A/N:After reviewing Never Again, i mentioned that i would refuse to update Bagel Thursday until i heard the dramatic conclusion. As of today that conclusion was posted, so here it is! the new chapter! Want updates/inspiration/fun photos? Check out my Peech Tao facebook page to join the fun. Many spoilers were spilled by my roommate on there the other day and you can follow the new stories i'm working on before they come out.

Bagel Thursday

PeechTao

CLINT

The sensation of a sonic arrow blasting through his skull was agonizing. It left him panting, screaming, his ear were bleeding, his ear drums throbbing or shattered. He wasn't sure which. Probably both. But there was one thing that changed very quickly: the paralytic effects of the stolen Stark Tech.

Clint recovered quickly. He was in a pile of his arrows with his bow in his hand. No one would expect him to get up, not after that attack. So no one anticipated what happened next. Clint grabbed the first tip close to him. By the feel of the notches on the shaft he knew it was a knock out arrow. He fired it into the midst of the insurgents. Down wind. Would not come back to him. The next he pulled from the pile was a broad head. He fired it through the chest of the man with the device. He fell over backwards with his mouth hanging slack. Another arrow. Bomb. He fired a little further away, behind the group. The concussive force launched them through the air and toward him. Another arrow. Another broad head. Another Chest. Repeat.

Clint pulled arrows like a mad man. When he ran out, he got to feet and worked with his knife. By the time he was done, no one was moving. Blood coated the dirt, his hands, and his weapons. It was over.

The world was so very quiet. He could see the faces gnarled in pain. Throats tense in uttered screams. But on his ears they were distant and muffled. Even the blasts from his most powerful arrows did little but impress a thump through his damaged ears. Now as the battle lay finished, Clint could soak in the true result of what he'd just done.

It hit him like a brick. He staggered for a minute as the adrenaline poured out of his core. He reached what was left of the little rebar wall and leaned against it. His hands probed the sides of his head. They came away bloody, but not overly so. He snapped his fingers beside his right ear. No sound came to him. He snapped again, and then he tried the left. He clapped his hands. He made a strangled sound with his mouth. He screamed. He threw something to the ground to listen for the crash but nothing. Nothing at all came to him.

Deaf.

The word coursed through his mind like a death sentence. Clint Barton. Master Spy. Marks man like none the world had ever seen. Eyes as sharp as a hawk. Agent of SHIELD. Avenger. He was deaf.

The thought of who he was, who he once was, brought the memory of Stark and Steve. Shakily Barton pushed away from the wall to find them. He had to be sure they were all right. He'd done what he could to absorb the sound of his arrow head, but was it enough? He made it to Stark first. The man was still steaming in what remained of his suit. Clint pulled the rest of the pieces off, piling them to the side. He looked thoroughly over Tony's face. Turned his head gently left and right. He said his name, at least he thought he was saying it. It was strange to speak not knowing what his volume was doing.

Tony turned a little at the sound. He seemed to be coming around. He could hear Clint at least.

Clint sighed a little in relief, but couldn't forget Steve. He left Tony to go to their captain. The rebar was sticking out of the side of his abdomen. Clint knew enough from experience that Steve would be fine, so long as he got the bar out of him. It was hard to heal around something that sized. He grabbed the metal with both hands and pulled it free with little reservation. When it was out, Clint pounced down on the spurt of blood pumping out of the wound. He desperately clamped onto that wound for nearly twenty minutes under the Egyptian heat. It took time, but the blood stopped flowing. The outside was already beginning to granulate over. Clint clapped his hands over Steve's head, hard, and got a response every time. Both Steve and Tony had escaped without serious damage.

Clint had not. His life was different. Now it would never be like it was. The minute Director Fury caught wind he was damaged goods—

But that was just the problem wasn't it? Fury did have to find out, or did he? If Clint played this right, if he did everything in just the right fashion, he could delay what would surely be his expulsion from active duty. How could he do that? Steve and Tony were unconscious; neither knew the truth of what Clint had done to save them. If he had his way, they never would. Natasha would be hard to fool, she'd known him too long. He had to call her for a pickup. How could he do that?

Text her. He'd text her. It wasn't abnormal for him to do it. As the thoughts crossed his mind he was already acting them out. Now what? Grab the tech.

Clint combed the bodies of the insurgents he'd felled. Soon they'd been stripped of everything that made them dangerous and a pile of war-making devices were tucked safely in Clint's stash of heavy explosives. He messaged his SHIELD handler and requested the air strike.

Now Tony and Steve. He had to get them out of the open. Steve had parachuted in. Tony had carried Clint off the plane (dropping him once since he thought it was funny). Clint had cursed, and then laughed at the time.

He realized he'd never hear his own laugh again.

There was no way they could stay there, hoping SHIELD wouldn't kill them in their need to paint the desert red. Natasha couldn't possibly get there in time to pick them up before the bombs rained down. Clint would need to find a way out himself.

He crossed the battle lines to the copse of low buildings the rebels had hunkered down in. It wasn't perfect, but he did find something there. A motor bike. Left over from some world war or straight off the set of Indian Jones, the old motorcycle and sidecar were tucked in a low shed beneath a camouflage tarp. Clint found the key in the ignition and turned it over. When no sound came, he tried it again—then realized again there was no way for him to have heard it.

"This sucks." He said to himself. He leaned down, feeling the engine. It was vibrating, perhaps working. He straddled the seat and worked the ignition, twisted the handle bar and got it in gear. He was happy when it moved, stuttering, but it was running.

He drove it over to Steve first. This was going to look like one of the strangest things rolling through the Egyptian desert, but if it got them out of the kill zone, Clint was sure it didn't matter. It took a while to lug Rodgers up and into the side car, but eventually he fit. Next went Tony's suit. That was piled around Steve in the car.

Tony was not going to fit on top of everything thing else, so Clint devised a simple method to keep him on the bike. Tony was arranged limply at Clint's back, his hands cuffed together with zip ties around Clint's middle. So, with one hand holding Tony close, the other used to steer, Clint got them out of the red zone before the bomb began to drop.

so i'll post the next update maybe tomorrow. I'm starting to get a hold of a beta who will rough out the edges on my grammar:)

What do Bagel's have to do with this story? Don't worry-you will find out. And after reading it, me and my friends decide to have our own Bagel Thursday's from now on!

Please Review!