Chapter Text
A character who’s so exhausted his hands are trembling, his eyes are dull/unfocused, he’s starting to hallucinate… and his team needs him to stay awake
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The slap stings his cheek and startles him awake, his whole body jerking away and eyes snapping open. He flinches when his back slams into the wall he’d been sitting against before. He frowns and glares at the familiar figure who’s crouched down in front of him, scowling at him. There’s tension in Coulson’s jaw and a tiny vein pulsing on his neck that only shows when he’s concerned.
They’re running on the 48th hour of this mission, whereas everything went FUBAR about 7 hours ago. One of the junior agents and two of the seniors got killed, and half of the rest were injured. At least the others made it out to the extraction point. His head hurts, his head feels like a thousand bombs going off at once, and Clint’s entire body is sore from pure exhaustion. He wants a nap, and now his cheek hurts.
“I need you to stay awake, Barton.” his handler orders, and Clint nods ever so slightly but he knows Coulson catches it. Coulson puts one hand on Clint’s jaw to steady him, and uses the other to take his pulse, all while checking Clint’s pupils. His pupils are dilated to the point where his blue irises are barely visible.
“Eyes on me, kid.” Coulson says and waits a little too long for Clint’s eyes to land on his. They’re unfocused and glassy, and Coulson wait a few more painful seconds before speaking: “Give me your full name.”
“Clint..” he slurs, his body not cooperating the way he wants and tongue feeling heavier than ever. He just wants a nap, why did Coulson have to do this now? “Clinton Francis Bart’n.”
The hand on Clint’s jaw tilts his head backwards and forces Clint’s eyes to meet Coulson's again as they’re about to drift away.
“Good. And where are we?” Coulson asks, and Clint begins looking around
“No,” Phil scolds and taps his cheek “Don’t look, just tell me. Come on Barton, you know this.”
“We’re on a mission in Europe.. We’re in-” he coughs, dry and hard, and it feels like sandpaper is scraping against his throat, “We’re in France, near Switzerland.” Clint runs a shaking hand through his messy hair, it’s usual blonde color now stained with dirt and blood. Coulson frowns at that, but Clint doesn’t care and closes his eyes, for a short second.
“No, Clint,” Coulson taps his cheek again and Clint pries his eyes open. “I need you to stay awake.”
“I’m here, ‘m ‘ere.” he mumbles, trying his best to focus on Coulson “I’m awake.”
“Hey,” Coulson says, and shifts his hand from Clint’s jaw to his shoulder, his other hand coming up in front of Clint’s head. He flexes his index finger up. “Follow with your eyes.” he orders and moves it through the air, carefully watching Clint’s eyes. Clint tracks the motion, but doesn’t know how much time has passed before Coulson snaps his fingers and Clint blinks. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to zone out, his eyes becoming glassy again.
“Your concussion is pretty bad, kid.” Coulson says with a sigh. Clint rubs his eyes, both of his hands no longer shaking, but violently trembling all the way down his arms to his shoulders.
“I can do this.” he says to himself “I can do it. I can stay awake. I can- I can..” his voice trails off, his slurs becoming incoherent mumbles and sounds. Clint whines, something he never would do in front of others. But Coulson is not other people and Clint is tired. He’s exhausted to the point where he doesn’t care about getting nightmares, all he needs is sleep.
“Just hold on a little longer, Barton.” Coulson says, but his voice is so smooth and Clint just wants to sleep, just for a minute...
He feels another sharp sting on his cheek and hear Coulson yell at him. He jerks his eyes open and looks into the eyes of his handler. Just a little longer. He can hold on a little longer.