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The forest ground heaved and blurred underneath Clint as he and Sam legged it as fast as they could, which wasn’t very. Clint’s right leg was probably broken given the debilitating pain everytime weight was put on it after the adrenaline wore off; between that and the concussion Clint was struggling to keep up.
Sam was doing his best to support the weight on Clint’s afflicted side, to keep him upright and moving, but Clint’s poorly controlled limbs kept tripping both of them up. Sam was hard pressed to keep them from falling.
Sam bit a curse back between his teeth as Clint’s foot snagged on uneven ground again. Sam knew, he knew it was the head injury, but that didn’t make the situation any less frustrating. Escape from their captors was tenuous at best and they needed to be gone already.
“Gonna hurl,” Clint announced suddenly, voice strained. Sam helped get him positioned so that none of the sick landed on either of them and patted Clint soothingly between the shoulders as he continued to retch.
“Fuck, Sam. I don’t think I can do this, man. You need to go on without me,” Clint said, head hanging low between his arms as he remained propped over where he had been sick.
“What? Don’t be so dramatic. No way I’m leaving you to get caught again. We got this man. Just take a second to catch your breath and we’ll be off.”
“I’m serious, I’m a fucking hinderance right now. I don’t want to get both of us recaptured,” Clint gritted out, before falling victim to his nausea again. Sam didn’t comment on the dry heaving, just waited until it abated and forced Clint to his feet.
“We’re staying together, that’s final.” Clint held his gaze for a few seconds then acquiesced with a nod.
“Okay, but if they catch up with us you need to run. One of us needs to report in.” He scrubbed the moisture from his chin with the back of his forearm and let Sam resume their march. “It ain’t gonna do either of us any good if we both get caught.”
***
Several hours later, when dusk was settling around them, Sam called a halt for the night. They were making hardly any forward progress and Clint was barely able to help support himself any more. Once Clint was propped against a tree, leg elevated on a fallen log Sam had dragged over, Sam left to scout the immediate area for threats or potential food. He didn’t find much, just some aggregated berries he didn’t know the name of but was sure were safe and fiddlehead ferns.
“Found some good eating,” Sam tried to enthuse when he returned to Clint, but fatigue washed-out his tone. Clint rolled his head in Sam’s direction to acknowledge that he’d heard, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Come on, Clint. I need you to eat some of this.”
“You should keep it for yourself. Takes a lot of energy having to haul me around ‘cause you’re an idiot.”
“Yeah? And you’re welcome for my being an idiot. I told you, we gotta stick together. Birds of a feather and all that.”
“This bird can’t fly, Wilson,” Clint huffed out a laugh, finally cracking his eyes open. Sam knelt in front of him, holding out a handful of the berries he’d found.
“I already ate some at the bush,” Sam said. “Ain’t dropped dead yet.”
“Reassuring,” Clint said, but managed to get his shaking hands to cooperate enough to accept the fruit.
“Hey, don’t be wasting my efforts,” Sam chided jokingly when one fell to the ground. “You need me to feed you, too? Carrying your ass isn’t enough?”
Clint rolled his eyes but opened his mouth to accept the fat berry that Sam had retrieved and held to his lips. “Gee, thanks.”
“See, was that so hard? Just a little appreciation is all I ask.”
“Sam. I do appreciate you, and that you don’t want to leave me behind, but I’m holding you back.”
“Oh, no. Not this shit again. Your boyfriend will straight up murder me if I show up without you. Is that what you want? Me dead?” Sam asked in mock outrage. “Give it up, we’re going to get out of this together.”
Clint huffed out an exasperated sigh. When he finished with the meager meal he settled himself on his side to sleep. There had been a brief discussion about setting up a watch rotation, but they’d decided they both needed the rest more if there was any hope of getting somewhere the next day.
***
“Fuck! Clint, goddamn it!”
Sam did a very quick search just to double check that Clint hadn’t gone behind a tree for privacy, but no, the damn fool had flown the coop.
***
Clint managed a few hours of sleep before the cold night air and unyielding ground exacerbated the pain from his injuries enough to jar him from sleep. He had tried to slip back into a doze but gave it up as a bad job fairly quickly. Lying awake, his thoughts circled around Sam’s stubborn refusal to leave Clint behind. Clint couldn’t stop dwelling on how the best plan would have been for Sam to bring help back after making contact with the team; he was beyond frustrated that Sam wouldn’t listen to reason. Probably it meant Sam didn’t trust that Clint knew what he was talking about — not after watching the display Clint had put on during their captivity.
It was never a good idea for Clint to be left alone with his thoughts when he was in pain. All of his darkest intrusive thoughts came out to play, and they spiraled fast.
It wasn’t long until his brain progressed from his frustration with Sam to ruminating over how his presence always made things worse. His smart mouth had earned him the injuries that made their escape so difficult, when was he ever going to learn to shut up? It was his own damn fault they were practically crawling through the woods and probably going to be picked back up by the assholes who had held them captive. If he had been a little less sarcastic, a little less shitty, maybe made fewer insults about the assholes’ mothers then they wouldn’t have started beating him with a crowbar instead of just using their fists and feet. But Clint Barton couldn’t not have the last word and now, thanks to his damn smart mouth, his leg had been smashed to hell.
Next his thoughts turned to how he had fucked up the other areas in his life, before this whole getting captured and pathetic escape debacle. His brain reminded him how he had deserved every kick and lashing his dad had dealt out when he couldn’t do the simplest tasks correctly; how he had failed to protect his mother; how he had been such a shitty brother that his own had betrayed him.
Of course it was always just a matter of time before his relationships collapsed, professional or personal. He’d lost all respect from most of his coworkers when he had let Loki use him to slaughter hundreds, before Nat had done her ‘cognitive recalibration’ trick. In his love life, if he was lucky, he sometimes managed to see the signs that it was time to leave before the other person humiliated him when they started asking why he thought he was worth keeping around.
And Clint knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t worth keeping around; he was a pathetic, lonely asshole who had trouble giving up any perceived hint of affection. It rankled how often he had misconstrued things, imagining them to be more than they were; how often he was told he was an idiot for thinking it meant anything. Clint idly wished he could be the one to leave his hollow relationships before they imploded for a change.
That’s what he needed to do here: he needed to leave. Sam felt obligated to stay, so Clint would do them both a favor and leave while Sam was still sacked out. Resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be able to make it far on his own, he started to ease himself away from the campsite as quickly and quietly as he could manage. He just had to make it far enough so that Sam — who couldn’t track for shit — couldn’t find him, then Sam would have to leave the area to find a place to contact the team from. And for that to happen Clint needed to be gone before Sam woke up.
Clint moved with excruciating slowness; unable to bear weight on his broken leg he was forced to crawl through the undergrowth. He did his best not to leave obvious signs of his passage.
As soon as he was far enough that Sam wasn’t likely to stumble upon him, Clint could hole up and sleep while he waited for Sam to return with the team. If they even wanted to bother retrieving him; Sam was the one who had the intel they needed and it would be a waste of resources to fool around in the woods looking for Clint. They’d probably be glad to be rid of him.
Clint managed to haul his worthless hide through the woods for roughly an hour. He didn’t delude himself that he’d gotten far, but he thought he’d managed to conceal his tracks well enough. Clint found a huge fallen tree with a depression under it, and he was just able to curl up in it on his side. He bit back a yell when he guided his broken leg into position. The world spun and he panted harshly through the nausea, just barely able to keep his berries down.
The sharp pain of the movement faded back into a constant but manageable throbbing. Clint reached a hand out of his hole and pulled a loose branch in front of where he lay and let his head collapse against the ground.
He hoped Sam found a way back to the team quickly. He was so damn tired of hurting; he fell asleep hoping that he'd wake up to rescue or not wake up at all.
***
“Goddamn self-sacrificing idiot,” Bucky snarled to himself again as he paced the narrow space inside the quinjet. “I can not believe he fucking did this. You know what? No. Actually, I can. I can absolutely believe he fucking ran off on his own and put himself in danger. I can’t believe Sam fucking let him.”
“I don’t think Sam let him,” Natasha said, managing to sound placid despite Bucky’s confidence that she was upset by the circumstances. “I think Clint knew exactly what he wanted and how to do it. Don’t take it out on an innocent bystander.”
“Yeah, take it out on the fuckwads who took them both in the first place,” Tony said.
The team had been able to respond so quickly when Sam had managed to get to a safe place to call in his location because they had been on stand-by since the pair had missed their check-in.
Natasha and Steve had been asleep in their uniforms, boots and all, in the conference room they were using as a base of operations; Bruce, Tony and Jarvis remained awake as they sifted through data. Before Sam made contact, the only intel Shield had been able to provide was ‘somewhere in the northeast region’ as the initial place of assignment which was a damn big area to cull through. Everyone fully expected it to take hours before they had actionable information but no one was willing to be absent when it came in.
Bucky had been stretched out on a couch, unable to fall asleep, despite knowing the wisdom in catching a few Zs when the opportunity presented itself. It wasn’t like he could do anything to further the search until Stark or Shield narrowed down where Clint and Sam had been taken when their mission tanked; fretting wasn’t helping anyone, but he couldn't help himself.
He’d been about to give up on the idea of sleep and get some coffee when Sam’s call came in. Jarvis had been able to pinpoint Sam’s location immediately; Tony was able to use satellite imagery with Sam's description of the area to find a cabin nearby that had a high probability of being the captors' base of operations.
“I’ll let Steve take it out on those fuckers,” Bucky responded to Tony. He wouldn't have minded if one or two bodies were left for him to take his frustrations out on later, but he was going to focus his attention on getting Clint back safe and sound. He expected whatever assholes Steve and Nat got ahold of would be in Shield medical before he had Clint situated. Taking care of Clint would always be his priority, no matter how satisfying smashing a few heads in might be.
Since Sam was in a safe enough position to wait for a Shield team to retrieve him, the plan was for the Avengers to focus on detaining the captors and rescuing Clint. Steve and Natasha would get dropped to deal with the shitheads, if they were stupid enough to still be there, and any relevant information found at the cabin. Bruce, Tony and Bucky would take the quinjet to a clearing, large enough to land, near what they thought was Clint’s last known location based on Sam’s description. Additional agents from Shield were en route to help with the ground search, but with luck and the thermal scanners Tony had provided, they would find Clint before the reinforcements even arrived.
***
Tony radioed in that he’d found Clint and was headed to the quinjet with him. He reported that Clint had been conscious when he’d arrived, but during the process of getting him out from under the log and into the arms of Tony’s suit he had passed out. Whether it was from exhaustion, pain, or a combination of the two was anyone’s guess; either way they needed to get him to a higher level of care.
Bruce and Bucky hightailed it to the jet to meet Tony and start what medical care they could in-route. The others would make their way back with the same follow-on team that had collected Sam.
***
Bucky held vigil at Clint’s bedside for two days. Clint had woken up several times since his retrieval, but he hadn’t really been coherent due to all of the medication in his system.
This time when Clint’s eyes opened there was an alertness to them. Clint didn’t move from his position on the bed while his eyes darted around the room taking in the details before settling on Bucky.
“Hey babe. Scared me, you know that?” Clint blinked owlishly at Bucky in response but didn’t answer. “Here, have some water.”
The water in the bedside pitcher probably tasted stale; Bucky hadn’t refreshed it from the previous morning, but Clint greedily drank half of the cup while Bucky supported it for him. They sat in silence, as Bucky tried to give Clint time to acclimate to his surroundings but Bucky broke as a disquieted feeling grew in his mind.
“Doctors said we’re looking at six months for that leg. Three pins and a plate. Keep this up and you’ll have more metal than me.” Bucky aimed for a jocular tone but could feel his voice falling flatter under the weight of Clint’s gaze. The silence stretched out again until Bucky couldn't bear it. “Everything okay, Clint?”
“I think you need to go,” Clint finally responded, voice hoarse with disuse and emotion.
“I — what?” Bucky rocked back in his seat as if he’d taken a physical hit. Clint was back to staring. “You mean, like for the night? So you can get some rest?”
“No. I’m no good for anyone Buck; all I do is ruin things and I think you ought to get out while the going’s still good.” Bucky was so flabbergasted that it took him a moment to process it all and collect his own thoughts. All he managed to say in response was, "what?"
“Everything I touch, everything around me. I just make things worse. I ruined that mission, I ruined Sam’s chances at an easy escape that didn’t involve hauling my deadweight around. It’s — it’s just a matter of time before I ruin things with you too.”
“Baby, what happened out there? Where is all this coming from? Shit happens on missions; sometimes they go south. That’s not your fault.” These weren’t just empty reassurances from Bucky; he’d gotten a pared down version of the debrief Sam had provided once he had been released from his own tour in medical. Nothing Sam had said indicated Clint was to blame for their capture, it had been sheer dumb luck on the part of the opportunistic homegrown militia that had grabbed them.
“I just had a lot of time to think,” Clint said, his voice wobbling. “You guys should have just left me out there to die.”
As if he had teleported, Bucky was no longer in his chair, but pressed against the side of Clint’s bed cradling his lover’s face in his hands; he managed not to disturb any of the wires or tubes coming off or out of Clint’s body. Bucky felt like a vise had trapped his chest — heart stopped and lungs collapsed.
“Baby. Baby, no. No, we shouldn’t have,” Bucky said as soon as he was able to get the breath to do so, forehead pressed against Clint’s.
“I’m not good for you, I’m not good for the team,” Clint hiccupped out, tears starting to cascade down his cheeks, spilling onto Bucky’s fingers.
“You are, you are amazing for me. And for the team.”
“For my aim maybe,” Clint said derisively.
“Your aim is the least of what I love about you,” Bucky said fiercely. “Clint. Clint, I love you, and you’re scaring me. When was the last time you took your meds before you were taken?”
“Dunno. Spilled the bottle, maybe two days before?” Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, doesn’t change that —.” Bucky cut Clint off before he could finish the sentence.
“There is nothing wrong with you for needing medication; and right now your brain is just throwing garbage at you ‘cause you’re off the meds. This isn’t you, Clint. I’ll get the doctors to fix it, okay?”
Clint wasn’t really able to shake his head in negation, trapped between Bucky’s hands like it was, but Bucky felt the aborted motion.
“Doesn’t matter if I’m on them or not. I still ruin things when I’m taking them the right way too. I'm going to ruin us and I’m so tired of people walking away when they’re done with me.”
“Clint. No one is walking away right now. Okay? You’re not thinking clearly. You just woke up, it’s been two days and you’re off your meds.” Now tears were burning in Bucky’s eyes too as he choked out the words. “We can talk about it in a few days when things have stabilized, but Clint. Clint, I’m not walking away. I’ve got no intention of walking away from you. Ever.”
Clint’s eyes locked with Bucky’s as he digested the words. He didn’t really believe them, but it wasn’t like he was in the best headspace to be making any permanent decisions right then.
“Clint,” Bucky begged in a whisper, as the silence stretched again and his exhaled word tickled the scruff on Clint’s jaw.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. Bucky, I…” Whatever Clint had been going to add was lost in tears. Bucky pulled Clint’s face into his shoulder, awkwardly hunched over the bed so that he could cradle Clint to him, rocking them both slightly. It wasn’t long until Clint cried himself to sleep, still physically exhausted.
Bucky lowered him back onto the mattress when he was confident that Clint wouldn’t wake up again. He sank back into the chair he had been using, taking a moment to collect himself. Bucky scrubbed at his face, trying to eradicate the horror he had felt when Clint said they should have left him to die along with the tear tracks.
When he was as good as he was going to get, he left the room to find a nurse or doctor to discuss the antidepressants that were no longer in Clint’s system.
***
The next time Clint woke up he hadn’t brought up the previous conversation, nor had he for the next several days he spent in that hospital bed. Clint had been duly informed that he wasn’t allowed to leave until the medication had been adjusted correctly, regardless of how the rest of his body was coping with the injuries.
Natasha had made it clear to Clint that he would not be allowed to get around medical and leave early this time, and established a rota, of what Clint contemptuously referred to as babysitters, to keep him occupied so his thoughts wouldn’t turn to escape.
Clint pretended to hate it, but it did actually help, this evidence that the team cared whether he was around or not.
When Clint’s medical team determined he didn’t pose a risk to himself, and all of his lingering concussion symptoms had vanished — he was heartily tired of being asked how many fingers someone was holding up — he was finally released.
Bucky helped Clint transport the collection of junk that had accumulated during his hospital stay back to Clint’s rooms at the tower. He dumped the whole armful on the breakfast bar before collapsing heavily onto the couch, fixing Clint with a drained expression. Clint perched on the back of the armchair next to the sofa, not quite meeting Bucky’s eyes.
“Yeah?” he asked as he hunched in on himself, arms wrapped around his torso; not ready for the conversation he knew had to happen.
“I said I’d give you time to think,” Bucky began. “You’ve had time, and I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but we’ve gotta. Clint, if you still want me to go, I’ll go. But I was serious before, no part of me wants to walk away from you. Hell, if you don’t kick me out of here today I want to move in together.”
“Are you… are you serious?” Clint asked faintly, eyes snapping up to meet Bucky’s.
“Yeah, I’m tired of missing out on time with you when I don’t need to. We were —” Bucky cut off as the wind was knocked out of him. Clint had launched himself from the chair into Bucky, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a fiercely tight hug.
“We were practically living together anyway,” Bucky continued when Clint didn’t say anything from his new position. “The only benefit to having two suites was the extra closet space and I can get rid of a few hoodies so we can fit everything in just the one.”
Clint burst out with a laugh at the unexpected joke. “You’re really serious. Me? You want to stay with me.”
“Clint, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I was so goddamn afraid I had lost you, I just. I’m not holding back anymore. I want everything with you.” The laugh that escaped Clint this time was borderline hysterical.
“I’m a mess,” Clint warned, finally pulling back to sit beside Bucky instead of on top of him.
“I love your mess,” Bucky reassured him. “If I have to spend years teaching you to pick up your socks it’d be time well spent.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I do. I’m a mess too, we’ll work through it. Together. I’ve got faith in us Clint; you just have to give it a shot.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ve never been able to resist taking a shot. Let’s do it.”