Sleepy or Sick?
A/N: Hey guys! I just wrote up this little drabble-y sickfic with Clint and the rest of the team, because Clint just doesn't get enough attention, lol. Anyways, it's short and sweet, so I hope you enjoy! (Also, I love hearing your guys' feedback and ideas, so please review and send me any Marvel prompt ideas you'd like to see in future fics. J)
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own these characters. They belong to Marvel.
When Clint first stumbled into the Avengers Tower kitchen for breakfast, the team didn't notice that anything was up. After all, the archer was never really a morning person, instead sleeping in as late as possible until Nat came in banging pots and pans. So his trudging and grumbling and weary eyes went unnoticed as the team chattered around him.
"Anyone know where the orange juice went?" Bruce asked, glancing into the fridge.
"Erm…" Tony tilted his head as he raised a hand into the air.
"Stark. You did not drink the orange juice I specifically told everyone was my personal stash."
"If it's in the kitchen fridge, it is disqualified from being you 'personal stash.'" Natasha remarked, popping a few pieces of bread into the toaster. Bruce sighed and admitted defeat.
"It's better than the time Clint ate all the Girl Scout cookies." Steve offered, a smile dancing on his lips.
"Argh. That was the worst." Tony said. "He took all my thin mints. Isn't that right, Legolas?" he shot a look towards Clint, who had slumped into a stool at the island and was propping up his head with one hand. He grunted at Tony's remark.
"What's up, Clint? Stay up too late again?" Steve joked. Clint grumbled something under his breath that sounded oddly like "stuff it, Rogers," but was cut off short by a series of hacking coughs. They ripped through his lungs and tore up his throat until it felt raw and he couldn't breathe. He felt a hand on his back and looked up to see Nat smiling softly at him. The rest of the team was watching him, eyebrows raised.
"…So, not sleep deprived?" Tony piped up finally.
"Doesn't sound like it," Bruce said, pressing the back of his hand to Clint's forehead. "I'd say you caught the bug going around. You should go rest."
"What?" Clint croaked out. "No, we've got training today, and it's just a cold. I'm fine-" he was cut off again by another coughing fit. He could feel strong hands lifting him up, and the next thing he knew, Steve and Tony were laying him on the couch, with Nat handing him a bottle of water and Bruce shoving a thermometer down his protesting throat.
"I'm-stop it, Bruce-fine!"
"100.2 degrees." Bruce announced as Clint spit out the thermometer. "You've got a low-grade fever."
"Great. Now let's stop fussing and go to training." Clint replied, standing up. Steve pushed him back down.
"Nope," he said. "We'll stop fussing, but you're not going anywhere. Stay and rest."
Clint made to protest again but Natasha cast him a knowing glance. "We both know you're secretly miserable, so stop playing tough." She said with a smirk. "Skip the strenuous stuff and go watch one of those cheesy romance movies you love."
Clint shook his head and laughed softly. "Shut it, Romanoff."
Natasha's expression softened a bit and she tilted her head. "Just rest, Clint. Okay?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Clint stared her down for a moment, the sighed and broke her gaze. "Fine."
Natasha smiled, and she and the rest of the team said goodbye to Clint and headed downstairs to the training room. Tony paused in the doorway and spun around, an evil grin plastered across his face.
"Enjoy The Notebook."
He had to explain to the team why he had a black eye.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to review below-it always makes my day. J