Gently

22. FUBAR Protocol

Hissing through the pain, Clint tried once more to reach his quiver, fingers coming within an inch of the fletching on his arrows. He gave up after only a few seconds, crying out weakly as his side threatened to tear open further. His makeshift bandage wasn't doing its job anymore, and he didn't have the energy to fashion himself a new one.

Resting his bow and remaining arrow across his lap, he wondered why their intelligence had failed to mention that the entire hotel was HYDRA-operated. It was something he could've done with knowing when trying to chat up the room attendant – and damn, she knew how to stick a knife in a guy. Looking over at her body, he contemplated tearing up her shirt to use for bandages instead of her scarf, but the shirt was red and he neither had the energy to waste nor the desire to see her paling skin.

"Barton, med-evac's on the way," Coulson said over comms. "Maintain position until they reach you."

"Understood sir," he replied, coughing at the end. The wound flared sharply in his side, and he clenched his bow as he tried to breathe through the sensation.

"ETA fifteen minutes. Hang on until then."

He laughed harshly. "I'll do my best." Clint wanted to give Coulson a message for Bucky, who would've reached the station maybe half an hour ago, but his vision wavered at that point and he lost the opportunity as he tried to stay conscious. He began counting the minutes away, visualising sheep and kangaroos and anything else that bounced to keep his mind occupied, until a sound from down the hallway caught his attention.

Two staff members were leaving the fire-escape stairwell. Though Clint couldn't understand what they were saying, their sentences were sharp and quick, words overlapping as they argued over one another, and it was something of a small miracle that their backs were turned to him. He watched them stalk around the corner and out of sight, clenching his jaw to try and muffle another cough – then their conversation stopped suddenly. Clint frowned, quieting his breathing as much as he could and adjusting his grip on his bow. He had one arrow, and he wondered if hitting a light bulb or the fire extinguisher would be more effective than taking one of them out and not the other. It might give him a few more seconds to try again for his quiver –

A dark figure darted round the corner, gun drawn, before Clint could finish his plan, and he instinctively raised the bow as best he could, holding his breath as he drew back the arrow a couple of inches. "Clint!"

He blinked. The figure lowered the gun and rushed towards him. "Bucky?"

Bucky stepped over the body of the woman who'd attacked Clint and crouched in front of him. "Shit," he breathed, kohl-darkened eyes taking in the bloodied scarf. Reaching into a pouch at his waist, he said, "We've got ten minutes. Think you can walk?"

"Ten… What?"

"Here." He thrust a hip flask and a packet of pills into Clint's hand, then began unwrapping a roll of actual bandages. "They've set explosives in the upper floors. The entire hotel's evacuating –"

"So why're you here?" Clint grunted.

Bucky tied off the bandage, neatening it up before raising his eyes to Clint's. "You have to ask?" Clint huffed, lips stretching into a weary smile as Bucky tapped his hand. "C'mon. Painkillers."

"You're supposed to be on a train," he complained once he'd swallowed small handful, unscrewing the flask.

"So are you," Bucky shot back, tying the quiver's broken strap ends together and looping it over his own shoulder.

The water was riddled with an electrolyte add-in, and Clint grimaced against the taste. "Coulson'll be pissed," he said. Bucky folded away his bow, then bent down and lifted Clint's arm over his shoulders, hauling him carefully to his feet and keeping him close against his right side. Clint was about to protest against getting blood on his clothes, but a wave of dizziness started to mess with his ability to walk and he concentrated on making his legs work as Bucky guided him to the elevator.

"I'm pissed too," Bucky said once the descent began. "We've been staying in a death trap for two weeks and no-one told us. Sitwell's excuse was 'a mistranslation' – he's usually better than that. Then you get hurt, and they order me to fucking leave you behind when their own team won't reach you quickly enough?" He shook his head, taught with anger. "You'd think they'd take better care of their 'assets'," he growled.

"How'd you know?" Clint asked, swaying slightly on his feet. "'bout the explosives?"

"Tuned in to the bug feed when you didn't show," Bucky muttered. He held out his handgun for Clint to take, pulling a second one out of his secondary holster. "The last of them'll be in the lobby," he said. "Pretty sure they're armed and under orders to leave at the last minute. You gonna help me take them out?" Clint nodded, sucking in a breath and gripping the gun more securely. Bucky squeezed his hip. "Okay. Here we go."

It was over in a haze of gunfire, dulled pain, foreign shouts and falling bodies. Clint wasn't sure how long they'd been in there, just that he was struggling to get a full breath in and Bucky was the only thing keeping him remotely upright. Their success didn't make sense on a number of levels, but as a helicopter shadow loomed over them Clint decided working out how they'd done it could wait until his mind was clear.

"Hey." As his head began to droop, Bucky gave him a shake. It barely hurt. "Evac's here, Clint, stay with us a little longer."

"Barnes," a familiar voice in his ear said, hard and professional, "there's room for you on the chopper. As soon as you're back on home turf you and I are going to have a talk."

"Yes sir," Bucky grit out. Clint's sense of awareness wavered then – hands began touching various parts of him, prying him away from Bucky's side and flipping his world sideways. When he next managed to drag his eyes open, he was lying down on the floor of the rising helicopter, shirt cut away at his wound, a needle in the back of his hand, breathing mask on his face. Fingers brushed his shoulder, and he tipped his head to see Bucky watching him anxiously.

"You in trouble?" he mumbled. Bucky smiled and nodded. Clint closed his eyes. "Hate Luxembourg..."

AN: Prompt(s): "Clint gets injured pretty badly on a mission with Bucky, who has to take care of his birdbrain while finishing out the mission.", "something like Clint/Bucky go against orders to rescue/save the other, advertising the true extent of the relationship/feelings to the rest of the team?"

Hope those of you who've seen CA: TWS caught my little Easter egg ;-) If you haven't seen it already, GO! GO AND ENJOY AND DROWN IN FEELS!