So... it's been awhile.
Life got really hectic and I had no time to work on fan fiction. Jaws of Evil and Until Dawn: Ashley are now on hiatus until further notice. However, during my time off the website I gained an interest in other fandoms, so I'm going to be working on a fic for that too. Not to mention, I recently gotten an idea for a Marvel fic that is compliant with Infinity War. I will be posting the release dates for every upcoming chapter from now on.
Thank you all for your patience.
The couch ended up being even more uncomfortable than it looked. An hour into trying to fall asleep, Clint decided to sit up with the blanket from his bed bundled up behind to protect his back from the arm. Still, the damage had been done. His neck and back felt like they had been lying on a bunch of rocks.
Giving up on sleep, he turned his head to look at the dog still lying on the little bed he made. As soon as Steve finished cleaning his wounds he had been drinking a lot of water with short naps in between. Clint lost count how many times he had to refill the bowl. If the green glow of his pupils were anything to go by, Pizza Dog was just staring at nothing in particular.
Clint couldn't tell how Pizza Dog was feeling now. He obviously had to be tired and in pain, but he could also be bored or lonely. Clint himself had been injured on numerous occasions during his career and had to spend long periods of time doing nothing but healing. It was really easy to become bored, especially when you have nothing to keep you entertained. The underwater prison was like that as well. Worse really because he hadn't been allowed to talk to anyone but Stark. The only thing he did was brood.
"I know how you feel," Clint found himself saying, "Hurt, unable to do anything. It seems like you'll never recover, but you will."
Pizza Dog's glowing eyes were now trained on Clint. He felt like he should be creeped out by the sight, what with glowing eyes in the dark never being a good sign in movies, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. It actually encouraged him to talk more.
"When I first began working as an agent, I would get hurt all the time. Broken bones, black eyes, you name it. Even now, I'm not injured, but I might as well be. I can't leave this forest or I'd get arrested. What about you? Why are you stuck in this forest? We're miles away from civilization. Your owner must be really worried about you."
He kept looking at Clint as if he was truly listening and comprehending the words he was saying. In reality, he was probably just curious as to why he was talking.
"My name's Clint by the way. Clint Barton. But most of the world knows me as Hawkeye. That's because I'm good at shooting arrows. Sure it's not as impressive as super strength, flying, or telekinesis, but hey, what am I going to do? Frankly, I'm glad I'm not in the spotlight as much as the others. I don't get much more than a few curious glances when I'm out. It allows me to live a semi-quiet life on my farm."
Pizza Dog's tail thumped against one of the cushions. He was still looking at Clint as if prompting him to tell him more. To distract him from the pain of his current situation. Clint decided the best way to do that was to talk about what cheers him up during dark times.
"You know, my son Cooper used to beg my wife and me to get a dog all the time. He was very disappointed when we explained that we didn't have the money for one. Back then, my salary wasn't much to brag about and my wife and I already had him, a new baby, and some farm animals to take care of. As soon as my daughter Lila could talk, she began saying that she wanted a dog too."
He still remembered Lila skipping into the room while he and Laura were talking and asking if they could get a dog. The unexpected question/request amused them, Clint even more when his 20/20 vision saw Cooper peeking out from behind a in another room. No doubt he was the mastermind behind her question.
"They would love you. If they were here and you were healthy, Cooper would insist on playing fetch and teaching you tricks and Lila would just run around and cuddle with you. Hard to say what my son Nate would do. He might try to climb on your back or grab your ears. I'd hope you wouldn't take it personally. He's barely a toddler. And my wife, her name is Laura, will do everything in her power to make sure that you're comfortable. Honestly, I think you'd love them too. Labrador retrievers are supposed to be family dogs right?"
Clint knew he shouldn't be entertaining the thought of having Pizza Dog as the newest member of the family. He'd still have to discuss it with Laura, and that's if he didn't already have an owner who was looking for him. Not to mention, being on the run as a war criminal wasn't really the best time to adopt. And yet...
"You need a name. Pizza Dog is an okay nickname but it doesn't really sound at all like an official name. Personally, I feel like Buddy is overused. If I named you Pal, my kids would think I named you after that dog from the show about the talking aardvark. You don't really look like a Rascal or a Killer. Really the only famous yellow lab I know is Old Yeller and I'm not naming you after him. Or maybe... we need to think of a name that means something. That's relevant to you. Of course I've known you for less than twenty-four hours, so there's still a lot about your personality that I don't know. I'd have to really think here."
So Clint thought about what he knew about Pizza Dog so far. He had a strong will to live, that was for sure. He had days worth of dirt on him. He was attacked by something, but managed to be found by Clint. So far he seemed like a kind dog. That was really all Clint knew about him. It was really amazing how Pizza Dog was even still among the living. That's when hit him.
Pizza dog was lucky to have survived in the woods for so long. He was lucky to get away from his attacker. He was lucky that Clint decided to go for a walk and that he spotted him. He was lucky to be lying in the safety of the lodge at that moment. He was just lucky to be alive despite everything had seemingly been stacked against him.
"Lucky," said Clint, "I know it's also a common dog name, but it just seems to suit you so well. That is if you like the name."
Clint, of course, wasn't expecting Lucky to reply. He smiled before looking up at the ceiling, contemplating what he was going to say next. He hadn't noticed that his hand had flopped over the side of the couch until he felt something wet touch it. When he looked over, Lucky was licking the back of his hand. It puzzled Clint. He had eaten hours ago and had washed his hands since then, so it couldn't have anything to do with food.
He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he felt it had to be affection. His heart warmed at the gesture even as Lucky moved his head away and closed his eyes. Clint was suddenly aware of how tired he was and how he desperately needed sleep. After all, Nat was going to be here in the morning and he had to give her special instructions and details the others couldn't.
"Goodnight, Lucky." Clint shut his eyes and let the chirping crickets and Lucky's even breathing lull him to sleep.
Sam and Steve walking down the steps and out the door for their jog had awoken Clint from an uneasy sleep. Careful not to step on Lucky, he stood and headed to the sink to get a new bowl of water.
His back and neck were killing him, and he gained a headache during the night. He rubbed his neck in an effort to ease it, but it did little to help. Despite this, he couldn't find it in himself to regret staying with Lucky the night before. He knows from experience that loneliness can hurt more than physical pain.
He filled the bowl and set it down in front of Lucky. Pizza Dog opened his eyes and looked at the water. Instead of drinking, he looked up at Clint and whined.
"What? Oh, you haven't eaten since yesterday." He went to the fridge and opened it. "We don't have anymore pizza, but we have ham. Is that okay?" Clint held up the package of sliced ham. He heard a tail continuously knock against the cushions. "I take that as a yes."
Grabbing a few slices, he returned to Lucky. The dog barely missed Clint's fingers as he ate from his hand. When he realized Clint didn't have anymore food, he focused on drinking the water.
"How is he?" Clint peeked over to the stairs to see Wanda in her pajamas. She seemed almost as tired as Clint felt. Her hair was a mess and there were bags under her eyes.
"He's eating and drinking, and he probably got more sleep than I did. Right, Lucky?"
The dog in question was only focused on the water.
"You named him?"
Clint sat as he petted Lucky, careful not to rub any injuries. "He needed a name."
Wanda didn't respond at first, but she soon confessed, "Part of me wondered if he would survive the night. Whenever I tried to sleep, I saw... Lucky... dying in his sleep or us being forced to bury him in the backyard."
"I think he'll be fine," he replied, voice filled with hope, "but he needs to get to a vet. Nat and Fury can't come sooner."
She walked over and sat on the cushion-less couch. "Will the vet be able to find out what happened to him?"
"Maybe. Why? What do you think happened?"
Wanda didn't answer at first, looking down at her hands instead. "How long does a dog have to be in the woods to get this bad?"
Clint focused on the visible scratches. The depth, shape, and amount of them didn't suggest that they come from the thorns of a bush. That along with the obvious bite marks suggests that this was a deliberate attack by something. He thought back to yesterday when he wondered why there were very few injuries on his back half. Lucky had to have been facing his attacker and/or in a position where the animal could only attack from the front. An ambush was most likely off the table as a scenario.
"Something did this to him," said Clint, "Maybe a pack of wolves?"
"If he escaped a pack of wolves, that really does make him lucky."
Clint chuckled, "I have chosen well."
Lucky finished his water and placed his head back on his bed. His eyes trailed to Wanda's face, possibly trying to make sense of her presence.
"Hi. Remember me?" she asked.
He blinked a few times before moving his eyes to look at Clint.
"She's safe. Just don't piss her off."
Wanda leaned down and scratched Lucky's head. "I don't think he can."
The front door opened, but instead of Nat and Fury like he hoped, it was just Sam. Lucky was only able to raise his head about an inch at the sound of the door squeaking. He tensed as he heavily inhaled, trying to figure out who it was he couldn't see.
Clint was quick to pet and comfort him. "It's just Sam. You're okay."
Lucky visibly relaxed some, but he still seemed on guard. Clint tried his best to stay calm too, even though he was slightly worried about where Steve was.
Sam answered the unspoken question. "Steve wanted to make sure Natasha and Fury knew what was going on. They need to get in and out today."
Clint nodded. "As well as they can take surprises, it's probably best that they know that there's a dog in here before they step inside."
The dog in question whined and slowly shifted his position. Lucky didn't need to talk to convey how much agony he was in. His demeanor and specks of blood on the sheets did it well enough.
Clint whispered to himself, "Come on Nat..."
Help is on the way for Lucky! Feel free to give me your honest opinion!