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They sit in silence for just long enough to observe them, their three prisoners. Maybe three guards is excessive—actually, no maybe about it, it definitely is—but these aren’t ordinary prisoners. Captain America is strong; his muscles bulge even under the sleeves of his jacket. He doesn’t know much about the other guy—Falcon, Sam, whatever his name is. He’s new. But he looks strong. And then there’s Romanoff. And if he knows anything, it’s that she might be bleeding a lot, but she’s still one of the most dangerous people on the planet. They’re not taking any chances.
It doesn’t take long for the new guy to start mouthing off. “Hey,” he shouts, as if they’re on opposite ends of a football field and not packed into the back of a van. “Hey, she’s bleeding.”
Romanoff groans, her head lolling. She’s looking at him; he can tell that much even through her half-lidded eyes. He looks away, back to the new guy, who’s shouting again.
“Can you hear me?” Falcon shouts, if possible, even louder. “She’s gonna bleed to death if we don’t get her some medical attention. Hey! I’m talkin’ to you! She needs a doctor!”
The guard all the way to the left whips out the stun baton. It sizzles in the new guy’s face for a moment. The three prisoners stare at it, waiting, all tensed to attack. The guard whirls, jams the stun baton into the side of the guard in the middle, who jerks a bit before crumpling, unconscious, between them. He looks up as Maria Hill pulls off the guard helmet and takes a deep breath.
“That thing really squeezes your face,” she says, grimacing.
The other three stare at her, and then Falcon and Cap turn their heads to look at him. Maria Hill looks at him, too. He shrugs.
“Don’t look at me. It’s not bothering me.”
Clint pulls the mask over his head and Cap looks like he’s coming down from a panic attack. He sags visibly and laughs to himself. Falcon looks from Cap to Clint and back, eyebrows raised, still tensed for a fight.
“Relax,” Maria says, beginning to uncuff them. “He’s one of ours.”
“You’re the guy with the arrows, right?” Falcon asks.
Clint looks at him. “That’s me,” he deadpans. “The guy with the arrows.”
Natasha looks at him without surprise. She knew. Of course. He gets to his feet, stooping so he doesn’t bang his head, and moves towards her. She just looks at him as he uncuffs her.
“I’m bleeding,” she says.
“I can see that.”
The van is slowing to a stop, and Clint glances at Hill. She nods, just once, and he shifts out of her way as she produces a pen from her pocket. Clint finds medical supplies and works on patching Natasha up well enough to move her. He hears the laser cutting through the floor of the truck behind him. Natasha inhales sharply as he presses to stop the bleeding. He binds up her side as tightly as he can without hurting her.
Just as he’s finishing, Hill says, “Time to go.”
Natasha makes it into the tunnel just fine, but her knees give out when she tries to walk. She’s woozy. She lost a lot of blood. Cap and Falcon both move forward to help her, but Clint is faster, used to her movements. He slips under her arm even as she gets to her feet. He barely feels her leaning on him, even though she is. It’s a comfortable support system, one they’re both used to, and they fall into an easy walking rhythm.
He glances at her. “Nice necklace.”
“Where have you been hiding?” she returns.
He smirks. “Europe. Had a few things they wanted me to clean up in there. They wanted me out of the way. Hill found me and called me back in. Better late than never, don’t you think?”
She snorts. “Yeah, sure.”
They move in silence for a while, this ragtag group of heroes, Maria Hill in the front, then Falon, then Clint and Natasha, and Cap bringing up the rear as a guard. He stays far back enough that Clint knows he’s not trying to eavesdrop, but he can still feel Cap’s eyes on them. Natasha sags a bit more, just as Hill is telling them they’re almost there, and Clint readjusts the tightness of her arm around his neck.
“I can carry you,” he offers, knowing her answer.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. I can walk on my own just fine, thanks. I just want to make you feel useful.”
He chuckles and looks over at her. “Now this,” he says, “is more like Budapest.”
She doesn’t say anything, but the corner of her mouth turns up in a smile.