Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The stadium lights bathed the soccer field in a white light that made it seem like day. Dozens of kids stumbled and ran around each other, fumbling for a ball with odd precision he’d never understand no matter how many times he watched these games. But Clint only cared about one kid on the team; Raye. Not like he was the only one watching her, the girl was the main event. Quick feet carried her past the other kids, kicking the ball as a blur of color into the goal. It was her tenth of the night. 

Damn right that was his kid.

She had the spunk only a youngest child could have, and it would no doubt get her places. Right now, it got her in the best team the closest town had to offer to someone at the age of 7. The stadium (at least, the side supporting her group, sports parents were brutal) erupted in applause as the point was counted. The game was finally over, thank god. As much as he loved to support his little girl he wasn't used to being around so many aggressively supportive parents. Honestly he wasn't used to being around this many strangers, period. Laura said it was a good opportunity for both Raye and him, even if he was still weary.

Her teammates hugged it out as soon as they got the chance, smiling and laughing. And of course Raye got a shit-ton of extra high-fives. Yet her gaze remained distant, uninterested. She kept scanning the bleachers like they were hiding something and didn't knock it off until her eyes landed on him . A bright grin broke out on her face and she spirited to him as if she hadn't sprinted enough today.

“You made it!” Raye pulled him into a death grip of a hug the second he was standing, “I thought you weren't coming. Did you see the goals I made?”

“Heck yeah I did, you were a total badass.” Her words sent a pang through Clint, but he covered it by ruffling her hair, “There's nowhere else I'd rather be kiddo.”

She seemed a lot less bothered, waving away his hand, “You're buttering me up.”

“Am not.”

“Fine, then I'm telling mom you cursed.”

Clint gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest as if she'd just shot an arrow through it, “You wouldn't. ”

He suddenly scooped her up, holding her giggling form in the air like she was the trophy, “Then I'll tell mom that you had a soda before the game.”

“I'll kick you.” 

“Noted.” He dropped her to the ground to be set free…not before peppering kisses to her head that made her gag, “But seriously, I'm proud of you. You did great." Clint's grin faded though as Raye's focus drifted. "Am I losing you? You seeing straight?"

Rayes eyes flickered at a slightly too rapid pace, causing Clint's mid-sentence pause. He stared her down in a more-than-awkward way to check for vertigo. 

“Your hearing fine? No spinning?” but it seemed Meniere's disease wouldn't crash this moment as her eyes didn't shake like they were in a rave.

“A small headache, hearing is kinda blocked, but I'm fine for now. Chill it.”

“Doesn't sound fine. And don't tell me to ‘chill it’, it's my job to worry.” He sighed, but ultimately dropped it, “Go get your stuff, pop some motion sickness tablets in the car, and we get enough ice cream to make us sick to celebrate. How does that sound?”

She seemed happy with the subject change and ecstatic at the mention of ice cream. 

“Fuck yeah!” 

“Language!” Damn hypocrite .

Clint snorted, watching as she ran off to the supply shed. He made his way back to Laura and the kids, listening to Cooper's teasing and Lilas prideful comments. He didn't totally hate this whole ‘sports-dad’ thing. His middle and oldest dabbled at sports, but Raye was the one who went full sporty-spice.

 It felt nice, getting congratulated by other adults for something other than being an Avenger, making friends thanks to something other than being an Avenger, and doing something other than being an Avenger. The city and that team always had a place in his heart, but the smell of fresh cut grass and the sight of his family being happy would have, admittedly, his whole heart.

It was a limbo he wished he could linger in. The dew on every blade of grass, the faint sound of crickets coming from the nearby forest, even the cold wind felt nice on his skin. It was a blur of dreamlike colors that filled him with bliss and gave him a sweet moment of wait. Until a moment turned to minutes, and minutes ticked to five. No sign of Raye. Maybe she was talking with her friends? No other girls had left the field yet. Maybe she was just taking her time? No, she wanted ice cream. His anxious mind shot down any good explanation within seconds. What if her vertigo had flared up and she was puking in some corner? Ugh, he hoped not. Either way he couldn't just sit around and find out.

The joy that surrounded him slightly calmed Clint's nerves as he walked. He even lingered where the rest of Rayes team stood, congratulating them. All of them knew who he was, of course they did. When your teammate's dad was Hawkeye they were aware within the first five minutes of meeting her- only it seemed the euphoria of having a famous guy's kid on their team had long worn off as they immediately poked fun at him, one of them even flipped him off. What a sweet bunch. 

“Raye? Hurry it up, it's already late.” He called out to no response, try again, “Honey?”

The shed was possibly the dumbest design he'd ever seen. The doors faced away from the field, not only was it inconvenient for games it meant he couldn't just glance in to make sure she was okay.

“You're worrying me here kid.” The closest thing he got to a response was a loud shuffling of boots coming from inside. He opened his mouth to comment-

A scream ripped through the air. Her scream.

Before Clint could even think of running in, she ran out. Or rather, was dragged out. A man clad in black attempted to hold the trashing kid in place to no avail. His solution? Slamming her head into the wood until she settled. 

“One step closer and she's dead!” The perpetrators ugly voice rang out, alerting Clint to the knife in his hand, the one pressed to Rayes throat. 

Clint put his hands up in defense, “What do you want?”

Money? Information? Clint's life? He'd give any of those things just to see her okay.

Raye looked terrified, but she didn't fight, she was a smart girl. Breaths came in ragged breaths and the world started to spin until nothing but the cold medal on her neck made sense. Vertigo. Shit. She stumbled forward, the action taken as an attempt of escape and the knife got pressed closer. Blood.

“Let her go, she's just a kid.” He tried to plead again, but was cut off.

“You killed my kid, Barton.” The man snapped, gritting his teeth and shaking the girl, “To the Avengers, we were collateral damage. But damage can kill.”

The knife slowly drew a crimson line against her soft skin. It looked fake, it felt fake. The realization that this was well… real hit like a train. He had no weapons, no way to get to her, not even a way to comfort her. Sobs began to rack her body. The man wanted nothing but to induce pain. Not on her, but on Clint.

There was only one ending to this, and it was not a happy one. She would be slowly cut down, bleed out as he had to watch helplessly. If she died part of him would too, and there was nothing, nothing he wouldn't do to prevent it.

“Please stop it, this won't fix anything.” Clint's voice cracked, betraying whatever stoic demeanor he was trying to put up. But it didn't matter, he was desperate “She doesn't deserve this.”

He deserved it. When Clint had sinned, Raye was just born.

“Is the great Hawkeye crying?” The man mocked, slicing deeper. Raye choked on her own breath as the pain spread. 

He hadn't even processed his own tears until he reached up to feel them. The only thing that mattered was this feeling of helplessness and her. It was a nightmare. Poor Clint had gotten too used to domestic life. He remembered her first shots as a baby. Laura had taken the first two kids to get them, but for whatever reason he was assigned to take Raye to hers. Seeing her in distress and knowing, to some degree, it was his fault? He could barely handle that. This was a mental death sentence. 

Was this it? Were all those precautions for nothing? He had seen death, yet somehow he had become naive. He believed it would never come for his family, especially not like this.

For a moment though, it seemed they were in luck. He heard a faint crunch of leaves behind the man. Laura had probably called SHIELD, hell, the police were probably flooded with calls due to the other parents being onlookers. But if Clint was able to tell there was another man, a better man, a sniper, behind the perpetrator…

Then so could he.

It was all a blur. He heard the shot ring out and the bad man fell, but not before he cut. He cut…

His Raye of sunshine, his daughter, would die.

The sob Clint had subconsciously kept in his throat finally escaped. He ran forward, desperate for it all not to be real. He ignored the man slumped on the ground, the commotion around him, and focused solely on his little girl's thrashing form.

“I'm here Raye, you're safe, he's gone…” He cradled her in his arms to assess the damage, “Come back to be sweetheart, focus on me…”

A gash ran down her neck, it ran deep holy…

It was sloppy as it was a laceration made in a man’s last moments, but god did it work. He had seen wounds but this was just…terrible. He could see the back of her throat, he cut to her trachea? Could she breathe? He assumed by the shallow almost non existent gasps that she couldn't. The wound ran vertical, it hit her vocal cord nerves. She couldn't even speak. Of course, nothing was certain as warm blood gushed out and seeped into her skin, making it impossible to see.  

Given the fact she kept looking wide eyed up at nothing, Clint assumed she couldn't hear him either. Shit. If these were her last moments she wouldn’t even get to hear him all because of stupid Meniere's disease. It was like everything led up to this moment and this moment was turned against him.

"Hold on, sweetie," he choked, speaking futilely, "You'll be okay. We'll get you help. You're gonna be alright."

He applied pressure to the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.

"Stay with me, Raye. Please stay with me."

The SHIELD agents were already here. He could hear them approach, ready to load her into the back of an ambulance, probably for her to pass under anesthetic or maybe in the doorway to the hospital at best. Either way he knew the odds were against him, this would probably be his last moments with her.

And she couldn’t even hear him. With her spinning vision god knows she couldn’t process things visually. He had so much to say yet couldn’t.

Her hands reached blindly up for comfort but they brushed against his hearing aids.

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“You know this isn't safe Barton.” Laura scoffed, yet left him to it. She had long since given up on stopping him.

It was a sticky summer day, the air filled with the sounds of heat bugs and birds, but Raye couldn't hear a lick of it. The 7 year old was sat between his legs with this week's case of shaky eyes and blown out hearing. She was more focused on the gentle rock of the swing than her bickering parents.

“C’mon love, her hearing is worse than mine when it goes out like this. If the aids are too loud she’ll freak and I'll get them out.”

His wife rolled her eyes, “Don't ‘love’ me. You're buttering me up.”

“Is it working?”

“ No. Not in this case, no.” Laura made her way back into the house, not before yelling out, “Don't make our daughter go deaf!”

He was tempted to say ‘She kinda already is’ but held off. Clint tapped Rayes shoulder, causing her to crane her neck back to see him.

“[Bummer]” He signed, earning a giggle from her, “[You ready?]”

The girl nodded eagerly. Laura was right, you weren't supposed to share hearing aids. A, it was gross, B, it was uncomfortable, and C, it ranged from dangerous to useless. But this was less of sharing then it was a test run for when ‘hearing loss episodes’ became just ‘hearing loss’ and she’d end up like him. He was tired of seeing her sulk around in discomfort as the world was silent. A small moment of clarity like this could do her some good. 

Clint placed his left aid (cleaning it first, of course) in her ear. After a moment of hesitation, he turned it on.

She winced at the initial high pitch but eventually relaxed as sounds came flooding back in. It wasn't great, obviously it was adjusted to his own completely separate needs, but it was something.

“Is it working?” He whispered.

“ What?” She squawked louder than him.

Clint couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. Like he said, worse off than him.

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He had an idea.

Clint placed his left aid (cleaning it first, of course) in her ear. After a moment of hesitation, he turned it on.

She winced at the initial high pitch but eventually relaxed as sounds came flooding back in. It wasn't great, obviously it was adjusted to his own completely separate needs, but it was something.

He pressed her head to his chest, not caring as blood soaked his shirt,

“Can you hear that honey? That's my heart…just…just focus on that.

His own hearing was staunched but what did it matter? He could feel her melt into him. This was okay. Even if she wasn’t okay, at least she felt…okay.

Everything was happening so fast it felt slow. It reminded him of when she was born. It was at night, he forgot his hearing aids and he felt horrible . He was missing an entire sense for her beginning of life. But when she was there…a small body pressed against his chest…he didn’t care as much. The fact she smiled a toothless baby smile at the sound of his heart was enough to make it up.

How far they came. The sound sent an odd calm through her. Maybe it was muscle memory. It was a silly thought, but a comforting one.

Clint couldn't promise her life or a painless death, all he could control was letting her know he was there. That no matter what happened, she wouldn't be alone. 

"That's right, sweetheart," he rocked her gently, "Just focus on my heart. You're gonna be okay."

He looked up as the SHIELD agents finally arrived, their faces a mix of concern and urgency. They knew it wasnt looking good.

"Take care of her," he pleaded, his eyes never leaving Raye's face. Her body was scooped from his hands. And he said body internally because she was limp when they held her. 

Maybe all outcomes would be painless. And most of them involved death at the end, the most painless of them all. 

An agent hung behind to tell him what hospital they were taking her to, where they should go, offering useless condolences, but it was all a useless buzz to him. He was left alone, sitting on the field, the same field he watched her score on, next to a dead man and a puddle of blood from his daughter.

He still felt her weight in his hands even after she was gone, her face burned into his eyes. He felt the echo of emptiness in his heart. In his mind there were no what if’s, no alternatives. His daughter was dead. It wasn’t worth the fuss of hope. Clint got up as the stench of blood got to be too much. He walked almost robotically past Laura, didn't try to comfort Cooper, and barely spared Lila a glance as her teary eyes looked up at him. He found his place under the bleachers like some rejected highschooler, though he would have preferred a vent. 

When it was confirmed the family was no longer in danger, the man was just a one man show, Laura approached. The fact it was just one guy who did this out of some hatred, managed with pure luck, stung more. There was no impending danger. Just death.

“She's gone Laura.” He spoke hoarsely, not turning to face her, “She's gone.”

“She’s not gone until they say she is Clint.” She urged, taking a seat beside him, “don’t say that. She’s my daughter too. She can’t…”

Laura’s voice broke, devolving into a sob. It stung, of course it did, but she stood strong for him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We need to go to the hospital.”

“For what?” He whispered.

She couldn't keep the look of almost offense off her face, but seeing his own blankness softened her, “What do you mean?”

“The hospital? What's the point?” 

Clint couldn't bring himself to hope. He couldn't deal with the pain of disappointment that would come with it. Laura softened. They were idiots together, that’s why he loved her. The other would always just make them sadder.

“You’d rather hear the news over call?” She whispered, “She’d want us there. She’d want you there.”

In his mind she would pass in the ambulance. She was probably already dead. But Laura’s gaze was strong, she cut through him and saw what he was thinking.

“Wouldn’t you want to see her rather than the body?” Jesus he hated when she knew what to say to hurt.

Clint winced at her words, the mention of the body hitting him like a punch to the gut. He knew she was right, but the thought of seeing his daughter's body, lifeless and still...

"I...I don't know if I can handle that," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I've seen so much death, so much pain. But this...this is my baby girl."

Laura looked at him and…smiled.

“You’re right. She’s our baby. But most of all she’s yours. ” Her hand shifted to wrap fully around him, her soft voice barely audible through his one hearing aid, “you two are the same, but I don’t want to have to dig two graves over one, Clint.”

This was killing him, but he couldn’t end up like her…he couldn’t, as much as he had the sudden urge to.

“We'll do it together love, okay?”

He swallowed down some pathetic sound, nodding.

Despite his confirmation she didn’t move immediately. They needed a moment to grieve alone. Before they had to deal with the grief of two scared and confused kids, before they had to face the music…That and she noticed something.

“You gave her your hearing aid?” A kiss was pressed to the crown of his head, “You’re a good dad.”

That was his breaking point.

Whatever facade Clint had left completely crumbled and sobs shook through him like he was a little kid.

"I couldn't let her...she couldn't hear me," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "She had to know I was there."

He buried his face against her shoulder, seeking comfort in her embrace.

"Oh god, Laura. I hope she heard me. I hope she knows I love her."

Chapter Text

Clint was usually good at keeping it together. Of course he tried to still be open around the kids to teach them about vulnerability, not raise an asshole little boy, but he still wasn't much of a crier at the end of the day. Yet the second Laura's words processed he was sobbing. He sobbed as Laura tried to explain to the kids, he was steady going the car ride to the hospital, and wasn't able to explain coherently when they got there. Clint only settled down when Natasha came to pick up the kids (bless her heart) until they got a full scope of the damage.

“Have they said if she?...” Natasha whispered as she pulled Clint and Laura off to the side.

Laura filled in for the mess that he was, “They said she lost a lot of oxygen in the brain so…the damage will be significant no matter what happens.”

Natasha just stared at her like she was speaking another language. Though that couldn't be given, she knew a lot of languages.

“She's not dead?” She blurted out, but before anyone could point out how inappropriate the comment was she turned to Clint, “Then what are you crying for? She's a fighter, she's fighting . So cheer her on.”

Somehow, that’s what shut him up.

Minutes felt like hours and the hours went by like minutes. People came and went through the ER. Clint was surprised the area even had a hospital so close, it was a quiet town and the worst someone came in for was a nail through the hand. A wound that came as a result from a drunken house renovation mistake. Another teen came in with their mom, whispering to the front desk lady. He never did catch what they were there for. Or rather, he didn't like thinking about it. Other than that it was surprisingly quiet.

The sun started to rise and casted a orange glow through the many windows of the lobby. Just when he thought it would be the height of people watching to forget about his own problems, a doctor finally came out to talk to them.

A woman approached them, her face too calm for bad news yet too sympathetic for good. Clint braced himself for the worst as if he hadn't done enough bracing. Nothing would truly prepare for the worst.

“Mr and Mrs Barton I assume?” She held out a hand to shake, “I hope no one gave you too much trouble.”

He gave a firm squeeze paired with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Laura cut in when it was her turn, “Surprisingly no. I think his crying turned people off.”

It was true, for once Clint was free of the stares and requests for photos. For the most part people reserved their questions for the overworked nurses who, thank god, gave them vague responses for privacy.

“Well I'm Dr. Susan, I'm currently in charge of your daughter's case. May I?” Susan gestured to the seat next to them, sitting once she got a small nod from Laura, “She's a strong one you know. No CPR or AED, just a lot of scares, I could only imagine what you two are going through.”

Clint felt a gentle hand thread their fingers with his and his shoulders relaxed. Was he tense this whole time? It didn't matter, Laura's comfort was a needed one.

“Her Larynx and Trachea got severely damaged. Her lung collapsed and she's currently on a ventilator because of it.” That sympathetic face that made his stomach flip grew as she flipped through the files, “her vocal cords are paralyzed which only adds to the issue. But with injections we can fix that. The main concern is the brain.”

That was everybody's concern. The light from Clint's eyes faded, that hope was flickering out.

“The damage will be significant no matter what. Due to her unconsciousness we can't assess that yet but given how long she was out…it could range from paralysis to a detrimental and permanent drop in ability. Which brings me to the hard part,”

As if this wasn't hard enough. Hasn't he paid for his sins? In wounds, in trauma, in his own daughter being slashed?

“Do you want to open a DNR for her?”

“I need to see her first.” Clint's breath stuttered. Yeah, that was the hard part. The lingering fear of weakness that was drilled into him kept him from crying again, but God did he want to.

Dr. Susan gave a tight smile. Not out of frustration, but rather understanding, “She is currently on life support as mentioned with the ventilator, but stable enough to visit.”

She stood from her place, gesturing for them to follow, yet only Clint stood.

Laura lingered in her seat, keeping Clint's hand in hers, “you go first. I just need…a minute..”

For the first time since the incident she looked as weak as him. He didn't look down on it, rather he was oddly comforted. Clint was the one to pull her into a hug this time and made sure to hug her extra tight when the tears soaked his shirt.

“I'll be right back okay? Everything will be okay..” He pressed his lips to her scalp, waiting for her to pull away first, “Take your time, you've done enough today.”

Laura smiled through the crying for a moment, letting the moment linger until he finally walked with Dr. Susan. Weak. For how bad the word sounded, he appreciated it more after today.

It was a small hospital. Only a few rooms in the ER wing, though there were less rooms and more beds in 3 out of the 4 walls with curtains. People watch. People watch like this is a mission and maybe the pounding in your chest will stop.

Nail guy was gone, probably transferred elsewhere. Sick college kid was puking in a half closed off room. A guy hobbled off on crutches, probably the man who was limping when he came in- yup. Same shoe. Finally, the teen and the mom were still there. The teen still had the shakes yet no injuries. Just tear streaks and quiet words while she talked to the worker.

She looked up and Clint looked away. She had Rayes eyes.

They made it to the room. He was briefed in everything, useless rules he already knew.

“Talk to her, she might hear you.” Susan stated, but he didn't believe her.

 His attention was only grabbed when he entered the room.

The room smelled sterile and rotting all at once. Blood. It filled the air with an odd musk of fluids. And his daughter, like the grass in a still field, lay in the center.

His girl.

Her neck was completely braced and banged which he doubted was comfortable. Neither was the tub running down her throat that was attached to a machine. Ventilator. She looked…peaceful like this. Two IVs were attached to her, one for blood and the other a cocktail of what he assumed was opiates and nutrients. A heart monitor beeped its concerningly slow tune to lull the girl to sleep.

Clint was frozen in place, glued to the cold floor. He felt like the only living thing in the room. The  cautious steps were forced and slow until he reached her side.

“God sunny...”

He lingered over Rayes form for a moment, not turning away from her as he dragged the chair from behind him closer. Gentle fingers ran over her arm down to her slow pulse. Her pulse was so…slow. She already felt dead, like this was a casket rather than a hospital room. Her chest didn’t rise or fall, it couldn’t, didn’t need to, the machine did it for her. It was like watching a shitty Frankenstein movie, watching as they kept a corpse alive even through the pain.

But she wasn’t Frankenstein, she was his little girl. On one hand those machines were keeping her alive, but…with how she was, was it even worth it?

No. Clint couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t brain dead yet. His gaze fell to the tray by her bedside. His hearing aids laid there. Clint couldn't keep the small smile off his face, she must have gotten his ears if it fit good enough to convince the hospital it was hers.

Right, he should talk to her.

Clint gently pressed the aid into her ear before talking, “I don't really know how to do this but…I'll try.”

He locked their hands, “I miss you. I really do even though it's only been a few hours-” Clint cleared his throat, “Nevermind, too sad. Um..”

“Maybe I can read you something? God I don't…” His body deflated at her still face, “You're supposed to be the talker kid.”

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“How do you hear without your hearing aids?”

Raye stood at the other side of the counter, bouncing on her feet as she watched Clint make pancakes.

He glanced back at her, clicking back on his aids upon hearing the faint sound of her voice, “Huh?”

“See! You could tell I was talking.” Clint just snorted, setting down the spatula, “Yeah sunny, I'm hard of hearing, not deaf. I told you the difference, right?”

Raye didn't seem happy with that answer and let out a huff, “yeah but..like when I have a bad dream, you always know even though you take them out to sleep.” 

“I'm starting to wish you didn't start talking early, kid.”

Clint gave up on logical answers, crossing the kitchen to scoop the giggling girl up with a sigh.

“Cause' you toss around and wake me up.” He ruffled her hair, “your momma says I always wake up when you start talking. Maybe it's magic.”

She shook her head, “Nuh-uh. You hear me, you talk back and it makes sense..sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Damn.” He snorted, “I know why.”

Rayes eyes lit up and leaned forward when he sat her on the counter, “Is it magic?”

“No.” Clint kissed her nose, “I like to think love is a sound even I can hear. I can just tell because I love you so much.” 

She seemed interested until the exateraged ending. Her nose scrunched in disgust and she fake gagged,

“Ew you're so sappy!”

He barked a laugh, peppering a flurry of kisses to her hair, “Harsh. I'm not sappy, I'm just an amazing dad.”

“With a magical power to hear sound.”

“It's not- nevermind. You're a lost cause kid.”

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Clints hand unflexed around hers. He wanted her to hear him right? Well she was here now. 

“Remember when you asked how I heard without my hearing aids? You wouldn't take a real answer so I had to improvise.” He laughed softly, “I told you love was a sound. You thought it was dumb but took it. I didn't really believe it back then either but…” 

“I have to believe it. If I don't, that means you don't know just how loved you are, you can't hear it.” Clint kissed her scalp and just stared at her for a moment before a smile broke out across his face.

“I'm pretty sure that kiss was against the rules. Oh well.” he just gave her another one.

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Clint returned to Laura and the doctor. Laura was smiling again, listening to Dr. Susan intently. It eased him a bit.

“How is she?” Then her smile was gone, Laura's eyes flickered up to him with worry.

“She's um…alive. Not awake. But she's alive.” He quickly added after seeing Laura's frown, “but I feel good about it.”

She nodded and glanced at her fidgeting hands. He could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“Does she look like she's in pain?”

Her words were soft but they echoed in Clint's ears like a scream. He swallowed. The machines, the brace, the IV, that look in her eyes when it all happened…

“Not unconscious, no.”

Laura sighed, meeting his gaze with a silent purpose, “Do you think we should…”

Give her a DNR. She didn't have to finish that sentence, god knows she probably couldn't. She already looked dead, like a street after all the kids ran inside due to rain. Silent, it still feels alive, but at the end of the day lifeless. He'd seen people get resuscitated. Clint had resuscitated someone before…and failed it before. It was a painful snap to reality that would cause more damage to her already struggling body.

He nodded and took a seat next to her.

“I don't want to see her go through that.” Clint's voice was a whisper now to match hers, “She knows she's wanted here…if she makes it, she makes it. If she feels she's been loved enough, she'll leave with that rather than pain.”

Clint felt like a poet with those words. Not that it was particularly good, but it was certainly good for a guy like him. At the end of the day the words didn't matter, it was the love behind the sound that made the difference.

Chapter Text

 Raye woke up to the beach. She never liked the beach much and only went once, the sand felt foreign on her skin and she preferred the river by her house any day. The only thing she liked was the rhythmic sound of the rippling waves.

This time the sound was gone and her legs were buried in the sand. She felt the cold water ripple against her waist and the visuals were enough to dispel any panic. Or rather, her body felt incapable of panicking. Despite the deafening silence, she felt something break the peaceful limbo. The feeling of being watched struck her. She looked back out of curiosity to see her father standing back on the shore. His face was twisted in fear, his inaudible words filled with distress. Why? She turned back around, only to be confronted with a towering blue wall. Frothy white caps lingered on top. Foam flew in a shower over her. The roar was that of a freight train.

Now she was panicked about the leg thing.

Her whole lower half felt numb and the more she tried to move the more her head ached. Shapes blurred together in a way that alerted her to the fact it was a dream. 

A dream? What was a dream? She already forgot. Her brain was too blended to know and focused on trying to move. Raye managed to break her hands through the water though they felt numb, she tried to scream to no avail. Honestly it made her neck…hurt. Why did her neck hurt again?

She had no time to think about it as the wave crashed over her and so did the pain. So much pain . It bloomed in her neck and spread down. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders like she couldn't hold it up anymore. Raye couldn't breath yet she somehow just kept breathing, a blessing and curse keeping her alive through the pain.

She hated beaches but the beach was calm. She wanted back to the silent sleep, incomprehensible mumbles from the outside world. Instead, she got the dizzy white of a ceiling and zooming forms of doctors and nurses.

“Where's my dad?” 

It's all she wanted to say but no words came. She reached again,

“Where's my mom?”

Nothing. It's like her head wasn't on her side anymore. She was flooded with things to say, a want to scream, but the tube down her throat stopped her. Even if it wasn't there she could tell she just…couldn't. The words wouldn't form. She forgot .

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey- it's okay.” One voice cut through the white noise of it all, dad.

She must have been thrashing around as a heavy hand was placed on her shoulder, Clint hovering over her.

“I'm here. You're okay.” Raye reached out for him to no avail. Right. Weak arms. She tried to sit up only to get pushed down. She tried to move her legs…and nothing happened. Nothing.

Clint pushed off a few doctors which was probably not a wise decision, but he did it anyway. He carefully pulled her to his chest, shushing her as the hiccups came on.

“God I'm so glad you're awake, Sunny..”

Maybe it was the nickname that pulled her out or the processing of what had happened but her body slowly settled. She didn't want to be that mad, why did her brain make her? What happened? Why was she asleep?

Knife. Panic. Pain. Dad. Soccer.

No, not that order.

“Can you hear me Sunshine?” Raye ignored him to try and remember.

Pain. Knife. Dad. Panic.

Nope. She couldn't be in pain without knife. And who had the knife? Her dad? No.

“Sunshine? Hey, c'mon you okay? You in there?”

Dad. Panic. Knife. Pain. Close but not correct just yet.

“ Raye. ”

Panic. Knife. Pain. Dad. Her dad was talking to her. How could she forget that?

Raye tried wrapping her arms around him but settled on crying? Breathing? Into his shoulder. Clint got the memo and moved her arms for her, letting them rest around his shoulders.

“There you are..” He purposely mumbled close to the ear with the aid so she could hear him, “You still got some Raye up in there?”

Yes. She was still Raye, nothing changed . Well, aside from the fact her arms were all tingly, her legs were unresponsive, and she may or may not have forgotten how to talk, she was pretty much the same. All of them would get better anyways right?

Either way she couldn't say all that. She couldn't say anything, period. Raye substituted by reaching a hand up to brush against her neck brace then the mask of the ventilator. 

“Right, can't really talk with that thing huh?” Clint eased up. Raye couldn't talk, period. but whatever, she'd take it, “That's okay. I'm just glad you're alive. Over the moon.”

Sappy. That's what she would have called him if she could. Despite her lack of words the mere sidelong glance seemed to be enough.

“Sappy, yeah I know, I know…” he lowered his voice, “I need to go okay? The doctors need to make sure you're okay. But I'll be right here.”

Clint slipped a sneaky hand behind her head, carefully removing the hearing aid from the distressed girl's ear. The last thing she needed was to be overstimulated, especially with…whatever was going on with her. The doctors would probably be on his ass about it again but it didn't matter at the moment. 

“I'll be right…here.”

Raye didn't hear his last words, rather she filled in the blanks watching his moving lips. The silence and his words were enough to lull her back into sleep. Again. Much to the concern and dismay of the doctors.

𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

She was in the creek now. Maybe it was her brain's apology for putting her in the ocean last time, maybe it was an apology for how short sleep would be this time. Either way drowning in the cold creek by her house like Ophelia was preferable to the waves.

The pain seeped into her bones as lucidity came slowly. Air from her throat pushed the water that tried to come in out no matter how much she wished it would just end her. Though Raye didn't have the words to describe that feeling, most 7 year olds didn't expect to be in so much pain it made them subconsciously suicidal. For a while she watched the stars behind her eyelids like they were the real night sky. What she would give to be back in the farm's field, surrounded by the soft glow of fireflies and the dew of the night. Would she ever be able to go back to that? Rationally she didn't see why not, but rational was the last thing on her mind right now. 

“Hi Sunshine.” a familiar rasp of voice whispered in her ear, “I should change that to sleepyhead, you were passed out .”

Raye finally opened her eyes to observe her dad, squinting through the cold fluorescent. Despite his smile she could see the unease in his eyes. If you once thought your kid would never wake up again, every nap seems like torture. 

Clint took his cleaned hearing aid from his pocket and placed it in her ear. He didn't even wear it anymore.

“That better?” When she merely stared up at him blankly, he added; “You can understand me right?”

Raye finally snapped to the present, nodding weakly. Every movement felt slightly disconnected, like she was no longer in contact with her own limbs. At least they still worked, her legs were yet to not feel completely numb.

Clint smiled and took a seat on the bed, “Good. The doctors have been scaring me and your mom with all this ‘brain damage’ talk. Fancy words, neutral reports, the whole nine yards of stuff your dad isn't smart enough for…” 

Raye smiled. Even on her own face it felt all lopsided and wrong. Maybe the doctors were right about what they told her, her brain, her skin, didn't feel right.

But Clint? Well he only smiled more, as if her stupid looking face was the sweetest looking thing in the world.

“But I didn't believe them for a second.” He cupped the back of her head to feel her soft hair against his calloused hand, "I'm only happy you'll be stable soon.”

Clint tried to press a kiss to her forehead only for her to pull away, looking up at him with a look of awe.

“Yeah, you'll be stable again soon.” He held her a bit tighter, finally landing that kiss, “They’ve got most of the surgeries done, they just need to inject something to strengthen your muscles again and… finally you'll be off life support.”

Raye didn't feel like she was on life support. Yet at the same time, her life already didn't feel very guaranteed, let alone supported.

“Then I'll finally get to hear your voice again.” His voice went all soft again. Sappy. But she didn't (couldn't)  correct him and he didn't bother ruining it.

____𓅰____

This was the first time Raye was put under for surgery when not already asleep. They didn't need to do much, she was already dipping in and out consciousness from pain meds and her body recovering. It was softer than she imagined. Sweet words from mom, sweeter words from dad, and aunt Natasha saying something funny. Too funny, as mom slapped her on the shoulder. They stuck another IV into her already bruised skin and fell asleep with dad holding her hand. 

It was a nice way to fall asleep. For a second all the pain washed away and finally she no longer dreamed of water. Rather, saturated images of her bed seeped into Raye's mind. Warm blankets, cold AC air, and a record on in the background. Her legs couldn't move but this time it was because she didn't want to. She didn't speak because there was nothing to speak about. For the first time since she felt the knife against her neck she felt in control. It was a dream within a dream. Raye snuggled the blankets closer to her face, if she could just close her eyes and…

She woke up just as she went to sleep. Clint held her hand, this time, he was the one asleep. The room was mostly dark aside from the lamp beside her cot, light glinting off the thrifted vases that held many bouquets. The calmness mirrored her dream and maybe in her weariness she believed it still was. The remnants of her anesthesia lulled her head back into the pillow and the warmth of her dads presence gave her the reassurance to close her eyes again. 

She took in her first breath of unassisted air. When she woke up, she’d talk to her dad again. 

—𓉞—

Breakfast was on the side table. Mom, brushing hair from her face. Dad, sitting on the armchair. Siblings…bothering dad, at least it wasn't Raye. It would have been a perfect morning if she was at home.

“Suprise!” Cooper suddenly ran over to the side of her bed before getting pulled back by Lila.

 “Knock it off, you'll scare her.”

As much as Raye didn't want to admit it, she was startled by her brother's antics. Not by their appearance though, she assumed they'd visit eventually. And what she would definitely never admit was she was happy to see them.

“Good morning, nice to finally smell the bleach air huh?” Clint found his way beside her, as always, “I got you oatmeal since that is apparently all you can eat right now. But it's off-brand Quaker oats, so it can't be too bad. I'd say we should take a walk to the cafeteria, but trust me, it's not worth it..”

Cooper had broken away from Lila and jumped incessantly holding the banister of the cot, “You woke up a few times but all you did was groan.”

“Like a zombie.” Lila provided. So much for being on Raye's side.

Raye didn't seem bothered. Rather, she seemed frozen. All she could do was exist and wish she didn't. Something was wrong, very wrong. She was wrong. Her body was no longer hers, she immediately tried to rationalize with the irrational. Brainwashing? Like what happened to dad? Maybe possession? Maybe Clint had brought something from the shitshow that was NYC? No, the wrongness clawed at her skin and spread through her veins. It was her.

“Sorry sunshine if we startled you,” Clint rubbed her shoulder, staring into her blank eyes, “I just figured they'd wanna hear you, see you more healthy…”

Raye stared. Her mouth bobbed open but nothing came out.

“Raye?” Laura provided a bit more hastily, “Are you okay baby? Are you in pain?”

All those questions and they were all wrong. There was so much Raye needed to say, so many words flooded her head and pressed against her lips. But nothing…connected. The words just wouldn't work . Her breaths came uneven, slowly becoming a pattern of hyperventilation. A doctor came over, ready to check if she suddenly needed an oxygen mask again. No, she didn't, but the amount of people crowding her made her feel like she did. She couldn't talk. Okay. Then she should write. Her mom’s bag always had a notebook, right? Raye just needed to get up and-

Raye couldn't move her legs.

Nothing. She tried harder, whatever that meant, but nothing . Hyperventilating became sobs quickly as she was trapped in a sea of hands and voices. Something was wrong with her, detrimentally, even as a seven year old she understood that. Her brain forgot rational when the catacomb that held it was useless. 

Raye rolled her entire body off the bed, jamming an IV out of her skin and another further into her skin. Her body hit the cold tile with an unsatisfying sound and only curled up after the initial impact rather than midair as Clint taught her. Her cries were that of a manic banshee which helped to make most people back off. Not the doctors though, not her dad. Raye was too far gone to fully remember what Clint asked, all she knew was her response.

Her hands wrapped tightly around her bandaged neck before one moved to her quivering mouth. Couldn't talk. She tried to crawl away, only for him to pull her back. Couldn't walk.

  She was trapped within the consequences of the perpetrators actions, within this hospital, and now her own body.

Chapter Text

Everyone had left. The room went back to its silent hum of sterile machines and dead walls. Everyone except her parents, of course. Mom rubbed her shoulder partially to console her and partially to keep her from rolling herself off the bed again. And dad…he kneeled beside her bed clutching her knuckles with a look that held an unbearable fear. 

Raye was tired. Maybe that was the sedative they gave her. Yet this tired feeling felt more like a permanent creak in her bones, a scar so fundamentally deep and irreversible it drained her every breathing moment.

“Her cognitive abilities seem to be mostly intact, there doesn't seem to be any problems there…” The doctor spoke sickenly sympathetic, “It seems the oxygen loss damaged the Broca area of her brain, impeding her speech but not comprehension. Similarly, it affected her motor function in her lower half.”
She remembered the tests. Half drugged off her mind yet again, watching in horror as she couldn't feel the doctors prodding at her knees, answering stupidly easy questions with a shaky hand and Ipad, and trying to make the pleas in her head into tangible words.

Nothing. Nothing worked.

“It's possible PT and speech therapy will help,” the doctor smiled tightly, “No matter what, you're a fighter sweetheart. It's a miracle you survived, it's only natural you'll have a few scars right?”

Raye just stared at her with wide blank eyes. Somewhere in the doctor's words was a lesson to be learned with flowery poetic words, but she was too far gone to care. The doctor muttered something and left the room as quickly as she could and dragged her mom with her. Yeah…she was starting to understand why they were so worried about her losing cognitive abilities during this whole thing. And with how quiet her thoughts were now, she might have believed them.

“Oh sunshine…” Dad pulled her into a suffocating hug he would have called ‘light’, his nose pressing into her hairline.

Raye would have believed him. She hadn't seen the sun or herself in the mirror in days, but she was sure the two didn't coexist anymore.

“Youre still you. You know that, right kid?” he cupped her face in shaking hands, desperate to make Raye understand, “It doesn't matter if your brains are fried or you can’t walk on your own, it doesn't. You’re still…you.”

Words spilled out of Clint's mouth at a mile a minute. Raye wanted to soak them up and let them slip off her lips like they used to. She wanted to selfishly steal each complex thought from his brain and make them hers

“You’re still my daughter Raye.” He waited a moment and took the silence as a chance to stare into those sweet brown eyes she got from her mom.

“You don’t believe me.” His grip loosened, hope melting away from his voice.

Raye reached for the Ipad on the edge of the cot and opened the shitty AAC app. The medal felt burning under her hands as just another inadequate replacement for her voice.

“I'm nothing.” text to speech replied numbly for her, “You don’t know who I am. I’m nothing.”

That was dramatic, even she knew that. But who was going to tell a 7 year old who just got her throat that she was dramatic? Was it dramatic when the dad she idolized was a literal hero she could no longer live up to? Was it dramatic when to a 7 year old socializing and running and playing was quite literally everything?

Clint let out a laugh weakly, “Stop it. That's not true.”

He could see it in her tense shoulders, her stiff breaths, that feeling of unfulfillment. It must run in the family. Clint couldn't count the amount of times he'd tried to put down that godforsaken bow only to pick it up after one sleepless night. It's partly what caused this, his family being in danger. Yet he had the ability to do something. She was, unfortunately, correct.

Right now, she could do nothing.

“We’ll find you something, alright?” he suddenly stated, making up his mind, “we will find you something, anything, to show you it's not over.”

Her dad stood up, a determination she had only seen on his face on news broadcasts as he gave a speech to thousands.

“You want to take up painting? I'll get you the best supplies. You want to do sports again? I'll find a way to get you into the NBA. Hell, if you want to climb Mount Everest tomorrow, we can do it.” Clint's hands gestured wildly with every broken word and only paused when he came face to face with Raye, “I'll make you see you're something, just don't give up on yourself. Please.”

Raye stared at him. There wasn't much else she could do, but even if she could she’d still take a moment to stare. Slowly, her hand moved to type into her device one simple word,

“Why?”

Cling laughed again, this time it was a lot closer to a sob.

“Because you're my daughter. I need to give you a better life than this. If I left you now, then maybe I didn't deserve to give you life to begin with.”

Her shoulders slumped, her breathing slowed, and for the first time since she woke up she felt like there was a world waiting for her outside of these concrete walls. She screwed her eyes shut and let the cry she had been holding in, out. It scratched at the back of her already sore throat but god knows she needed it. A familiar pair of arms wrapped around her, squeezing the rest of her emotions out. Raye burrowed into his shirt and just sobbed. It felt like when she got hurt all over again, when she woke up all over again. What's the point in almost dying if you couldn't cry about it?

What's the point of almost dying if you can't surpass it?