Natasha seemed to get weaker with every step they took towards the door.
Bruce and Clint held up the majority of her weight and as soon as she hit the cold air, she collapsed.
Clint's eyes went wide as she went completely limp.
He just about dropped her, cursing as the two boys lowered her gently onto the ground.
Clint cupped her cheek, close to tears. "Nat, Natasha-" he looked back at Bruce.
The boy knelt, gently shaking her shoulder, his other hand pressing against her neck.
"She's just out, we need that ambulance though, the cold is only going to make things worse.
"I'm here." Bucky ran up, a little out of breath. "Shit-"
Clint grabbed the phone and dialled 911.
"Hello? I need an ambulance. My sister collapsed and she's been sick for a while. She was coughing and there was blood. She's eighteen, no it's just us. Yeah she's breathing. Can you just hurry?"
He gave out the street address and the woman instructed him to stay on the line.
He pressed the phone to his shirt to muffle the sound. "You two should get inside. They're on their way."
Bruce took a shaky step back and nodded, clutching Bucky's hand.
"Call us when you know anything." The dark haired boy murmured, tugging Bruce back inside.
Clint exhaled and sat down, Natasha cradled in his lap. He stroked her hair and murmured softly to her as he waited.
The ambulance didn't take long and they wasted no time getting Natasha into the back.
Clint played the brother card and managed to get in there too.
It was terrifying to watch as they took her vitals and put a mask over her face.
"Is she going to be okay?" Clint asked, voice cracking.
One of the paramedics nodded. "Her oxygen is a little low so the mask is going to help her breathe a little easier."
"Why did she pass out?"
"We're working to figure that out. Has anything happened that might have made your sister sick?"
"I...I don't know." Time to bullshit. "We go for walks a lot, out into nowhere and we got caught in the rain. It took us an hour to get home. That's all I can think of."
"That's a very plausible reason she may be ill. Does she have any illness' you know of?"
"She was sick a lot as a kid." Shit. There would be records of that. "But we didn't have the money for treatment so we cared for her at home. She always gets better. She will get better right?"
"If she's sick with what we think she might be, it's very treatable with the right medication."
Clint nodded, hastily rubbing his eyes.
"I know it's difficult, but she's in the right hands." the paramedic assured him.
"Thank you. It's just we live with some friends of ours, and we haven't spoken to our parents since we turned eighteen and moved out. She's all I have."
The woman nodded sympathetically. She didn't look much older than them and she seemed to relate to their story. "I get that. Don't worry, we can help her. You did the right thing calling."
They got to the hospital then and they rolled Natasha out.
The paramedics job was effectively over but she led him to the front desk and asked for the paperwork to book Natasha into the hospital.
"Where are they taking her? What're they gonna do?" Clint asked, hands shaking as he picked up the pen.
"They'll get her settled into a room, run some blood tests and probably run an x-ray of her chest. They'll keep up with the oxygen and probably start a drip in her arm to give her the medicine she needs."
"She's not gonna die?" he asked weakly.
"This kind of thing is very treatable, she's in the right place."
That wasn't exactly reassuring but he guessed they couldn't ever give anyone definites just in case.
''Thank you for your help." he said softly. He was homeless not rude.
"Of course. Hey, how about I'll drop by after my shift and if you have any questions I can help more then once they have a diagnosis."
"That would be great, thank you..."
"Bobbi. Morse. And you are?"
"Henry." He said quietly. No real names, no last names that could be checked.
"Well, Henry, I'll let you get back to your sister. I'll be done in a couple hours."
"Yeah, thanks." He smiled weakly, moving to find a seat to fill out the paperwork.
He looked down at the stolen phone, finding a note on the home screen.
'Took another phone. Here's the number. Call us. -Buck'
Clint hadn't even thought about it when Bucky had said to call them. They didn't have any phones so it made sense he'd lifted another.
They'd all gotten good at pickpocketing, and they hated doing it unless it was necessary.
Clint tapped out a quick message that he was waiting for the doctors and that Nat seemed as well as could be expected.
After he'd handed the paperwork in- filled out with the bare minimum and with the names of two very real people who weren't minors, Clint sat back in the seat, shaking all over.
Natasha had to be okay.
She had to.