The downpour had lightened to an all-over mist that managed to seep under Clint's feathers. The wind rushing past cooled the water to a freezing cold that seemed to reach all the way to his bones. Soon his muscles were aching and tightening and each flap of his wings felt like it was sucking the energy away from him. Clint clenched his jaw tighter, fighting through the exhaustion. His eyes were focused on the bright beacon that was the Tower.
As Clint reached the safety of the balcony he dropped low, letting his wings guide him down in an effortless glide that landed him just inside the doors. Being inside and out of the wind and rain, the comfort and warmth hit him like a solid force. Clint finally collapsed to the ground, settling onto the floor with far less grace than usual.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but he knew it was too long. The room was far too quiet. The Tower was never quiet; there was always someone up and moving about. The only time it was ever this silent was when no one was home. Panic coursed through Clint's veins as he remembered the men's conversation. What if the Doombot attack was already happening? What if he was too late?
Clint tried to lift off but his wings gave out, refusing to take him any further. So Clint started hopping towards the living room, wishing he had knees so he could move faster. He called out to Jarvis as he went. "Jarvis? Where is everyone?" He heard the chittering leave his throat and he couldn't help but swear. Ditching the translator had been necessary in order to get free, but right now he was seriously regretting it.
"Master Clint, is that you?" Jarvis' voice was laced with a level of concern that Clint had hardly ever heard.
"Yes." Clint said. He wondered if maybe Stark had uploaded the translation software into Jarvis. Being able to be understood would make this a whole hell of a lot easier. "Where is everyone? I need to talk to Coulson. There's something he needs to hear." By now Clint had hopped his way to the living room. It was deserted. There were stacks of paper and empty cups and a plate of half-eaten pizza all strewn about, as if they had left in a hurry. "Was I too late?"
"I cannot understand you." Jarvis sounded more relaxed now. "I have informed the others of your return. They should be arriving shortly. But I must say, your disappearance caused quite an upheaval." Clint rolled his eyes at the scolding tone. He knew that it was only the beginning and that Coulson and Natasha would be the end. The thought of what Natasha could do sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't something he was looking forward too and he doubted that the fact that he'd gained useful information would make any difference.
Clint didn't even bother trying to fly up onto his perch or even onto the sofa. His wings were throbbing and sore. He wanted nothing more than to just curl up and fall asleep. The fear he had felt was lessening slightly and leaving behind an aching tiredness. The others were safe. They had to be. Jarvis had said they'd be back soon, which meant they weren't out on a mission. Clint let his eyes drift closed as he waited.
;;;
Phil's arms were crossed, his fingers tapping a steady, insistent rhythm against his skin. It was taking all of his self-control to keep from actually bouncing on the balls of his feet. The nervousness and anger were chasing each other around in his head. They had replaced the wave of relief that had come with Jarvis' phone call. Clint was back at home.
As the elevator doors dinged open Phil strode forward, stepping ahead of Steve and Natasha. The others would be following them in a few minutes. Phil planned on having a full explanation from Clint before then. He needed to know what had possessed the man to do something as stupidly reckless as this disappearing act. Then he was going to make sure nothing of the sort ever happened again. A small voice in the back of his head pointed out that that sort of thinking was probably what started all of this in the first place.
"Where is he?" Phil hesitated in the kitchen, looking back and forth between the hall the led to the bedrooms and the door to the living room.
"He is in the living room." Jarvis answered.
It took Phil a moment to find Clint. He looked from the empty perch to the empty furniture, pushing back the hint of fear that was threatening to overwhelm him again. Then he spotted the small bundle of bright blue feathers nestled on the floor. Phil let out a sigh and felt his muscles go slack as they relaxed. Clint was here. He was safe.
He crossed the room on silent feet, trying not to startle Clint awake. He could hear as Steve and Natasha entered the room behind him. Their feet made only the smallest of noises on the tiled floor. He could hear the small huff that was Natasha's sigh of relief.
"Clint?" Phil knelt down next to the bird. His feathers were dark and some were blown into different directions. There was a small puddle of water underneath him and a small trail of it that led off towards the balcony. Phil could hear the howl of the wind outside. It seemed impossible that Clint's small wings were able to navigate through that. "Clint, are you awake?" Phil reached out a shaking hand and slowly stroked a single finger along Clint's side. He filed away the feel of the soft, damp feathers into the corner of his mind that he never let see the light of day.
Clint's body heaved as his breathing slowly deepened as he struggled back to consciousness. Finally his eyes blinked open. Within seconds the exhaustion was gone and Clint's eyes were blown wide as he chittered furiously. He was hopping around excitedly and Phil couldn't help but think that it was ridiculously cute. Though he did manage not to smile.
"Calm down, Barton." Phil held up a hand and the chittering petered out. "We can't understand you. Someone had to go and take their translator off." He could see as Barton rolled his eyes, but it was more a movement of frustration than sarcasm. Alarm bells started going off in Phil's head. "Is something wrong?"
Barton perked up, nodding his head vigorously as he started bouncing again.
"We still can't understand you." Natasha dropped down next to Phil, gracefully dropping into sitting cross-legged in a motion Phil would never be able to replicate. "So you're just going to have to wait until Thor gets back. Because I doubt Tony will give the translator back until you tell him how you managed to get it off."
Barton gave a short chirp that was his version of a laugh. Phil could almost see the smug grin that he would normally have plastered on his face. It was a look that usually equated to Phil having to fill out more paperwork and talking Fury down from simply throwing Barton off the roof. Natasha's eyebrows twitched slightly and Phil saw the gears working in her mind. "What is it?" He asked.
"Why is he hopping?" Her eyes were on Barton who was still bouncing in one place. She was right. Barton never stopped flying. Ever. It had been nearly three weeks and Phil had never once seen him on his feet unless he was eating.
"Are you injured?" Phil made an abortive move to check Clint's wings. Barton shook his head and extended his wings out, hopping a step closer to where Phil's hand was still hovering half-way between them. As if he knew that Phil wouldn't be satisfied unless he checked for himself. Which was the truth.
Phil ran his fingers gently over the small wings. He felt for any cuts or blood, his fingertips deftly combing the windblown feathers back into place as they went. Phil was hit again with the knowledge of how small and fragile Clint's bird from was. Phil could easily hold him in one hand and it'd take only the smallest of effort to squeeze the life from him. He swallowed hard, trying not to remember the panic he had felt when Steve had dragged Clint's limp body from the cloud of fog; when both Clint and Steve's bodies had shimmered and shifted as they slowly shrunk down into birds; as Phil had scooped the unconscious blue bird into his hands and felt the steady heartbeat that thrummed through the tiny body.
Once he was certain that Clint wasn't hiding any injury, Phil dropped his hands. Clint curled his wings back towards his body and Phil noted the slight hesitation behind his movement. Maybe there was a pulled muscle or something. Because Clint was absolutely in pain from something.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Steve asked from where he had positioned himself, standing a few feet away from them. Giving them their space while still able to overlook and made sure everything was okay. Phil had taken note of the way Steve and Clint were getting along better and had absolutely refused to admit he was jealous. Mostly because he wasn't exactly sure which one he was jealous of.
Clint nodded his head and let out a tiny little huff of a sigh. Phil saw Natasha grin at the sound. Clint took a small hop towards her, trying to look angry (and really, Clint should have realized by now that he was simply too small and adorable to pull off looking intimidating). Natasha only grinned wider and reached down a hand, laying it palm-up on the floor so that Clint could climb up. Clint only hesitated for a second before begrudgingly hopping onto her hand, which she then raised so that they were eye to eye.
"Are you okay?" Her words were barely a whisper; in a low tone that Phil only usually heard in the field when the op had gone bad. It was her no-nonsense voice and the fact that she was using it now showed just how worried she had been. Clint must have realized this because he nodded before rubbing his head against her thumb. "Then don't you ever do that again. Or you're welcome back will involve much more bloodshed. Understood?" Clint nodded again.
Just then the sound of the elevator dinging open was nearly drowned out by the bellow that was Thor's voice. The sound grew louder, mixed intermittently with Stark's bitter snarl, until the two stepped into the room, Bruce trailing along behind them. The second Thor was in the room Clint started chittering faster and louder than Phil had ever heard. He was shifting his wings as if he needed to move his hands to help get his point across. The way that Thor's eyes widened didn't settle Phil's nerves any.
When Clint finally broke off they all turned to Thor, who looked like he was in shock.
"Well?" Stark prompted.
Thor shook his head but he seemed to have snapped out of his thoughts. "He says that he has overheard a devious plot against us. One involving bots of Doom and a fire and…" he hesitated long enough for Clint to chirp something at him. "and Loki's scepter."
The room erupted into a frenzy of noise and movement. Phil blocked it out, taking a step back and retreating into his mind. He needed a second to grasp what Thor had said. He should be worried about the plot and the Doombots. But they were simply side notes to Thor's final words. Loki's scepter. His fingers moved up to absently trace the jagged scar that ran over his chest. The sudden flash of pain that had torn trough his body. The sound of Loki's small laugh of victory and Thor's hollow screams echoing around the glass prison. The scepter had burned; the sleek metal felt like it lit every nerve it passed on fire. Then there was the blackness. The never-ending depth of nothingness that felt like a gaping hole in Phil's memory.
A small chirp pulled Phil out of his memories. The room had fallen silent and everyone was staring at him. Including Barton, who was hovering in front of him, his wings beating a ragged and unsteady pace. Phil instantly moved his hand, holding it up for Clint to land on. That's when he noticed that his hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking.
Clint perched himself on Phil's outstretched hand, balancing easily on the shaking perch. His huge round eyes were focused on Phil with an intentness that perfectly matched the level of whole-body concentration that Clint had in the field. He chittered something soft and short. He twisted his head around to look at Thor, his claws digging into Phil's skin slightly as he fought to keep his balance. He repeated whatever he had said and this time Thor translated. Though Phil noticed that he seemed as hesitant as when he had mentioned Loki's scepter.
"He says that you should not worry, Son of Coul, for he will ensure that this time no one will bring harm to you using my brother's scepter."
Clint half-shrugged in response to what Phil assumed was a rough translation. But Phil understood the meaning well enough. His hands steadied slightly as the steel he saw in Clint's eyes settled over him. Even as a bird, Barton would do anything to protect him. And as he looked around the room he knew that all of them, even Stark, felt the same way. He tried to convince himself that it was the fact that he was in a room of superheroes who were also his friends and not the small pull against his fingers, that comforting weight of Barton's body , that was filling him with a sense of warmth and acceptance. Because surely it was silly to feel so… protected by the small blue bundle of feathers perched on his fingers.