Chapter 5
Harry sat on the lounge chair with a weary sigh.
He hadn't really slept in a long time and was showing in his body language. The nap he took on the plane was his cover to eavesdrop on the spies' conversations. He knew that Romanoff was doing the same while he was talking with Agent Barton. Sadly, he didn't hear anything of importance.
Most of his vacation was spent in a lab, trying to make a weapon. In theory, the weapon would be capable of manipulating energy from an energy source, weaponizing it to destroy the source itself. The easy way to describe is that it would be like a parasite destroying its host.
One could take out an entire country's power grids with it. The loss of lives would be unfathomable by the explosions. But that will be just the beginning. Power blackout will mean that we would be back in the middle ages and no law and order might be efficient enough to contain the panic and reavings.
Yes, he was aware of the havoc this type of technology could bring, but desperate times required desperate measures.
It was also an effective way to take out some wizards, targeting their magical cores, but sadly not Tom Riddle, he thought darkly. Most wizards have a tight control on their magic, and it becomes difficult to detect it.
It was easy enough to make the tech. But most of the time was spent trying to make it compact, so he could carry it around.
He named it MD-39. MD, because it Manipulates raw energy and Destroys. 39, because it took him 39 days to perfect the technology. It was silly, he knew, but naming stuff wasn't his thing.
He was broken out of his thoughts by a crunch of light footsteps on a broken glass. It must be the vase he had broken.
Someone else was here, other than the other two S.H.I.E.L.D agents. They would've never stepped on the broken vase, because he broke it in front of them. It was meant to be a security measure against any unwelcomed visitors and it seemed that to have worked.
Harry took a moment to decide his best plan of action. There were at least seven intruders, judging by the numbers of footsteps he could hear around the house. They had the advantage of numbers but they were in an unfamiliar territory. The best course of action would be to take them out one by one.
He jumped behind the sofa when he heard a creak of the wooden floor.
"The sitting room is Clear, Headed up." He saw two men dressed in black tactical gear with a military grade armor.
When the soldiers turned, he jumped over the sofa, to sneak on the one closest to him, Harry put him in chokehold and immediately broke his neck before he could alert the other. He unholstered the soldier's silenced sidearm and shot the other in the head before he could fully turn around.
Two dead.
By now the duo upstairs would know something was wrong.
He checked the two mercenaries and found a folding knife and a picture of Barton, Romanoff, and him. On the picture's back was written the coordinates of the safehouse they were in. He pocketed the picture and armed himself with a knife and a Glock 43.
He heard a commotion upstairs and heard a muffled cry of pain. He smirked. It seemed that the mercenaries' night wasn't going very well.
He sensed someone coming from the kitchen and shot the intruder without remorse on the forehead. He was dead before he could hit the ground. He went to the dead assassin to check him for weapons but instead found multiple C4 explosives wired to a time-based detonator in his bag. They had less than 30 seconds to get out of here.
"Less than 30 seconds for multiple C4 detonations." He shouted loudly to the two spies upstairs and ran outside to get as far away from the house as possible. The super spies could take care of themselves.
Natasha Romanoff was not having a good night. At first, she was forced to tag along an annoying agent who was more interested in his books than his surroundings. It seemed like he had never heard of the word situational awareness. Honestly, he looked more like an insecure college student than a S.H.I.E.L.D agent.
She didn't trust him one bit because of his last assignment. He failed to terminate his target and was making excuses for it. It was either that he was incompetent or untrustworthy. Personally, she thought him to be both, but she knew not to underestimate anyone.
But then again, he proved himself to be as clumsy as a drunk man by tripping over a credenza and shattering a vase to pieces.
Last but not the least, he had the gall to call her 'miss widow'. She really wanted to punch him in the face when she heard him. Once Tony called her Nattie, and she put him in hospital for it during one of their training sessions. She knew she was being petty but she couldn't help it.
And now she was breaking necks of mercenaries before they even started their mission. All in all, it had the potential to be one of the worst missions of her life, possibly up there with Budapest.
She dodged a punch from one of the intruders and quick as a snake, struck him in the throat, crushing his windpipe. His screech of pain echoed in the house. She didn't have the time to breathe because another mercenary replaced the now dead one. She saw Clint from the corner of her eye battling two foes at the same time. He was alright but she could see that he was straining and wouldn't be able to hold much longer if the fight continued. Even she had to admit that the mercenaries were well trained, and she was in the same condition as Clint. They wouldn't be able to hold them much longer.
She heard a pained groan and knew who it came from. It was Clint. Her heart skipped a beat but she forced herself to calm her nerves and finished her opponent by stabbing him in the heart by his own blade. She turned around and saw Clint bleeding from the upper left area of his abdomen but he was still fighting. In times like these, she admired her friend who was disciplined enough to ignore his pain and continue fighting. But, she had to intervene before he gets himself killed. She took the gun from the dead man and shot one of Clint's opponents on the chest and Clint finished the other. They both fell like a sack of potatoes.
She ran to Clint, who looked like he was going to fall to the ground anytime, to assist him. He looked pale but was calm enough to remember to put pressure on his wound. She was worried about him. His wound was deep and would need a hospital to treat it.
They both suddenly heard a familiar voice from downstairs. Honestly, she had forgotten about the new guy, again.
"Less than 30 seconds for multiple C4 detonations." They both looked at each other with an 'oh shit!' expression and ran downstairs, as fast as possible, with Natasha supporting most of Clint's weight.
They got outside with Clint occasionally grunting in pain. But they had to keep moving. it had already been more than 15 seconds. She pushed herself to go faster and felt the familiar shaking of the ground, like when a bomb went off.
She slowed down and looked around for Potter. He wasn't anywhere to be seen and she felt frustrated.
She heard more of the mercenaries heading towards them. Clint was not in any state for another round, they couldn't fight. The only option was to run, before she could do that she was interrupted by a car stopping just ahead of them.
It was Potter.
"Get in" She helped Clint get in the backseat and got in with him. She wasn't a doctor but she knew enough that Clint was losing blood very fast and they had to get him to a hospital.
She barely had time to close the door when Potter floored the gas pedal, Luckily, they weren't being followed by anyone.
She sensed Potter glancing at them through the mirror and she glared at him like it was all hid fault. He hesitated for a moment but frowned when he looked at Clint but gave no other outward reaction.
"We're going to a hospital." She told him from the backseat.
"I don't think that's a good idea…" he started.
"You either head towards a hospital or I'm going to put a bullet in your head." She said frustratedly, having no patience to deal with the idiot.
Clint was looking at both of them through the haze of pain but it looked like he didn't have the energy to contribute to their argument.
When Potter didn't reply, she took out the gun she took from the soldiers and was about to point it to Potter's head when Clint stopped her.
"We can't go …. cough…. to the hospital. We're being hunted.…. cough…. It's risky." he wheezed.
"I know somewhere we can lay low for a while." Potter told them with a slightly hesitant tone.
She didn't trust him but she couldn't do anything else. Clint was bleeding out and she had no idea how to help him. It was a strange feeling to feel so helpless.
But she didn't think much on it. She took her mind off things by pondering on how they were found so quick. They didn't have a tail, she made sure of it. They weren't caught on any cameras. Her phone was….
"Give me your phone. We need to get rid of them and anything with a chip." She told sternly to the agent driving the car.
That was the most reasonable conclusion. They were being tracked by their phones.
She was already destroying her phone and sim card when he handed her his. She took Clint's phone from his right pocket and did the same thing to it.
They wouldn't be able to call HQ for emergency extraction, if they needed it. But they didn't have any other choice. They'd have to survive now and think of the future later.
Potter drove for an hour but it felt like an eternity. Clint lost conscious halfway of the ride but his breathing was shallow and it seemed like it was painful for him to breathe. She tore her bloody hoodies' sleeve and used it to put pressure on the wound and the blood seemed to have slowed down for now. She gave a sigh of relief and wiped his face from sweat.
She felt the car being slowed down and looked outside the window. They were in a neighborhood which consisted of a number of almost exact replications of every house there.
They stopped in front of a house whose house plate read Number 4 Privet Dr. The house was the same as others. The only difference was that it looked like no one had lived there for a long time, judging by the mess of a garden.
Potter shut the engine off and helped her get Clint out of the vehicle. Clint was awake again but looked like he was still in great deal of pain, judging by the grimace on his face.
The inside of the home consisted of two floors. The downstairs consisted of a living room, dining room, kitchen and hall. The upper floor had 3 bedrooms with 2 washrooms. All things considered, it looked like it used to be a well-managed house but now there was dust everywhere.
Passing through the entrance hallway, she saw pictures hanging of an obese man with an overgrown mustache. There was a thin woman in black hair who had a neck too long to be natural. There were also photos of a fat boy who had blonde hair like the obese man. Judging by the resemblance, she concluded that the boy was the child of the blonde man and black-haired woman.
She didn't ask him where they were. They had more important things to do, like making sure Clint stays safe and alive. She was afraid that he might die on her and it was making her do things she wouldn't normally do, like entering an unknown house. It was true that he had been injured before on missions but never this severely.
They put Clint on the leather sofa after cleaning it thoroughly of any dust.
Potter took immediate charge of Clint and started tearing his shirt with a knife. His whole torso was covered in blood. She tried not to shudder. The wound was deeper than she feared.
"The wound isn't infected so that's good but we'll still need antibiotics, just to be sure." Potter commented on the Clint's state. "Stay here. There must be some medicines laying around in the house."
But she didn't hear him. She was trying to swallow her fear but she knew she was unsuccessful. It had been a long time since she felt this much fear within her and it was proving difficult to calm down.
"Hey." she was startled out of her inner battle by Clint's soft voice. "I'm gonna be alright!" But he looked unsure and she detected a heavy amount of fear in his voice that he was trying so hard to conceal.
Potter came back with various meds in his hand and some tools. He dropped the meds on the ground and ran to the kitchen to wash his hands and the tools.
"I don't have anything sterile and the place is filthy, but we can't do anything about it." Potter wasn't talking to anyone in particular. He was just stating the obvious.
Potter took a clean cloth to wipe away any blood and dirt surrounding the stab wound. It seemed like he knew what he was doing and for the first time, she was thankful that he was with them.
"Have you ever done this before?" It was Clint who asked him dreadfully.
"I have performed various surgeries before, yes, and have also stitched some people up." He replied to the injured man without looking at him. He was still wiping away any trace of dirt. Potter continued. "You got lucky, your organs, especially your stomach didn't get pierced by the knife. I don't have any equipment to treat peritonitis."
Natasha didn't know what he was saying and she didn't care at this point.
He soaked a cloth with antiseptic and told him a little unease coloring his voice:
"I don't have any pain meds to put you under, so you're gonna feel this and uh… Bite onto this." He gave him a piece of leather to bite onto.
Her best friend did so reluctantly.
Despite him biting onto the leather, his screams still echoed through the house. If it wasn't for the painful situation, she would've teased him for his high-pitched screams.
After a couple minutes, his screams stopped and he was breathing heavily like he had just run a marathon.
Potter didn't wait for him to breathe and told him with a wince:
"I can't stitch the wound because we don't have a clotting agent and you've already lost a lot of blood. I'm gonna have to uhhhh… cauterize it."
The green-eyed agent took a spoon and went to the kitchen to heat it up.
Clint was really pale after hearing Potter's monologue and was looking at her with dread. She took his hand in hers and started stroking his hairs to comfort him.
Potter came back with a hot red spoon and was about to press it to the wound when she stopped him.
"There must be something else we can do." She didn't want to hear her friends screams again.
"There is not. Blood will still seep through the stitches if we don't have any clotting agent." he said to her like a professional doctor would.
"Last I checked, you weren't a doctor." she yelled angrily.
"No, but among the three of us, I am the best bet you got for making sure he stays alive." He told her matter-of-factly and the worst part of it was that he was right.
"DO IT" Clint yelled, resigned to his fate, and also frustrated by their constant bickering.
"You might wanna look away…" Potter told Clint with uncertainty.
"DO IT." She heard Clint yell again but this time a lot more forcefully.
"This might not be the best time to tell you, but I lied. I've never performed a surgery before." She heard Potter mutter and was stunned for a moment.
"WHA….." Clint's exclamation was replaced by a painful scream when Potter pressed the hot spoon on the wound.
It took a couple seconds for the brown-haired agent to finish the cauterization and by the time he finished Clint was already unconscious because of the pain.
Natasha saw that the green-eyed man took everything from the floor but the antibiotics and before he could walk out, she whispered:
"Thank you!" she thanked him sincerely. She had seen enough injuries in her life, some she had caused and some she had received, to know that if Clint's injuries were left untreated, he would have bled to death.
He stopped at the door for a moment but didn't acknowledge her and walked out of the living room without looking back.
The red head went back to stroking the archer's hair and thought about the quiet agent. She was grateful that he had saved Clint's life. She still didn't trust him but was willing to give him the benefit of doubt. Maybe it wouldn't be bad to keep him around.