-one men were left as Clint left himself one last arrow and switched to the hand gun. Twice he managed to kill two men with one bullet and as he lurched to his feet – adrenaline making him forget his sprained ankle and all the other cuts and bruises – he flung the gun so hard that he managed to take out the closest soldier.

And then it was just an injured Clint versus nine raged induced soldiers hell bent on killing him. Honestly, he had been up against worse odds. Not often… but still.

He lunged at the closest man and buried his arrow into his chest, using the arrow to jerk the man closer in order to use him as a human shield as bullets flew. He threw this man into another one, viciously yanking his arrow out to fling at the man he had sent stumbling.

Seven hostiles left.

He used his bow as a staff as he swung at the next soldier – barely noticing the white hot burning pain that tore into his side. The man went down and Clint dropped and grabbed his head, breaking his neck in one swift move just to be sure. While he was down, he lunged at the legs of the next soldier, and in the panic one of his comrades fired and hit him instead of Clint.

Five hostiles left.

Clint was gasping for breath and was finding it harder and harder to focus. He forced his protesting muscles to move as he stumbled back to his feet, grabbing the nearest man and yanking him around just in time to catch a bullet that had been meant for him.

Four hostiles left.

And then something hit him hard in the side of the head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Get up, get up, get up, Clint commanded himself, but suddenly it felt like his limbs were filled with sand. He pushed himself partway up only to catch another hard blow to the head that left him sprawling on his back, the salt water flowing up around him.

Clint blinked, slow to comprehend the barrel of the gun that was now in his face. He closed his eyes. This was it.

But the shot never came. There was a strange commotion around him and when Clint opened his eyes again, the gun was gone. With an effort, he lifted his head and saw that the final four men were lying motionless on the ground. He stared in confusion before a glint of red and gold finally caught his eye.

"You still alive down there, Legolas?"

Clint let out a relieved breath as he allowed his head to fall back into the surf.

"It's about time," Clint murmured as Tony approached him.

"Well, your captors were rude enough to not leave a note," Tony said as he crouched down next to Clint. He moved his head up and down and Clint got the distinct feeling that he was being scanned. "Yeah, he's still alive," Tony went on, clearly speaking into a comm. "We've got two bullet wounds, ankle broken in two places, he looks malnourished and dehydrated as shit… but still somehow alive."

Clint huffed a humorless laugh. "Takes more than that to take me down."

"Yeah, more than that and an army of thirty apparently," Tony said, glancing back at the bodies that littered the beach behind him.

"Actually, there were thirty-four," Clint murmured.

"Okay, quit bragging," Tony quipped. "The Quinjet with the rest of the team will be here in a minute. Time to go home, Legolas."

Clint smiled as he allowed his eyes to slide shut and his muscles to finally relax. "Sounds good to me."