Work Text:
This takes place in a fantasy world where Bucky was rescued pretty quickly after The Avengers, and became part of the team.
It wasn’t as if Tony made a decision to rescue Bucky and leave Clint to crumple into the collapsing low-rise office building on the edge of the city. He didn’t think; he just grabbed, and Bucky was the one he got to first.
Bucky knew this, and tried to quiet the rage burning through his body as he watched the abandoned building collapse around Clint as Tony deposited him safely on the ground. He tried to keep his brain on the problem at hand, but all he saw was smoke and dust and Clint’s panicked eyes focused on Bucky as Tony tore him away.
“Bucky,” he heard, and he turned to see Steve skid to a halt next to him.
“Was Clint – “ he started, but he must’ve seen the answer written on Bucky’s face.
“Tony, scan the building for life signs,” Natasha commanded as she strode forward and put a hand on Bucky’s arm.
“Fuck that,” Bucky said, and waded into the rubble. He’d find him. He’d found him before; he’d find him again.
Before, Clint was a shadow in the corners around the tower, when Bucky first met him. He was the guy who said, “I’m Clint, good to meet you,” and then retreated to a corner of the couch or a corner of the firing range or a corner of conference room. He’d always be there, and sometimes he’d crack a joke that would make the room light up for a brief second, but he’d always fall back into shadows.
Steve told Bucky what happened to Clint, why he still clenched his hands and looked away when the Battle of New York was mentioned, why he didn’t like to go to SHIELD Headquarters with the rest of them, why he had asked JARVIS to set up the same protocols Bucky asked him to set up about how to take him out if he should flip and turn on the team. Steve told him, and then Bucky watched. He brought Clint a drink or snack, he joined him on the balcony and just stood with him in silence.
It’s not like he fixed Clint. Clint didn’t need fixing. It’s just that he joined him, and slowly Clint moved from the shadows to wherever Bucky was at the moment. And then in one of those moments he leaned against him, their bodies shifting to make each other comfortable. In another moment they spent a whole night playing video games and watching movies. In another, they talked, low and quiet, about control and killing and coming back to yourself. In another, they kissed, and slept, and shifted into each other’s’ lives.
Now Clint was gone again, and Bucky was left sifting through broken chunks of concrete and shattered glass, and swallowing the fear that was filling his mouth and nose and ears with a roar.
“Over here!” Tony called, and he was hovering above a pile of concrete and broken doors. Bucky, Steve, and Natasha scrambled over and pulled the rubble away. “We’ve got a med team on their way,” Tony said as Bucky moved a piece of a wall and sucked in a sharp breath. His mouth went dry and his heart sped up as he saw Clint curled in a ball under a metal girder, with blood splashed down the side of his face.
Bucky leaned over and felt for a pulse, and blew a breath out hard. “He’s alive. Come on. We’ve got to get that beam off.” He and Steve knelt down and pulled together, but as they moved the beam and shoved it aside, the rubble shifted against Clint’s back when they did it, and they heard him groan.
“Clint, Clint, just hold on. We’re gonna get you out of there,” Steve said, and Natasha moved the rock pressing into Clint’s back.
Bucky wedged himself down to try and lift Clint out.
Clint muttered, “I feel like the Big Top fell on me,” and Bucky felt his chest loosen in relief. He lifted Clint into his arms and felt him tense in pain, and the blood on his face was worrisome, but he was alive, and Natasha was calling him a human pancake and Steve was guiding them over to where the SHEILD med team was waiting with a stretcher.
Two hours later Bucky was pacing the conference room clenching and unclenching his metal fist, and Coulson finally sighed and said, “Go. Call me about his condition as soon as you know something,” and Bucky and Natasha beat everyone down to the med wing to check in with the doctors. They led them back to Clint, and when Bucky opened the door to his room and saw him lying pale against the sheet, his bruises and bandages standing out in stark relief on his skin, worry bubbled up in his chest like he hadn’t felt since he and Steve were kids, when he’d bring Steve soup and extra blankets when he got sick.
The doctor standing at Clint’s side looked up and smiled at Bucky and Natasha. “Well, if luck had a name it would be Clint Barton, that’s for sure. Come on in.” Clint opened his eyes as Natasha pulled his hand into hers, and he tried to smile, too.
“Hey,” he said, and his voice was sandpapery, but his eyes were warm and settled on Bucky.
“Hey,” Bucky said, and he crossed his arms. “What’s the verdict, doc?” he asked.
“Bruises, lacerations, broken arm, and concussion. Could have been a lot worse. As long as he’s got supervision he can go home, as far as I’m concerned. I’d like him to check back in two days from now, and if his headache and disorientation get worse he needs to come back right away.” The doctor signed something on Clint’s chart and shook his head. “Building fell on you, Agent Barton. Count yourself fortunate here.”
Clint closed his eyes again. “Yeah,” he whispered, and after the doctor left the room, Bucky leaned over and pressed his hand to Clint’s chest, right over his heart, and let himself feel it beating, strong and steady, before he stepped back again.
“I’ll go to your locker and get your change of clothes,” he said, and Natasha nodded.
“I’ll get the paperwork and make sure the painkiller script is called in. He’s going to need more than Tylenol to start with.”
Bucky hesitated, but at that moment Steve, Tony and Bruce all caught up with them and tumbled into Clint’s room.
“And these guys will stay and keep an eye on Clint until we’re ready to go,” Natasha said, as if that was the plan all along.
“Is he okay?” Steve asked, and he moved right to the bed and put his hand on Clint’s leg.
Clint opened one eye and said, “Enough to go home. That’s what matters.”
Tony sighed dramatically, and leaned against the doorframe. “Thank god we don’t have to camp out in the hospital tonight. I hate hospitals.”
“Me, too,” Clint muttered, as Bucky said, “Glad it’s convenient for you, Stark,” at the same time.
Natasha pulled Bucky out of the room and down the hall. “Leave him alone. He’s fighting through guilt.”
Bucky shrugged and headed for the locker rooms as Natasha peeled off for the Nurses’ station. When he got back to Clint’s room, Clint was sitting up and swallowing some pills, and practically yelling at Tony.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Tony? You got Bucky out of there safely and I still get to go home tonight. Haven’t you ever read Shakespeare? I thought you went to college.”
Tony just blinked as Bucky threw a shirt at Clint and moved to help undo the hospital gown he was wearing. “All’s well that ends well,” Bucky supplied for him, and Tony gaped at Bucky, too.
“I thought you guys, uh, didn’t go to college?” Tony said finally.
“Nat really likes Shakespeare,” Bucky and Clint said at the same time. There was a pause, and then Bruce snickered from the corner.
“Come on, Tony,” he said as he guided Tony out of the room. “Let Clint get dressed.”
Bucky stayed behind and helped Clint pull his shirt on over his cast and kept him steady when he stood to pull on his pants. They were quiet, and Bucky found himself keeping a hand on Clint, even when he didn’t need it. He held onto his elbow as they left the SHIELD facility and climbed into the car waiting to take them to the Tower.
Finally, they shut the door to Clint’s apartment behind Natasha and they were alone. Bucky stood by the door and stared at Clint, sitting on the couch with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He just watched, for a minute, as Clint’s chest rose and fell and the black t-shirt he was wearing moved with it. He watched Clint’s face, his imperfect, amazing face, slack in rest and calm with his tousled hair falling across his forehead in a way it usually didn’t. He watched Clint’s mouth, partially open in relaxation, and wanted to move to him and kiss it, but he didn’t.
He just watched until Clint tensed, and his face scrunched and he blew a pained breath out of his mouth.
“Hey,” Bucky said, and sat down next to him. “You okay?”
Clint kept his eyes shut, but he leaned into Bucky and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Warmth rushed through Bucky’s chest and he adjusted his body so that Clint was leaning on him.
“Head hurts,” Clint mumbled into Bucky’s shirt. “Arm, too.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, and he stroked Clint’s hair. “I know.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, and Bucky wondered if Clint fell asleep, but then he felt him shift.
“Glad you were there to dig me out, today,” Clint whispered, and Bucky could hear the fear and pain in his voice. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it.” He paused and then added, “You know. For a bit.”
Bucky shifted Clint so that he was practically in Bucky’s lap. He didn’t think he could get close enough, could feel enough of Clint’s body; he wanted more. He wanted to press Clint to him so that they couldn’t tell where one of them began and the other ended, so that they were one person, not two. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered. “I thought your face as you fell was going to be the last thing that I saw of you.”
Clint chuckled wetly. “Yeah. I bet that was a hell of a sight. I don’t remember the fall, thankfully.”
Bucky was quiet, just stroked Clint’s hair some more, pressed his chin to the top of Clint’s head, and savored the warmth of Clint’s body. “A hell of a sight,” he said. “Yeah.”
After a few minutes, Clint’s breathing evened out and Bucky felt his weight sink against his own chest even more, and they were as close as they could be, and Clint was asleep. Bucky held him, kept stroking his hair, kept seeing him fall, kept seeing him wake in the med wing, kept seeing him sitting on the couch tonight. Later, he stood up and carried Clint to the bedroom, put him in the bed, and climbed in next to him.
He didn’t sleep that night. He just kept watch, kept watching, as Clint slept off the pain and the fear and the moment when he was almost lost. Bucky would be there when he woke, ready to pull him out of the shadows and debris of the battle again, like he would always be there to do.
Some things weren’t decisions, not really. They were just what had to be done in the moment, and Bucky would be there, waiting to do whatever Clint needed to have done, in every moment he could.