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Accidents happened to superheroes. Bad things happened. They all knew it. They had seen it before, with Tony’s near death experience, with Pietro’s death, with the separation of Steve and Tony. They knew of the dangers in their line of work, did their jobs despite it.
No one had ever expected it to happen to Clint.
Clint liked to remind people that he didn’t have a super serum that gave him strength, a suit that protected him, a mighty hammer and super strength, or a rage beast living inside him. He was just a guy with a bow and really good aim. When others joined, he reminded them of that too. He had only really had to deal with snarky comments from Sam, but even then, he wondered if Sam was truly only human. They kept an eye on Clint, every single one of them. If Natasha saw something coming his way, she’d report it over the coms. Thor and Tony had shot over to save him more than once. Steve and Hulk had both caught him before he hit the ground. Hell, even Sam had taken to constantly scouting, peeking at the archer as he circled in the air. They all had each others’ backs.
No matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he had no idea how the hell anything had gotten past all of them.
The hospital room was emptier than he had expected, but he was grateful for it. Sam had waited until all of the others were gone, trying to time it so that he had time alone with Clint. He moved into the room, sinking heavily into the chair next to the bed as he looked at the unconscious archer. The building falling on him had done a number on him: some broken ribs, a concussion, possible memory loss, broken arm, the list went on and on. Sam watched him tiredly, feeling weariness in his bones. With the silence of the room and the steady beep of the machines, Sam found himself drifting off.
Sam woke with a start, knocking a blanket off of him. He frowned at it, unaware of where it had even come from. He looked at it for a minute, his exhausted brain trying to process what it was.
“The worst part about being in the hospital is the boredom.” Sam lifted his head, his eyes instantly falling onto Clint, taking in the bruised physique. Clint looked at him, exhaustion etched onto his features so deep Sam wondered if he’d ever be free of it. Sam offered a faint smile, the corner of his lips quirking up. He moved, sitting on the edge of the bed, a hand coming up to brush Clint’s hair.
“Should I ask how you feel?” he asked. Clint watched him and shook his head.
“Can’t hear you, Sam,” he said, his voice soft. Sam nodded a little, shifting his hands to repeat himself. Clint grunted, rolling his eyes, wincing as it made his head hurt. The good news was that Clint seemed to remember him at least.
I’m sorry, Clint. Sam signed it slowly, watching Clint as Clint watched his hands. Clint snorted, shaking his head.
“Don’t be. None of us saw it, whatever it was. I don’t even care what it was right now. It’s no one’s fault.” The archer fell silent for a minute. “I want to go home, Sam. I don’t want to be here.”
I know. We’ll go home as soon as we can, I promise. Sam really hoped that they could go home sooner rather than later. Clint made a noise, but he moved his good hand to hold Sam’s. Sam brought it to his lips, kissing Clint’s knuckles, earning himself a small smile from the archer. Something was better than nothing.