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Clint yelped as he felt hot metal sink into his shoulder. He tumbled forward, gasping in pain. “Can anyone hear me?” he called into his comm. “Clint?! Where are you?” shouted Natasha. She hated losing her partner, especially in such large fights.
“I’m at the warehouse down by the docks. Are you alright?” Concern crept into his voice.
“I’m fine; it was pretty much silent by the hut. Give me 2 minutes, I’ll be right there.” She had to help him. He had saved her life many times, and it was time to repay the debt (if only a little). She ran for the warehouse while reloading at the same time. Clint only groaned in response. He could already feel the energy draining from his body. He hoped she would get there fast. She stopped about 20 metres from where he was hiding and shot the three remaining hostiles straight through the skull, and then sprinted towards him. “My God, what did they do to you?”
“Got shot,” he groaned. He tried to muffle a yell as he felt sudden pressure on his shoulder.
“Stay still, I’m gunna try and stop the bleeding. We’ll have to wait until we get back to the helicarrier before the bullet comes out, it’s embedded too deep.” Natasha hated seeing Clint in pain, and felt even worse when she was the one causing it. She knew from personal experience just how painful being shot was. He nodded, trying to keep still. “It’s that bad?”
“Base, do you come in? Agent down, repeat, agent down!” She sighed. “Well, let’s just say that whoever shot you picked the boniest non-fatal place in your torso. It’ll be fine, but good luck shooting for the next couple of weeks…”
Clint just sighed. He hated losing the use of his arm. “How long until they get here?”
“They said about 10 minutes. We’re pretty far out.” Romanov kept a poker face. Truth was that the bleeding was slowing, but nowhere near fast enough. Barton could tell from her voice that something was wrong. “Natasha, how bad is it? Tell me.”
“The bleeding’s not really stopping, Clint. If we’re not careful then you could lose too much."
He groaned. “Is it too high for a tourniquet?”
“Yeah, it’s in your shoulder blade and there’s no way I can set one up without cutting off all blood supply to your arm and making it worse… ” Her voice broke the smallest amount on the last word, but still enough that the shooter could hear.
“I’m not going to die, Nat. I just need to get this damn bullet out.”
“Well it’s been five minutes already and you haven’t passed out yet, so I’m gunna take this as a good sign. I’d try to get the bullet out myself but I’d probably end up fracturing your blade if it isn’t already. It needs professionals.”
“Think we can get back to Stark Tower? Bruce could look at it there.” Barton hated hospitals and wasn’t going to go to one unless he was about to die, which he wasn’t. Also, he trusted Dr. Banner more than the S.H.I.E.L.D. medics, even if his alter-ego was strong enough to crush a building. “I should think so, Bruce’s been staying there since the Chitauri attack, clearing up and playing in the lab. I’ll see if I can contact them. Keep the pressure on? I need to stand up.” She checked for hostiles, then took out her phone and pressed one. It helped having all of the Avengers on speed dial sometimes. Hawkeye pressed down on his shoulder, closing his eyes against the pain. He knew this wasn’t good.