2 Red Birds

Clint remained on his elbows, unwilling to lie completely on the floor. His head tilted back until the top of it grazed the brick. The gurgling whistle of his flesh floating up and down with every breath made him sick. His hand held the towel Banner gave him to the side of his chest for now, and it helped him breathe a little easier.

Bodies slammed against the door at his feet. Given a half-ton freezer was now pushed on its side in front of the door, Clint felt it unlikely they would be interrupted by the gun-toting yahoos before Banner finished patching him up.

"You . . . ever done this . . . before?" Hawkeye asked, resembling a genuine curiosity.

"Not really, but I saw a video about it on Youtube a few weeks ago."

"Wha—"

"Move that hand."

Bruce pulled Clint's hand and the towel away and replaced them with a long strip of tin foil. This he slapped over the broken hole in Clint's chest and pressed it into position with his fingers.

"Clint, did you really just take a bullet for me?" Bruce asked.

"Are we really talking about this now?"

"Well I want to know if I should give you a thank you card or something."

"Bruce, just stop the bleeding and let's get the Hell out of here."

Bruce shrugged and reached up on the counter to fish around for a roll of tape. He found a round of white scotch tape and stooped back down with it in his hand. He taped down three sides of the tin foil covering.

"Tony, where's my towel?"

Stark returned with the item, shaking his hands with the heat coming off it. He passed it delicately to Bruce who shook it in the air a few times to cool it down before folding it into a pad and pressing it against Clint's chest.

Clint hissed and pulled himself away but Tony came back to his side and helped hold him still.

"Who's got a belt on?" Bruce asked.

Tony tapped his pants but came up without one. Given that Clint's shirt was already pulled up to his neck, his lack of a belt was evident. Behind Tony three or four kitchen workers were standing around like frightened deer. A few of them wore aprons, which worked perfectly for Banner. He pointed to the apron and one man removed it and handed the garment over. There was a knife attached to the magnetic strip beside the cutting board which Banner grabbed to tear the strings off. He retied the ends, wrapped them over Clint's chest, and knotted the string over his wound.

"You done?" Clint asked.

"For now. Lie on your side and relax for a sec till we figure out what we're going to do."

Clint followed his instruction. He'd done this before with other men gunned down in the field. He didn't realize that they were in just this amount of pain, however, and for everyone's sake he was doing his best to hide that fact.

An unexplainable relationship had been struck between the archer and Bruce's alter ego. Just as important as keeping Banner himself intact, making him truly believe that Clint would be fine was another pointed edge in this whole rouse. If the Hulk got wind that Clint was in mortal danger then there was no keeping that green monster in no matter what they tried. A token to Bruce's nerves was his eying out the tray of lunch Tony pointed out earlier. With zero reserve, he began digging into a few handfuls of fries.

"Get those ovens turned off before you smoke us to death in here," Tony instructed the workers. "Unless they've got chainsaws, then those guys aren't getting through that door, so just get the kitchen squared away not to kill us. Bruce what the—hey, leave some for me!"

"Hey, I am stress eating right now. Do not interrupt my stress eating." Bruce continued grilling through his handful of potato sticks.

Tony's eyebrows arched. His words came out very slowly. "Are you stressed?"

Bruce was going to give him a speedy answer with sharp words he may one day regret, but a glance at his hands stopped him.

"Crap." He growled. They were covered in arterial blood. He cursed under his breath in a before searching out a sink to wash his hands in.

As he moved away, Tony leaned his head down beside Clint's ear.

"How you doing?" he asked, worriedly. He indicated the packing around his chest. "Getting to be a real track mat for scars there."

Clint had his teeth gritted. He carefully chewed the inside of his lip, he didn't know how hard he was at that until he could taste blood. It took a hand on his shoulder and Tony to repeat himself for Clint to respond.

"Good. Well, shot in the chest. Banner?"

Bruce let the water run at the sink. He held onto the edge of the basin with a steely grip.

"Getting worried there. We need to get out of here. There's an exit behind the dish racks there, but there's about half a ton of crap in front of it. Don't understand why, but the chefs thought it was a smart idea to seal off the back in case the bad guys broke through to get them." Tony admitted.

"Move it?" Clint asked.

"Working that out now. There's two cooks a dishwasher and one of the waitresses left in here. The dishwasher's catatonic and the waitress probably wants to avoid breaking a nail, or get in my pants. I haven't decided which. Can I tell you what I prefer?"

Clint tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but wasn't voicing aloud. Bruce was losing touch. He was a claustrophobic sort, so keeping him cooped up in this place would not end well. If he had to sit next to Clint any longer watching him bleed out, the Hulk would be busting them an exit. Then there were the gunman just outside the flimsy kitchen door. It sounded like one of them had retrieved a fire ax and by the splintering wood, he'd be coming through that door one way or another. Trapped Hulk. Armed gunman. Bleeding Clint.

"Recipe for disaster." Barton groaned.

"Can you sit up?" Tony asked, "It may make Bruce you know, think it's a little less serious."

Clint swallowed, but nodded his head. Tony helped him sit against the row of stainless steel cabinets. He knew the instant he moved, that it was a bad idea. His head swam sideways, a groan he couldn't stifle pulled from his gritted teeth. Bruce turned on them.

"He's fine." Tony lied. "He said he's feeling a bit better. Might be able to move in another minute or two. Help us get that back door cleared. Right?"

Clint flipped a smile. "Sure thing. It's cool, Bruce."

If Banner thought they were feeding him a line, he didn't mention it. Some of the tension edging into his shoulders dropped away and his face smoothed into a mask of calm. His skin seemed a little colored, but not yet of a concerning degree. No one noticed how his arms had become buff and taught beneath his sleeves or the hardening of his chest into a chiseled facet, everything they could see was rather like the old Bruce Banner. This half-Hulk in hiding was safe for now.

"I'll check on that back door. Take a walk, Bruce?" Tony asked.

Bruce waved him a no and went back to the plate of fried food. He picked himself out a fish finger as Tony went to help clear the emergency exit.

"Hungry?" Bruce offered Clint.

The gunshot man offered a weak grin. "Plannin' to feed me a cheeseburger?"

"Do you want me to feed you a cheeseburger?"

"No, but thanks."

Tony peaked around the corner where all the sounds of men, shattering plates, and toppled metal racks were erupting from. "Bruce, give a hand here?"

Bruce reluctantly went along.

"Hey, Hawk, you getting up to help too? Or you just going to sit there like a fish?"

"Be there in a sec. Give me a chance to stand." Clint lied.

Banner disappeared around the corner and Clint took the opportunity loneliness gave him to collapse against the floor. He held a hand to his bleeding chest and gasped. Fish was the perfect word for Tony to use. Clint felt like a guppy out of water. It was getting harder and harder to pretend he was just fine. Sitting up became the worst decision he made. Standing? Well that would come at some point. Right now was as good a time as any given he could do it on his own terms and take as long as he needed to get up.

Suddenly the background noise of an ax chipping at wood became a high pitched smash of ax biting into the back of the refrigerator. The gunmen were still outside, and now they'd broken into the kitchen door. Gunfire erupted all over again though only some found itself aimed for the kitchen. The rest of the high powered rounds seemed to be in a hot exchange with the interior of the restaurant. Either mall security was heeled with a set of Russian Beretta's or Natasha Romanov did not forget to bring her own set of metal muscle to the mall today. Clint's relief at the idea of the latter was palpable.

Clint rolled onto his stomach and held his hands over his head in an attempt to keep any ricochets from pummeling through his brain. Elbow over elbow he crawled toward the back exit, dragging his bleeding chest across the filthy kitchen floor.

"Stark!" Clint screamed. He'd made it to the end of the sous prep table along one kitchen aisle but there were small odds of him making the turn and getting to wherever this hidden back exit was.

He panted, rolling to his back and gripping his chest. There was a large enough window in the decimated door now that strong hands were rocking the massive fridge forward. Any moment and the blockage would topple over and they would be through.

"Stark! Tony, help!"

Something metal crashed to a floor. At first Clint thought it was the fridge, but one look told him that was still in place. He wasn't sure that over the entire racket Tony and Bruce were making if anyone could hear him crying from the floor. He had to get himself up.

Clint grabbed the edge of a table bottom and the knobs to a stove. Between them he pulled himself to a shaky vertical position. He made it to his knees first, waited a minute there to let his body adjust and up again he went.

The world went black before his eyes. He gasped, pressing his arm against his side as he desperately tried to find his bearings. Behind him, the massive fridge shifted and rocked. Clint made his first few steps at last as the fridge fell face forward. The hole in the door was considerable. Men on the other side were reloading guns as the muscle moved out of the way. Clint grabbed the end of a butcher block table and dragged himself along. He felt the towel Banner strapped to his chest shift as the seal for his shot through lungs began to peel open more. Moving was like dying, but he had to move.

The guns reloaded. Clint turned with his own 9mm and scatter fired through the hole, hoping to drop the most influential of the group. Regardless of barely aiming, he knew training wouldn't allow for much of a miss. At least two men fell out of sight. The gunshots didn't follow until he was already out of range.

He turned the corner at the end of the right hand aisle. The room was a well of chaos with pans and dishes strewn at every step. Tony and Banner were making short work of disassembling the barricade the uninformed workers had deemed a good idea.

"Ba—Bruce?" Clint said weakly. He leaned back on a tall rack full of rolls and pastries. His chest seal had opened around the sides, making it relatively ineffective now. He tried to pat it back with his fingers, but he felt too numb to make any real attempt to fix it.

Banner turned to him. The door was nearly clear now.

"Clint!" he exclaimed.

Frantic kitchen staff rushed to take up his slack as Banner made to go to Clint. It was obvious the doctor barely held himself together. Sweat soaked through him from front to back. His glasses were in Tony's pocket to avoid destroying them should he change. His skin was noticeably green now with tight rolls of muscles which gave him more the appearance of a weight lifter then a forty-year-old scientist.

"No, Bruce, you help, I got it." Tony stopped him dead. Iron Man too was covered in sweat, but nothing like that of Bruce. Given the current physique of the two, Bruce was likely to get them out faster than Tony could. Bruce conceded, though he wanted to refuse.

"How you doin? Better? I thought so. Figured it wouldn't keep you down long either. How's the pain? Not bad? Even better. Here, let me retie that a little tighter. Not a lot of bleeding, huh?"

Tony spoke automatically but his voice was a reflection of the truth, opposite in every way possible. He could see Clint was in it deep. How the guy got himself up at all was a mystery, but he kept his chipper voice high for Banner's sake.

"Tony, they're through." Clint whispered to him.

"How soon?"

"On my tail. Two minutes max."

Tony grasped the procured apron strings, untied them, and then tightened them again. Clint gasped, swallowing hard as Tony crushed the bandage over his chest. For a moment Barton went light headed and fell forward. Tony grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him upright.

"Easy! Come one, Clint, we're getting out of here, all right? I promise. You're going to be fine." Tony hissed.

The chefs worked rapidly to yank the door back and open. The minute he saw the chance, Tony hauled Clint up by his waist. The injured Avenger draped his arm over Tony's neck as they started to move. From their new position, Tony could feel the terrible pulling of Clint's chest to drag in and push out every breath.

"We'll be ok. I've got you, now. We're going to be fine." Tony whispered to him.

"One month . . . back on the job . . . and I get shot . . . in a Red . . . Red Robin." Clint huffed.

The rest of the door came open with a mighty slam from Banner's grip. The hinges pulled free and suddenly half the door hung off. The kitchen staff rushed out into the back alley of the mall. Bruce held the entry way open for Tony and Clint to get by.

"Tony, is he ok? He's looking pale, is he breathing ok?"

" 'mm fine." Clint lied. " 's ok, Bruce, 'm fine."

"He's bleeding too much! Tony stop a sec, I need to look at that."

They slowed to a stop. It wouldn't be long before the hall would be flooded with whatever gunman Clint and Natasha didn't kill off. They didn't have time for a long pause and with Clint deteriorating, Tony preferred to keep moving rather than let Bruce see the extent of the problem. Unfortunately Bruce was impossible to stop in his half Hulk state.

"Clint? Clint can you still hear me?" Banner tilted Hawkeye's head back, searching for life in his half-closed eyes.

"Bruce?"

Tony's much reserved personal concern fell to pieces. He was supposed to stay strong, keep Bruce calm, but seeing Clint bleeding and gasping to death in his arms made it impossible to maintain the façade. Why couldn't he have taken the bullet? Why did he have to be the strong one?

Bruce pulled the towel away. Clint must have damaged an artery. They hadn't notice the amount of blood before as most likely it was flowing internally. Bruce tapped a few places below the wound. Listening, feeling, for the hemothorax he assumed he'd find.

Bingo.

Banner cursed again. His hands shook. His eyes had turned to a fierce sort of darkness that frightened Tony whenever he approached that breaking point. If there was any way to keep Bruce calm, now was their last chance.

"Bruce!"

Gunshots.

Tony had been holding Clint up for inspection, but he now found himself sprawling sideways. An explosion of pain shattered his shoulder and collar bone. He fell against a wall, still struggling to keep Clint in his arms.

The ever present, ever following gunshots traced them to the alleyway. Cut in the back of several store fronts, the employee access way and pick/up drop/off delivery point was soon full of armed gunman. Tony crumbled in his wave of pain and blood. Without choice Clint hit the ground beside them.

Now there was no placating the beast within. Bruce Banner was no more. There was only the cold, calculating, fury that came with the Incredible Hulk himself. Banner pulled his shirt free. He strode forward, losing first one shoe then another. He still looked like Bruce Banner, although an ultra-buff one. He was on top of the first gunman before the man had courage enough to even raise his fire arm. So Bruce did it for him. He picked up the man's gun, still firm in the assailant's hands and aimed the bullet for the center of his forehead.

A guttural, otherworldly voice crawled from his throat. He snarled in the man's face.

"DO. IT."

The trigger pulled and all at once there was a blur of green and flash of shredded clothing. The Hulk crushed the gunman's body into the floor then stepped forward and went for the next. He roared in his delight at uncaged freedom. Bruce Banner had finally let go of his reigns and let the monster free.

From the floor up the hallway of what would soon be the shattered remains of one Red Robin, Clint and Tony lay in a bloody heap.

"He's gonna be mad at himself after this." Tony took a while to make out.

"He can . . . borrow . . . my new clothes." Clint replied.

"I just got this jacket." Tony complained.

"It was free."

"It's the principle of the thing."

To that Clint couldn't reply. Partly because he was consumed in his failing need to breathe. Beside him, Tony was really no better off. His shattered collar bone most likely splintering through the top of his lung.

Tony's phone buzzed in his pant leg pocket. Throughout the entire ruckus he'd almost forgotten all about it. With a shaking, bloodied hand he raised the phone to rest beside his head on the floor, flicking on the speaker phone.

"Tony Stark and Clint Barton's bloodletting, how many pints?" Tony answered.

"TONY WHERE ARE YOU!?" Steve Rogers demanded.

"Oh, Captain . . . hi."

"WHERE. ARE. YOU."

"We are currently hovering between life and limbo."

Natasha Romanov at last ducked around the fury of the Hulk, a beast with whom she never really found a kinship with (at least not enough to prevent him trying to murder her some days). She came across the carnage of Tony and Clint and ran to them with gun drawn.

"Tony, I need you to talk to me!" Steve called desperately.

When she arrived, Natasha swiftly assessed the situation and grabbed Stark's phone all at once.

"Ok, we need two ambulances in the north service entrance. I have two GSWs, one to the chest, one to the shoulder. Hawkeye's bleeding internally; I see bone fragments on Stark. Copy?"

"Got that. Ambulances are scrambled, be there in two minutes. Is the Hulk contained?"

Four men crashed through the kitchen of the Red Robin with the Hulk following behind.

"That's a negative." Natasha reported.

"I'm sending in Thor."

"Uh oh." Clint sighed.

As soon as the words exchanged, Thor was inside. The Hulk finished pounding his attackers and turned his roaring self on toward the Asgardian. The Hulk wasn't in a "gaming" mood. Together they battled, rumbling around the halls of the service area before disappearing into the parking lot. Car alarms snarled in tune with the raging Hulk.

Tony looked up at Natasha. "Gotta protect . . . Bruce."

She nodded. "We've got him. The General's already in custody."

"Did Pepper . . . she got it?"

"Your message? Yes she understood. We worked it out together. Steve's already got the place isolated."

"Is that what . . . That's who I think . . . it is?" Clint asked.

Tasha agreed. "General Ross. Grudge against Bruce for years, had been searching him out in order to expose the Hulk as a monster and man killer. Apparently Tony spotted him outside Macy's of all places. He tailed us down the Parkway to get to Bruce. Thor's going to do what he can to keep Bruce contained before the Hulk wrecks the place."

The far wall must have attached to the parking lot, as the minute Natasha had Clint up and moving again, Thor sailed through the wall and passed by them. A raging Hulk followed him through the hole, planning most likely on continuing the bout against his most level warrior when he saw the bleeding duo and remembered again why he was so mad to begin with.

"Hey big . . . guy." Clint gasped, fearlessly patting the Hulk's leg. "Enjoying breaking Th-Thor?"

The Hulk roared, pounding a fist into his chest triumphantly.

"That's good."

"Gun smash." The Hulk told him, a greedy smile on his lips.

Clint smiled back at him. "Yeah, good job."

Thor picked himself up from the mall fountain and made a stomping way back to them with Mjolnir swinging in his hands. Seeing him coming revved for round two, Natasha frantically waved him back. If anyone could get the Hulk calmed down it was Clint.

"Need a doctor, myself." Clint told him. "You don't but . . . Tony and I aren't too . . . too hot. You know?"

This seemed to disturb the big green guy. "Bruce." He said.

"Bruce did good. Could have a . . . break. But, I got, I got to get you know."

The Hulk nodded understandingly. "Hospital."

"That's right."

The Hulk looked back through the parking lot hole. It was difficult to know what went rolling through his brain sometimes, but it seemed to be working out the fact that there were ambulances out there and doctors inside of them. He was strong too, he could always walk Clint to the nearest hospital. It wouldn't take him long. Less time than an ambulance. All of these were tumbling thoughts through his brain that the others rarely got a look into.

In the end he leveled a callous look at Natasha.

"Give." He said with decided emphasis on Clint.

"What, no me?" Tony joked, as if he had the same leeway with the big guy Clint liked to entertain.

"No."

"Well, fine."

Natasha may, for a moment, have felt enough of a possession of Clint to ignore the Hulk's request. But it was a fleeting moment. No one denied the green guy anything he truly requested.

So over Clint was handed. At first the Hulk wasn't very gentle about grabbing him up, but at Clint's obvious declaration of pain tactics were altered. In one massive hand he cradled Clint's body like an infant, to his chest. It was unclear to everyone what the step was from here, but they trusted the Hulk, in some ways, to do the correct thing when it came to someone he truly liked. It was fortunate that Clint held just such a distinction.

With his cargo in tow, and the others decidedly abandoned to their own devices, Clint and the Hulk left.

Thor came from around the corner. His face was full of worry for his friends and Mjolnir remained in his hands for ready use.

"Metal Man, you have been injured?"

Tony nodded at him, feeling weak again.

"The best to you. Our leader comes, and his hand may be set to bring you to aid. Forgive my absences, I will follow our changed friend, the doctor, and where he may go with Clint of Barton."

"That's a good idea, Thor, go on. But don't let Hulk see you, it may be more of a distraction than help." Natasha told him.

Thor accepted the advice and headed out after the Hulk.

Steve pressed sideways against the new outdoor passageway to keep out of Thor's way. They nodded briefly to each other before Steve continued forward to Natasha and Tony. He hiked a thumb back.

"Did the Hulk just take off with Clint?"

"I wasn't about to stop him." Natasha said.

The Captain looked to Tony. "Don't you have that Defense summit next week?"

Tony offered a one-shoulder shrug.

"Not planning to get out of it are you?"

Tony grinned. "Me? Never."