And here's another one - completing the "Some Things Go Wrong" Mini-"Trilogy" ... ;) The next chapter might be delayed a little. I'm just working on it. Hope I'll finish it in time to post it tomorrow.

The Great Escape

Clint moved through the dusk as fast and silently as he could. Which wasn't very fast because every single breath he took felt like someone was stabbing him with a knife and twisting it in the wound.

He knew that feeling. A broken rib, maybe several.

He stopped and leaned against a wall, trying to melt into the shadows. Stark was scouting ahead to see if the coast was clear. It was possible, after all, that the enemy had been watching them and waiting for them to come out in the open. Out here, they didn't stand much of a chance if they got into a fight – not with Hawkeye injured and without his bow and arrows and Ironman almost out of power.

Stark peeked around a corner several yards ahead and waved him to follow. Clint closed the distance between them.

"We're almost there", Stark whispered. "The last few yards will get tricky, though. It's open field. No cover."

Clint had noticed they were approaching the edge of town.

"Then that's where they'll attack", he whispered back.

"If they attack."

"Oh, they will. They won't let us get away just like that."

Stark gave a nod.
"Better be careful, then."

As it turned out, Clint was right.

The Quinjet landed just as they arrived near the rendezvous point. They were both cowering behind a pile of rubble. Stark wanted to move but Clint held him back.

"Wait."

"What is it?"

Clint frowned.
"Not sure. I thought I heard something."

A sound that didn't belong here. Very faint. He wasn't quite sure, actually, whether he hadn't just imagined it. The pain in his side was distracting him.

"Okay."
Stark cast a glance around.
"I can't see anything but better be careful. I'll go first – this suit can take a hit or two from a gun. I'll cover your back and you run for it."

Clint laughed – and winced. Not a smart thing to do with a bust rib.
"I'm not sure if I can run."

"Well, you have to cos I won't be able to keep them at bay for very long. I'm running on emergency power here."

Clint nodded.
"I'll have to try, then."

"Right. You ready?"
Stark didn't wait for an answer. He jumped up and started to run towards the Quinjet.

And all hell broke loose.

Clint didn't know how many were there but Stark definitely did catch more than just one or two bullets. He turned and fired his repulsors at people Clint couldn't see.

"Time to go", he murmured to himself.

Then, he, too, jumped up and ran.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

He had thought the constant stabs as he was breathing were as bad as it would get but now, the pain exploded in his side. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. His vision grew hazy around the edges. He stumbled forward.

Mustn't let them catch me again.

The hatch at the back of the Quinjet opened and Rogers came charging out, shield at the ready.

"Over here!" he yelled. "Get over – watch out!"

Clint threw himself to the ground. Something whistled over his head and exploded close enough to him that he could feel the heat on his back.

Grenades? You've got to be kidding me!

He tried to get up again. They had to get out of here, and fast. If the Quinjet was damaged, they were toast.

Something wasn't right. Something about the pain had changed. He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was trying to breathe water.

Someone seized his right arm, pulled him to his feet and dragged him along.

"This way, hurry."

Rogers.

Someone else joined them, grabbing his left arm.

He still couldn't breathe. Suddenly, he tasted blood. He coughed. There was more of it and he was dimly aware that this couldn't be good.

"Shit." Stark's voice. "Did you bring Banner?"

Breathe, Clint told himself, breathe. It was growing more difficult by the moment. His vision was failing, too. Everything faded behind a thick black veil. He only realized they must have reached the Quinjet when the sound of their footsteps changed.

"Romanoff – get us the hell out of here! Banner – over here!"

He was lowered to the metal floor. He thought he saw Banner's face hovering over him, next to Rogers' and Stark's. They all looked worried, so he tried to smile and tell them he was okay but instead, he coughed again.

Someone unzipped his vest and pulled up the tank top he was wearing underneath.

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. The pain was unbearable and he was so tired ... He wished he'd pass out or something.

"Okay, listen closely – Kat", he heard Stark's voice close to his ear. "Don't you dare die on us or else, I'll tell everyone I caught you wearing a pink negligee with marabou feathers, singing and dancing along to 'I Will Survive'. Got it?"

Clint wanted to laugh but only managed to cough.

Someone – Stark, most likely – grabbed his right hand and squeezed.

"Hold on to this, okay? Just – don't let go. Helicarrier's on its way, too. We'll be there in no time."

Clint nodded. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hand that was holding his.

Suddenly, someone stabbed him in the side.

Clint tried to twist away, tell the others that they had brought one of the enemies aboard and that the guy was trying to kill him but he couldn't move because someone was holding him down. Where were the others?

He forced his eyes open only to discover they were right there. The one holding him down was Rogers. Stark's face appeared in his field of vision again, too.

"It's okay", he said. "That's Banner. Hold still."

He didn't know what Banner was doing but he wanted him to stop because whatever it was, it wasn't exactly helping. He wanted to sit up because he still couldn't breathe properly and he was starting to feel like he was drowning. He closed his eyes again. Stark squeezed his hand like he was trying to break it. He wanted to tell him that he still needed that hand to hold his bow but couldn't muster the energy to even try.

He must have passed out for a moment. But suddenly, breathing was much easier. The pain was still there, though. And someone was slapping his face. Not like those thugs had – not to hurt him but to wake him. Someone was talking. He didn't understand the words. Someone else was still holding on to his right hand. He gave it a quick squeeze.

"Right, he's back."
And closer to his ear.
"Don't do that again. Pink marabou feathers, remember?"

Clint didn't get much of the rest of the flight to the helicarrier. He kept his eyes closed and, as before, concentrated on breathing and on the hand holding his own. Occasionally, there was a squeeze and he squeezed back to show he was still around. As far as he was concerned, it could have been mere minutes as well as hours or days. Even the pain in his side seemed to fade a little after a while.

Suddenly, a hard bump jostled him. He groaned when the pain returned full force.

"We're there", the voice by his ear said.

Sounds, voices, movement. This time, Clint did force his eyes open. Clear night sky. Unfamiliar faces. Where was Stark? His hand was still there – he grabbed it tighter. At once, Stark's face appeared above him.

"Where?" he managed to whisper.

"Helicarrier", Stark answered. "It's alright, you can let go now."

And he did – let go of the hand, let his eyes close again, let his mind finally drift into blessed darkness.