This was so long coming I am so sorry. I honestly had 75% of this written and sitting in google drive for like 4 months. I am so. Sorry.
Anyways, second to last chapter! -E

"N...Natasha…" Clint whimpered out as he cradled the dead woman's body. Choking back a sob, he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to leave. "God… Please… No…" As he sat, a low, dark laugh slowly began to fill the room.

"Did you really think… That I would let her live? Clint Barton…" Ignoring the voice, Clint held Natasha closer to him, as if trying to protect her from the Vidunder. His eyes tightly closed, he tried to pretend everything was still okay, that everything was normal. "She had to die…" Vidunder continued, clearly taking pleasure from his suffering. "Just like Dr. Banner. Anthony Stark. Thor Odinson. Steven Rogers. They all had to die… Just like you..." Clint's chin was roughly brought up, bringing him face to face with the creature. "Have… To die…" The Vidunder's almost non-existent lips spread into a grin, showing its sharp teeth, the skin around its mouth cracking up the rest of its face. Reaching to grab its thin neck quickly, Clint's hand only met the air as the thing disappeared once more. "All… Alone…"

"W…" Clint slowly and gently set Natasha down, wiping tears off his cheek and quickly looking around the room, his brow furrowed. "Thor. Steve. They're dead?"

Silence.

"Answer me, you fuck!" Clint shouted, getting to his feet, using the wall to keep himself stable as he continued to look around the apartment, looking anywhere but at Natasha below him.

Still, the creature remained silent. Face twitching slightly, Clint's eyes narrowed. Stepping around Tasha, Clint jogged across the floor and grabbed the gun, aiming it around the room. "I'm gonna kill you," he told it, his voice wild and thick. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"How I like it when you think you're in control," Vidunder laughed again. Immediately firing multiple times in the direction its voice came from, he heard something drop to the floor. Running over towards the noise, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Damn it!"

"You missed me," a whisper came from directly behind his ear and he spun around, firing once again into nothing but the open air. Firing one more time in frustration, he wasted the last bullet. Growling, he threw the gun to the floor, clenching his fists tightly. Slowly, the front door of the apartment swung open, a flickering warm light coming from the hallway, as though there were a fireplace directly across from the door. "Come out and play, Clint." Without even thinking, Clint took off running into the hallway.

Looking around the hall, he only saw darkness.

"Where are you?!" he shouted, only to have the darkness seem to swallow his words. As soon as they left his mouth, they disappeared into silence. Eyebrows furrowing, he turned his hearing aids up, but there was nothing. As he began making his way down the hall, only the sounds of his feet against the carpeted floor and his breathing met his ears.

"Clint," a voice called to him from the darkness behind him. Spinning around, Clint watched as Bruce walked towards him, his eyebrows furrowed, his feeling of betrayal clear through his features.

"B… Bruce?" Clint stuttered, his eyes widened. " But… H-How?!"

"Clint, why'd you do it?"

"Why'd I do what?" he asked quickly, trying to figure out what was going on.

"You killed me," Bruce told him, his eyebrows furrowing more as he took another step forwards. "It's your fault."

"What? No! No, I-"

"Was I really that annoying to you that you had to kill me?" A second voice interrupted Clint, coming from behind Bruce as Tony stepped forwards, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Tony, I didn't-"

"You're the one who texted us," Bruce said, glancing at Tony before looking at Clint again.

"You're the one who told us to come," Tony added.

"No, but you-" Clint tried again, his heart racing, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"It's your fault."

"Why, Clint?" A third voice asked. Jumping slightly, Clint looked over just in time to watch Steve step out of the darkness, his arms crossed. Clint took another step back, his back hitting the wall behind him.

"W-What?" the panic beginning to show in his voice as he stared at Steve.

"Why'd you kill me?"

"B-But I didn't! I didn't!" Clint insisted. "I- We were looking through the apartments and you were just suddenly gone, I didn't-"

"If it wasn't for you, I'd still be asleep at home," Steve reminded him, his skin suddenly greying, blood spilling out of his mouth as he spoke, multiple large red stains appearing over his chest. "If you hadn't woken me up, I'd still be alive. It's all your fault."

"Why'd you do it, Clint?" Bruce asked again, his arms missing from his body, blood covering his torso and dripping down his legs onto the floor. "We're all dead because of you."

"All of us," Tony agreed, his stomach torn open, his intestines now spilling out, some held in his arms and some dangling to the floor, blood pooling around his feet.

"I was supposed to live for thousands of years longer," Thor's voice added as he walked from the shadows, his body soaking wet, his hair still dripping. "Now every one of those years has been taken away: thanks to your actions." The skin on his chest, legs and arms was badly burned, holes in some places showing through his arm to the muscles and bones, his clothing seeming to also have been burned away in most places. Flinching slightly at the mere sight of Thor, Clint looked away, swallowing hard.

"N-No! No it- I didn't-"

"Clint," a woman's voice sounded softly from the darkness causing Clint's heart to nearly stop. As she stepped forwards between Tony and Bruce, Clint had to use the wall for support as he stared wide-eyed at Natasha Romanoff.

"T...T-Tasha?" He questioned meekly, his body trembling. Walking right in front of him, she stopped, watching him closely.

"Clint," she said again, her expression warm, a small smile on her lips. It was as though Clint had in that moment completely forgotten how to speak. He knew what he wanted to say. He knew he wanted to apologize for what had happened, how he would give anything to change it, but he couldn't find the words. Natasha's expression suddenly changed from the sweet, kindness to a stone cold glare. "Why did you kill me?" She asked him, her tone demanding. "Why did you kill me?" Natasha began repeating the phrase over and over, her voice getting more and more harsh each time, the others all joining in. A mark slowly appeared on her forehead and began to grow, and as Clint's eyes flicked up to it, he immediately recognized it was the bullet wound. "Answer me! Tell me why you killed me!"

Clint didn't know what to do. So, he did the only thing that seemed rational to him: he covered his ears and sank to the floor, his back riding against the wall.

"Stop it! Stop it- you're not real!" He yelled back, his eyes closing tightly. "You're all dead! None of you are real!"

"This is getting out of hand," Tasha said, her voice leveled, her glare directed at Fury.

"This isn't a 'training exercise' anymore, it's torture," Bruce agreed quickly, his eyebrows furrowed as he stood next to Natasha. One by one the members of the team got to their feet and stood next to Natasha as she crossed her arms.

"Fury," Steve's eyes were narrowed. "You need to stop this."

"I can't do that," Fury told them slowly, his eyebrow raised.

"Why not?" Tasha demanded, the urge to smash something through Fury's face growing with every passing second.

"As I explained earlier," Fury kept his gaze on Natasha. "If we end the simulation before its finished, Barton will remain in the exact state he's in now."

"So what you're saying is-"

"He'll be in a coma. With everything going on in the simulation continuing in his head." Stopping and taking a small step back, Tasha took a deep breath in, releasing it slowly as she looked at Clint's pod.

"What can we do?" Her voice was quieter. Softer.

"There's nothing we can do other than… Wait for it to kill him," Fury stuffed a hand in his pocket. "Or for Clint to kill it." No one moved, no one spoke; the only noises coming from the machines surrounding Clint's pod, and Clint's screen.

"You're all dead! None of you are real!"

Silence.

Slowly realizing that he was once again surrounded by silence, Clint hesitantly opened his eyes. Uncovering his ears and raising his head to look around, he discovered he was alone. Letting out a slow, shaky breath, he wiped away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks.

"Okay," he said out loud, his voice hoarse. "Okay. It… It's all… Okay… Clint, it's just… It's just the thing messing with your head."

"Clint!" Tasha's voice rang out again through the hall. For a second, he almost ran towards it. He almost forgot again that she was gone. That he killed her. "Clint!" The voice called again, more urgently, seeming as though it was coming closer.

"No," Clint pleaded, turning on his heels and taking off down the hall away from the voice. "Not again!" As he ran down the hall blindly, he didn't notice as the air quickly became colder. He also didn't notice his breath become visible as he went. Slowing, he shivered, his hands going to rub his freezing arms. Coughing a few times, he glanced behind him as though Natasha would be following. Deciding he wasn't followed, he continued forwards. "Just have to get out… Just have to get out…" he repeated to himself over and over, forgetting about his anger and hatred towards the creature he swore to kill. "...Out. Out. Out. Out…" Swearing as he walked straight into a wall, he turned, blinking slowly when he saw a distant white light down the next hall. "What the hell…?" He was trembling from the cold and sick of the dark. Nodding once to himself, he continued as quickly as his frozen legs would let him towards the light. Almost smiling to himself as it got closer, he slowed to a stop as he walked into the normally lit lobby of the apartment complex. Trying not to think about it too much, Clint made a bee-line for the front door. Grabbing the handle, he yanked at it, only to find it locked. "Fuck." A low laugh filled the room and Clint slowly turned around to come face to face with the Vidunder.

"Clint… Barton…" it grinned at him as Clint glared back.

"Why? Why won't you let me just leave?!" he roared, his fists clenching tightly. Laughing loudly, the creature leaned back to reach its full height.

"I offer you your freedom," it told him simply. Blinking, Clint looked up at the thing, clearly confused.

"W...hat?" He asked dumbly.

"I offer youuu… Your freedom… If… You can kill me," the Vidunder cackled. Pausing a moment, Clint looked around the lobby quickly for any sort of weapon. Darting across the room, he grabbed the first thing he could find: a mop from a near-by janitor's bucket. Walking back slowly towards the Vidunder, handle of the mop aimed at the creature, Clint only recognized two things.

First, he was going to much, he knew.

But, he also knew that he would never go down without a hell of a fight. That wasn't his 'style'.

"Alright…" Clint said slowly, eyeing up the creature. "So I beat you, I go free. Right?"

"If you can…" it grinned widely.

"No funny business? No 'strings attached'? Just free to leave?"

"Of courssssse."

"Okay," Clint readied himself, spinning the mop in his hands before aiming it at the Vidunder again. "Game on." Lunging towards the thing, Clint swung at it. Moving faster than Clint's eyes could even follow, the Vidunder dodged the attack, the grin never once leaving its face. Swinging again, the creature once again dodged before Clint even realized what happened. Growling in frustration, Clint tried again, only to be lifted up by his neck several feet into the air.

Coughing and pausing a moment, Clint swung the mop again, this time hitting the Vidunder in the side of its ribs. Screeching, the creature threw him across the room and hard against a wall. Grunting loudly, Clint slowly leaned up on his elbow, spitting blood onto the tile floor. Bruised, battered and exhausted from the night's events, Clint found himself laughing.

"You were never going to let me go," he observed, his hand finding the mop again. "..Where you?"

"Figured that outtttt, have youuuu?" The Vidunder cackled again, stepping towards Clint. Slowly getting to his feet, Clint used the wall to help him take a running start at the creature, missing on purpose before hitting it again square in the back. Hissing loudly, the Vidunder backhanded Clint with a force that sent him flying again. "Time'ssssss up, Clint Barton…"

Skidding and rolling across the floor, Clint couldn't stop coughing, eventually finding blood splattered on his arm and hand from the coughing fit. Something in his brain snapped and he looked from the creature to the mop. Clumsily and as quickly as he could scrambling to his feet, he ran and grabbed the broom.

"I'll see you in hell," he said harshly before taking the hilt of the mop and ramming it as hard as he could through one of his eye sockets.

READER QUESTION TIME: (May or may not also be a set up for something else/the next chapter)

If the team were to actually go into a simulation knowing its a sim, what would you like to see them do? Stranded powerless on a deserted island? In a world with no power? Something scary? Funny? Tell me what you think! -E