TRIGGER WARNING: This is not a happy chapter for Clint… even more so. Things get worse for him. For specifics, see the notes at the end.
- - Clint was already sagging against the pillar when the whip wrapped around his ribs, tearing open an older lash. He couldn't help but groan. He was exhausted. Donnelly had already worked him over with the cane earlier; it was the first time he had done both on the same day.
Weeks had passed with no hint that a rescue was coming. But Clint would be the last to know if there was one, and that was probably that hardest part, not knowing. Not knowing what had happened to the others after he was captured. Not knowing how close they were to finding him. Nothing Clint had seen had given him a clue as to where he was being held. He could be a block from the Tower or on the other side of the world for all he knew. The thugs were hired mercenaries. They didn't belong to a specific organization or country, and Donnelly was definitely hired as well. He never questioned Clint about anything specific, just continued to ask if there was anything Clint wanted to share with him. So, if he didn't really want information, his purpose was clear; he was meant to break Clint.
Or Clint had thought so, he wasn't sure after he had confronted Donnelly about it. Which, now that he actually thought about it, could have ended up being one of the stupidest things he had ever done. But he needed control, anything to feel like he wasn't helpless, and his words were all he had at his disposal.
He had told Donnelly that he wasn't very impressed with his questioning skills, that anyone else could have had him singing like a bird.
Yeah, stupid.
Donnelly wasn't phased, in fact, his smile had widened and he swung the whip, opening an extra long gash across Clint's back. He had felt the blood dripping down his back as Donnelly whispered, "Why would I want you to talk? I would have no one to play with if we were done with you."
So Clint wasn't sure what Donnelly wanted. It could all be an act, and if it was, bravo to Donnelly, because the man played an impressive sadist.
A week or so ago, Clint had woke to a bucket of water being tossed on him. Which actually wasn't new. They never let him out of the room so the only way he could clean up was from a bucket of soapy water being tossed on him and then hosed down once or twice a week. His shirt was unsalvageable and had been taken away, but they had left him with a small piece he could use to wipe down his body.
So, waking up soaked wasn't a surprise; it was coming to, and realizing the chains were moving him to his hanging position. The room was pitch black, meaning none of the holes were open. He tried to listen for the other person in the room but the swirl of the water down the drain prevented it.
"Hawkeye," Donnelly said, to his left, not two feet away.
Clint started and pulled on on his restraints before he could stop himself.
He heard a soft chuckle, then a small blue light sparked to life, illuminating Donnelly's face as it flickered and buzzed for a moment before turning off.
Shit, was all Clint could think, staring at where the cattleprod had been, hearing the water still draining, feeling the metal around his wrists and ankles.
"The collar is a too stationary for the game we're going to play." Donnelly said, his voice moving around in the darkness. "You tell me something, anything, that is true and I won't shock you; lie or refuse to speak and I will find the perfect place to stick you with this. Cooperate and this won't last very long. Clear? Lets start."
Donnelly had enjoyed playing that "game", especially when Clint finally answered. Again, stupid. But he had asked Clint if the Avengers were coming for him; not answering felt like saying 'no', so he had said 'yes', over and over until he was shaking and spasming uncontrollably, too exhausted to speak.
He could hear Nat in his mind calling him an idiot for allowing his pride to be used against him. He knew she was right. Clint had always had trouble with 'up close and personal' on missions and, well, in life in general. He liked knowing what was going on and he could never see all the pieces to the big picture when he was in the thick of it. Letting the enemy think they had the upper hand was more Natasha's area. He'd never really believed that crap about opposites attracting, not with people. But maybe it worked with family; because that was what Nat was, his sister; clashing with him in a way that worked.
Stark, on the other hand… he was enough like Clint that it had freaked them out a bit in the beginning. Their backgrounds were, in no way, similar but how they dealt with life, keeping people at least an arms length away, making jokes to throw them off, finding a safe place and holing up for however long it took? Yes. It was unsettling how easy it was too be around Stark, because Clint had to constantly check himself to make sure he wasn't actually letting him in.
Clint was crap with relationships. As soon as he let someone in, they were too close and he started missing things. Barney had been too close; he had always been too close for Clint to see. He was naive about Jason, new to being a merc, got close too soon, couldn't see that the man would turn on Clint for the right price; pure luck had saved his life. Bobbi had started getting too close, so he had messed it up, not on purpose, but, he saw later, unconsciously. He was close with Coulson, it was hard not to when the man made it clear that he trusted Clint with his life, but he worked to keep it the only way that worked for them; work was work, they were professional and they trusted each other to have the other's back. Off the clock sometimes meant movie marathons, fresh scones and drinking buddies. Having that line, the distance at work, helped Clint keep perspective. More and more though, before Loki, the line would blur and Clint would go hang out in Coulson's office, bring him coffee and tiny donuts, and Coulson would let him and actually smile at what Clint was saying.
Friend, would come to mind and Clint would back off, because he had Nat, and he wasn't suppose to see all of her, that's just how she was, no matter who she was with, he knew that, and he could deal with that; but he couldn't have too many people too close. He thought the circus was his new family and had been too trusting, too giving, and where had that gotten him? Beaten, left for dead, left behind, replaced.
Clint was loyal to SHIELD now but did he trust them? … He trusted them enough. It was a job. And as long as he did his job, he was useful. Not many people could do what he did, so he knew his position was safe. SHIELD looked after their own.
Then Loki had come and Coulson was dead, and Clint didn't think it could have hurt more if they had actually been friends.
SHIELD had made the mistake this time. They had let Clint get too close and didn't see how much of threat he could be. He was sure everyone was relieved when Stark offered to house the team. They would be able to send him on missions, when he could convince them that he was over the 'recent trauma', and still keep him at a distance from SHIELD.
He didn't see much of Nat the first couple of months. They rarely worked together in the field; it took big deal missions to warrant using both of them. He only really saw her around the rest of the team. Which was how he didn't know Coulson was actually alive until he ran into him after a post mission briefing. It was an accident. The meeting had wrapped up sooner than expected and Clint had made his way toward the shooting range, because Stark still hadn't finished the one at the Tower that would 'put SHIELD's to shame'. His route had taken him right passed the physical therapy gym, where Coulson was just exiting.
Clint froze when he saw him, in gym clothes, walking with a cane, but undeniably Coulson.
Coulson caught sight of Clint and stopped, mid sentence, looking surprised and, if the twitch of his mouth was any indication, actually pleased to see him.
Only a few seconds passed, but it felt like forever, then he saw Fury behind Coulson and heard him sigh. He suddenly remembered seeing Natasha, a few weeks earlier, at the Tower, before she left for her latest mission. She had commented that he seemed to be handling things well. He had thought it was strange because it had been months since Loki, he was going on missions, and she would never just bring up something like that. Now it made sense. She knew about Coulson before she left, and believed he did as well but they were in the Tower and obviously the others weren't cleared to know, so she wasn't going to say anything outright where JARVIS could hear. He and Nat were both level 7, but apparently that was only in writing now. SHIELD obviously didn't trust him anymore.
And really, he couldn't blame them.
He turned and left, going straight to the Tower, raided Tony's liquor cabinet, in front of the team while they were watching a movie, and locked himself in his room. It wasn't that he felt safe at the Tower yet; he didn't have to trust JARVIS, just order a computer to lock the door and not let anyone in.
That didn't stop Tony from showing up at his door with the 'really good stuff', no questions asked. And damn him, because Clint didn't want to feel close to anyone at the moment; but he let him in anyway.
He needed a drinking buddy.
Fury didn't even give him enough time to prove he could keep the secret. The next day he showed up at the Tower with Coulson. Explained that he had lied, but at the time they weren't sure Coulson was going to make it, then he had been in a coma and they weren't sure if he would wake up, then what was the point until Coulson was up and about and ready to be the team's liaison with SHIELD?
Steve and Bruce had given Clint understanding looks, realizing why he was, now, so hungover. Tony had gone off on Fury and Coulson about lies and trust and bastards, and all he knew was that he never mentioned Clint and he was grateful for that.
The team forgave Coulson; hell, Clint had already forgiven him.
Clint shook his hand, said, "It's good to have you back, Sir", meant it, and left.
Obviously he had gotten too close if something like this hurt so much. He took it as a sign and backed off even further.
If only he had known that that whole situation would make the team pull him in even closer, non optional dinners and movie nights, helping Steve catch up on the times, joined by Thor when he showed up later on, talking with Bruce about countries they had both visited, joking and playing around with Tony; until, one day during a battle, he realized he had come to care about them more than he had with anyone since the circus, since Barney, and it was too late to go back.
But the most startling realization was that he didn't want to go back.
The chains started moving, pulling his attention back to the cell. He was getting scary good at zoning out during torture. He couldn't tell if he was relieved or worried.
Blearily, Clint noticed the chains stop, about halfway down the pillar, and pull his arms tight. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't kneel and rest his body. He tried standing, but, with his arms and feet secured to the pillar, it left him at an awkward angle. He heard Donnelly shift behind him, then his pants were pulled down to his knees. He managed a startled yelp before there was a hard slap across his ass, that pushed a loud yell from him. Peripherally, he saw a wide, flat strip of wood in Donnelly's hands. A cricket bat. He wasn't going to call it a paddle, that made it sound, well, confusing. He had used a paddle on Tony once, he seemed to enjoy it, but Clint had refused the 'turnabout is fair play' line Tony had tried; he knew his limits, and a man standing over him, ready to give him a "spanking" was definitely one of them.
Clint struggled to keep his breathing even as Donnelly swung away. It was more humiliating than painful, especially after the whip had tore open his back again, and no matter how he moved he couldn't get out of it's way.
He could never get away. Just be a small target. Cover your head. You'll be in trouble if anyone finds out.
God, no.
He could do this. He knew how to keep his head during torture, he had trained for that. That's all this was.
But this wasn't torture. No one used a paddle- cricket bat, no one used a cricket bat on someone's ass to torture them. Needles, knives, whips, water, that was torture, this… this was too close to punishment.
Punishment. Who gets punished like this? Clint's attempt at a laugh sounded more like a sob, as another hit landed.
Keep your head! Lock it down!
Stop crying, you little shit!
Suddenly the blows stopped and he felt Donnelly's arm snake around his bare hips and pull him close. Too close. Too close.
Fingers gripped his hair and pulled back sharply.
"Look at you," Donnelly mussed, with what sounded like twisted affection. "That's more of a reaction than I've gotten in a while, and I haven't even done anything…" He heard a zipper. "...yet."
Clinton, another voice whispered in his mind; his surrounding faded away. Why are you acting like this, Clinton? I haven't done anything. Did I hit you? No, I didn't, I'm not like your father, I won't hurt you. Please go away. I just wanted to give you a reward for being so good today.
He heard yelling and pain flared across his back, bringing him back to himself. The sound died in his throat as he realized he was the one who had been yelling. He felt Donnelly's hand resting on his back; he had raked his fingers across the fresh lashes to get Clint's attention.
"Yeah, there you are," Donnelly chuckled. "What if I told you I would stop if you begged?"
That wouldn't happen, it was a trap. If he didn't beg, he had no one to blame but himself, but if he did Donnelly would still rape him, either way Clint learned a lesson.
But what if he would stop?
They never stop.
Did it matter? Even if he stopped, by getting Clint to beg, Donnelly would still win. Don't give him anything.
'Don't give him anything?' He can take everything he wants, and there's nothing you can do about it.
Clinton.
"No!" He yelled, putting everything he had left into trying to get out of Donnelly's grip. "Son of a bitch! Get your hands off me!"
Donnelly laughed. Bastard.
"That's what I was hoping for," Donnelly said, wrapping both his arms more fully around Clint, to keep him still, as he leaned over him. "You've been here for a month now, did you know that?"
Clint snarled, still trying to buck away. He did know. They weren't even bothering to mess with his sense of time. He knew each day as it passed. And maybe that was what they wanted.
Donnelly continued, his fingers digging painfully into Clint's skin, "A month and, still, no one's come for you. I thought you deserved something special to help you remember that. Because if anyone cared enough to come and get you, this wouldn't have happened."
This time, when the pain hit, it tore him apart, and Clint couldn't stop himself from screaming.
Trigger Warning: Graphic and non graphic torture, mentions and memories of past child physical and sexual abuse, creepy talking and touching that will lead to rape that is not described.
Chapter Title: The Razor's Edge by Digital Daggers