About this chapter… I am sorry. I am so sorry.
Trigger Warnings at the end.
Chapter title is Still Here by Digital Daggers
- - Clint rubbed his hand over his bare wrists again, still getting use to the feeling. Not long after Donnelly left, the manacles had opened and the chain retracted into the pillar. He could move around the room freely now.
He had wanted the restraints off for so long, but now it didn't seem to matter. He hadn't even bothered to move further away from the pillar. It was probably an entire day before he made himself walk the perimeter of the room, but then he went back to the pillar and fell asleep.
When he woke up he tried to destroy the cameras, but he couldn't find them. They were gone, or were they being covered so he thought they were gone? Was he looking in the right spot? He couldn't see. He hated the darkness, making his eyesight worthless.
He was worthless now.
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Clint's broken leg was healed. When had that happened? It had been weeks. It would take weeks to heal, if it had been a clean break. It made sense. It had been weeks, hadn't it? More than a week? More than a month? When Donnelly had come in, had that been the month mark? Did Donnelly actually come in? He didn't do anything, though; just laughed and left.
Clint couldn't tell. It was hard to understand anything in the darkness.
He tried pretending to sleep, to attack the guard when they came in with water and food. But when the door opened, a blinding light filled the room.
He covered his eyes, pressing into them hard, because it hurt. God, it hurts! His eyes were burning.
Whoever it was didn't just fill up his water and leave, a foot slammed into his gut knocking him around. Clint couldn't protect himself, he had to cover his eyes, simply closing them wasn't enough to keep out the searing light. One more kick and the man left. Clint almost cried in relief when the door closed.
Leaving him in the darkness he hated.
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Clint was starting to hear things. People talking. They were only whispers, things that creeped into his dreams. He couldn't make out what was being said, but he recognized the voices; it was the Avengers.
Was this like that thing with the memory of Tony? Was it only in his head?
"I just don't care," Tony said, dismissively.
Clint spun around. That was louder.
The whispering continued.
Why couldn't he tell if it was real?
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The door opened and the light hit Clint hard; he had been looking in that direction. He cried out and almost dropped to the ground as he covered his eyes.
He could hear people moving into the cell. How many?
Hands. Touching him, grabbing him from all directions. His skin screamed at him as he flinched and jerked away, he could feel himself starting to shake. It was too much, too much of everything after being with nothing for, how long? He kicked out but met only air, his head rocked to the side from a blow, then the hands left and the collar turned on. Clint cried out again, unable to move his hands from his eyes to do anything.
There was a pause, then a hand gripped his hair tightly. Clint fought against it and was released, only to be shocked again. The pattern was repeated again and again.
In his mind, a voice that sounded like Natasha spoke up. It's like the cattle prod. If you had just stopped being stubborn, it would have been over faster.
I can't stop fighting. I can't. I can't. I can't.
Why? What's the point of fighting now? We're not coming for you.
Clint let out a sobbed breath when the hand grabbed his hair again, but didn't fight back. There was another pause, then he was jerked down to his knees.
It will be over faster if you don't fight. This voice was small, young.
He head was pressed against the ground.
No. No more.
Be still, don't fight, Mr. Walker doesn't like it when you fight back.
'you're losing your mind,' Donnelly had whispered.
Clint flinched when he heard laughter, then froze when he recognized the voice. It was Tony. Tony was laughing. He sounded happy, relieved. Bruce joined in, then Natasha.
No. This wasn't real. They weren't here.
Clint tensed, ready to move, but was shocked again.
The laughter stopped and Bruce asked, "You really think that's a good idea?"
Don't move. Don't move.
The hands were back and pain. Pain that Clint blocked out so he wouldn't have to think about what was happening, what was being done to him.
The laughter started again, Steve and Thor joining in. It just went on and on, the voices turning ugly, no longer sounding like the team.
Clint was shoved over and shocked again.
"I have wasted enough time with you," Thor said.
This didn't happen. It was happening now, but it hadn't happened before. This wasn't real. It was happening, so it was real, but it wasn't. They had moved on with their lives so why would they come here and rape him? They wouldn't bother. They had already forgotten him. It wasn't them. Did he want it to be them? Because then, at least they would be here.
"Do you think he'd want to see you like this?" Steve asked.
Who?
Steve continued, "He's looking after Bruce."
Tony.
Clint curled into a ball.
No, he wouldn't.
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The laughter didn't die down for a while after the cell was dark again, and even then the voices didn't stop. The phone call to Tony, to Stark, played. This time Clint could hear Natasha in the background yelling 'Leave him". It was repeated, along with things from the others.
Natasha, "I work better alone", "I don't need you".
Rogers, "I would never willing leave a man behind", dismissively, "Only you".
Banner, "I really don't care".
Thor, "I would let Mjolnir crush your skull, worthless cur".
More Stark, "He thought he was so special", "We're looking for a sniper, not a damn mastermind".
For days on end the voices continued. He was now covering his ears to block out the sound. He should have been happy to hear their voices, but he could only cry out for them to stop, to leave him alone. He couldn't sleep. Everytime he began to doze, the laughter would start up again. And now he hated the sound.
The visits continued. Never often or long enough that Clint was able to adapt to the light. Sometimes he was brought to his knees only to be beaten before they left. He fought the hands on instinct each time, taking a few shocks before he reminded himself what to do.
Don't move. Don't fight. It will be over soon.
Was that what his life was reduced to now? The mantra his ten year old self had created out of fear and shame? He could still feel Mr. Walker's rough fingers wiping away his tears.
Clint worked the fight out of his system.
Just take it. Be good and they'll leave.
Be good. He laughed at that. It was true wasn't it? He always tried to be good, to do as he was told, to follow orders, to prove his worth, so he wouldn't be left behind or forgotten.
Useless. He would never be good enough. Maybe he was meant to be forgotten.
The door opened. Clint covered his eyes. His hair was grabbed and yanked. He went to his knees, his forehead was pressed against the ground. Pain. Nausea. Shame. The men left and the door closed. Why fight? It was easier this way.
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.
.
It felt like weeks between visits. Was it weeks? How long had he been alone in the darkness? How much longer would he be?
.
.
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He started seeing the team. Not in memories, but actually in the cell, in the blackness. Moving around, talking, as the repeated voices echoed around the room. When they weren't talking to him they ignored him completely, like they weren't the ones in his cell. He didn't asked them to come here.
It wasn't intentional, but he began talking back to them. Soon the words changed, they were going off script, saying horrible things to him.
Sometimes he remembered that they weren't really there, but that wasn't any better; because then they weren't there. They hadn't come. They left him to die. Didn't care enough to look. Replaced him within the month of his capture.
He never realized that the speakers had turned off.
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It didn't matter if he closed his eyes, they were always there.
He glanced over at the corner where Stark and Banner were making out. Why did they have to do that in front of him?
"Get a room."
They continued like they hadn't heard him.
Right. They were in a room. Clint's room. Apparently that didn't matter to them. Why would it? Were they smiling? Why wouldn't they be smiling? Making out was fun. But they were making out in his room. That was a problem. He wanted to wipe that smug self satisfied smile off Stark's face. He couldn't do anything to Banner, though. Maybe taking Stark away would be enough. Clint wondered, again, how he could pull the reactor out of Stark's chest. It would still be glowing after he had rotted away. He would die without a heart.
Hmm, the Wizard of Oz was really creepy.
Clint got to his feet. Stark looked over to him, "You don't have to watch, you know, but I guess I should have pegged you for a watcher, spending hours looking at people through a scope."
Light spilled in from the doorway and Clint flinched away from it, hands covering his eyes. He heard Tony talking, "He thought he was so special."
"Shut up, Stark," Clint snarled.
The door closed leaving him in the darkness. He felt a hand grip his hair tight. He tried to look around, but no one was there, just blackness. It didn't matter. His hair was pulled sharply and he automatically dropped to his knees.
Why? He was trying. He wasn't fighting back. Why did this continue?
He looked over at Rogers, he was standing resolutely in his Captain America uniform, hands on his hips, chin lifted, like he was ready to take on the world.
"Help me," Clint whispered.
Rogers didn't move, only firmed his stance.
"Rogers, help me," Clint called, as his head was pushed against the ground, "please."
His lips didn't move, but he heard Rogers' voice, strong and commanding, "Every soldier is important. I would never willingly leave a man behind… only you."
"Leave him alone, Barton," Natasha said, leaning against the wall. "He's being patriotic. If he stops, who is the country going to look to… Stark?"
"I heard that," Stark called from the corner.
"Nat, please."
"It's 'Romanoff', Barton. You're the one who started the nicknames, I went along with it because it got me what I wanted." She smirked. "I could always play you so well."
Anger broke through when he felt the now too familiar pain, and her voice echoed through the room, "Leave him!"
"No better," he ground out, "than me."
She laughed, and it was her beautiful laugh, the one that could melt any man's heart. "Of course I'm better than you Barton, in every way. You chose this life, I didn't; technically, I don't know any better. But you, you chose to kill, and you are good at it, aren't you; proud of it even, using an arrow, leaving a nice calling card in each of your victims, like a serial killer."
She was right next to him, he could smell the perfume she wore on missions when she needed to seduce a mark. "Good boy," she cooed, kissing his cheek.
"Good boy," echoed around the room.
He could hear Stark and Banner getting louder in the corner, the moaning and panting was obscene. "Bruce," Stark whispered.
"Shut up, Stark!" Clint snarled.
"We're looking for a sniper, not a damn mastermind!"
"Shut up!" Clint tried to cover his ears but his hands were held tightly behind him.
"I can have another one here in half an hour."
"Shut up! Shut up!"
Stark's laughter filled the room.
"Shut your goddamn mouth, Stark! I'm going to kill you!"
The pain stopped abruptly and Stark's laughter faded.
There was no sound in the room except his heavy panting. He closed his eyes and looked away when the door opened again. It closed silently, and Clint was alone.
All alone.
Trigger Warnings: Rape, mentions of underage rape, hallucinations, sensory deprivation, psychological torture.
There are one or two more Clint flashback chapters left. Next will be a present time, yea!