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If you were to ask any of the other Avengers, they would speak of how easy the mission was. Steve would speak of the lack of soldiers in the west wing, Natasha would say the same of the East Wing. Tony would smirk and call the security system ‘primitive’ and explain how he hacked into harder when he was 13 while Bruce would call it a success as he was not made to hulk out. Thor in his usual way would say the simplicity of battle, how Earthly battles are no match to the Asgardian showcases he is used to.
Clint? He had to singlehandedly take on nearly fifty soldiers on his own. Don’t get him wrong, he's used to fighting, from whole circus crews to aliens on the streets of New York. He is capable of fighting hand to hand and close range, Fury would never let him advance if he was unable to, but that doesn't mean he doesn't prefer long range. Afterall, he is an archer. So when fifty soldiers run at him, guns blazing and punches flying through the air Clint struggles. He used every trick arrow until he started just stabbing people with arrows as they got in too close for him to draw the string of the bow back.
He was successful, he doesn't lose, he never misses- but it was not easy. As the group made their way back to the Quinjet, Clint trailed behind the group. Bruce was already there with Thor coming up to him quickly, boasting of his skill as Bruce smiled at him, Tony was arguing with Natasha about their respective hacking skills and Steve tried to mediate but ended up sighing and walking ahead of them. As the adrenaline wore off, Clint felt a throbbing pain in his side.
“Guy’s I’m gonna go piss.”
“Where?” He heard Steve ask.
“Behind a tree or something, I’m not gonna last the three hour journey back.” Clint was already heading off as he spoke.
He heard Tony shout something about not taking too long but Clint didn't respond, instead leaning against a tree and taking deep breaths, eyes shut for a millisecond before he opened them, peeling his shirt up and seeing the blood, the hole. When the fuck did he get shot? Clint took deep breaths to calm himself down and took off his boots then socks, using his socks as makeshift bandages and slipping his boots back on.
This is fine. He doesn't even need to tell the others, he just needs to head to medical as soon as they get back, they always come to check on everyone. Tony and Thor complain, one trapped in a metal suit and the other a God meaning there isn't usually a need for any check up. Steve gets it but also finds it annoying due to his accelerated healing. Bruce either stayed out the fight or is the Hulk and so doesn’t get hurt. The med team is only really used by Natasha and Clint, but even they don't enjoy using it and only go when they have to.
This is one of those times.
Clint makes his way back to the Quinjet, ignoring Tony’s jeers about his “massive bladder” and Clint sits in his usual seat, bucking in and ensuring the seatbelt covers the wound then pulls it tighter, acting as makeshift pressure.
The rest of the ride back is noisy. Everyone is talking, joking. Natasha is trying to beg Tony to do his paperwork on time to which Tony tried to argue, claiming he will just get Jarvis to do it for him. Natasha throws the same remark at Clint who gives a thumbs up and closes his eyes. The group continues to talk loudly other than Clint who keeps his eyes closed but forces himself to stay awake during the three hours, despite the agony he finds himself in.
He doesn't remember the pain being this bad. Fuck.
Upon arrival back at the tower, Clint again walks behind the group but looks over Tony and Natasha’s shoulders to see a lack of a med team waiting.
“Where’s med team?” he asks as casually as he can, but based on Natasha’s look, not casually enough. Her eyes scan him and see no damage so shrugs it off with a final suspicious look.
“Oh, no one was injured so I called ahead to give them the night off, why? Did you need them?” Steve speaks, not really paying attention to Clint. He had been talking about dinner for the past hour, his mind clearly on one thing.
Clint shakes his head. Fuck. “No, no, I was just curious as they usually greet us.” Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
The others go to the kitchen and Clint shouts after them he's going for a shower and they believe him, leaving Clint free to head to the elevator. Once inside, he punches in the floor number and leans against the wall, eyes closing.
“You shouldn’t sleep in your condition Mr Barton.” The smugly mechanical voice of Jarvis sounded, imitating concern. If he was a physical system Clint would like to put an arrow right through his motherboard.
“Don’t. I already know.” he releases a breath, annoyed. “You tell anyone, and I mean anyone, I will rip you apart code by code.”
“If anyone asks I’ll say you’re sleeping.” Clint tried not to feel smug at the sheepishness in the AI’s voice.
“Good.”
Just as the doors open Jarvis speaks again. “Are you sure you don’t want a medical professional-”
Clint made no effort to hide his frustration. “Jarvis.”
“Sleeping. Nothing more.”
Clint bit back an annoyed growl as he stalked to his bedroom. Or at least, tried to stalk. The pain in his abdomen meant it was more like a shuffle. Upon arriving in his room, he locked the door, threw his phone on his bed and went straight to the ensuite, retrieving a first aid kit. This one was bigger than the one Tony provided, it was added to by Clint himself. He went to his bed, stripping off all his clothes and removing the now incredibly bloodied socks from his wound.
He approached the shower, turned the temperature down to lukewarm and sprayed the water over his abdomen, cleaning any dried blood away. The wound still oozed and Clint bit his lip to stop himself from screaming as the water entered the wound. Fucking hell the bullet is still in there. Shit.
Once clean, Clint took the first aid kit and went back to his bed. He put on a pair of sweatpants that definitely were not clean but didn't smell that bad. The drawstring was missing and they sat low on his hips but they covered him up enough that he didn't care. He took out an alcohol wipe and grabbed a pillow, stuffing the pillow in his mouth. The ridiculously expensive pillow covers tasted horrible in his mouth, he missed his own pillow, but it was better than screaming. With efficiency, Clint wiped the area, sterilising it.
Once done he spat out the pillow and took deep breaths. Once calm, he took another sterile wipe and cleaned his tweezers. While wishing for some alcohol for himself, he stuffed the tweezers into the hole, gasping before clamping down on his lip till it drew blood, eyes watering. It hurt like hell, he felt like he was in hell. Clint eventually found the bullet while he attempted to pull the bullet out without causing extra damage, his hands were unsteady due to the pain and he would not be surprised if he cut something significantly worse. He hoped not.
Finally, it was out, the bullet landed on the bed in front of him and Clint shoved a towel against the wound as it bled once more. He kept the pressure tight, feeling dizzy from the pain, especially as he saw the towel get stained cherry red.
To calm his racing mind he began to recite how to shoot a bow like he did when teaching someone new. “Stand with your feet shoulder width apart… place the arrow shaft on the arrow rest… place the bow hand on the bow loosely except for the thumb… grip the arrow lightly with three fingers… keep the drawing shoulder low and the bow arm straight as you aim… draw the bow back to your face using your shoulder muscles… release. Stand with your feet shoulder width apart.” He continued, drawing sharp breaths between instructions. This continued until the blood stopped.
Once the blood stopped, he cleaned it once more with a sterile alcohol wipe, biting his spare hand rather than the disgusting pillow. Once clean he inspected it. Stitches.
He took his needle and thread from his first aid box and with skill he sewed himself up. This was the easiest part, he had done his own stitches a million times, other people’s more than that. It wasn't his best job, but it was secure, he thought as he tied it off.
Finally, he reached his favourite step. Painkillers. He took the max dose of Advil and Tylenol before placing those packets on the bedside table for the morning. Once he dry swallowed, Clint stood, washing the tweezers in his en-suite basin before packing his first aid kit up again, placing the rubbish in the bin. He placed the kit back under the sink before heading to bed, lying on top of the covers, lacking the energy to even get himself under the covers.
Once his eyes closed, he was asleep in seconds.
~~~
The next day, Clint awoke in searing pain. Without even opening his eyes widely he reached for the tablets he left on the bedside table and took them. He waited ten minutes for them to kick in, and once the pain dulled slightly, he sat, rubbing his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom. Thanks to Clint’s height and Tony’s lack of height, Clint could easily inspect his wound through the mirror if he stood a step back from the sink. His stitches were still intact, perfect.
He grabbed an oversized t-shirt Natasha bought him which had his face plastered across the back and “Hakweye” written across the front. It was comfortable and the first one he grabbed as he doesn't keep many clothes here. After slipping his phone in his pocket making his pants hang lower, he finally left his room with two missions in mind. Firstly, get a cup of coffee, secondly, get some archery in before heading back to his apartment.
First stop, the kitchen. It was deserted, meaning Clint could make two cups of Coffee without judgement, pouring one in a mug and the other a thermos. He drank the mug there and then. It was good coffee. That's totally because of him, he told Tony what type of coffee to get and even he admitted Clint was right. Upon finishing the mug, Clint abandoned it in the sink as it wasn't his day to do dishes.
He went straight to the gym. He wanted to use the stairs to avoid meddling Jarvis but did not want to risk his stitches bursting before he could shoot a few arrows so took the elevator.
“Good morning Mr Barton. How are you feeling?” Jarvis spoke the moment the doors shut and Clint inputted the floor number.
“Our deal is still in effect.”
“Understood.”
And the rest of the ride happened in silence.
Once in the gym, he walked past the cardio and weights, completely avoided the sparring mats and went directly to the range, namely the furthest from the door as it was the only one set up for archery and not guns. Clint put music on and worked without uttering a word, shooting with an ease and familiarity only he knew. To not bore him to death with shooting the same target, Clint aimed for different targets on the same guy before moving him to different distances and angles. He worked for an hour. It wasn't the most intense training, not at all challenging but he enjoyed it. For the hour he felt normal, not even feeling the pain in his abdomen.
Upon finishing his session, he checked his phone. Kate was returning Lucky today. The day was looking up. He went to the changing rooms, his mood high- good coffee, not in too much pain, good archery and Lucky coming home. He couldn't wait to be in his own apartment with pizza and Lucky. He really loved that dumb dog.
Clint took a shower and upon exiting, towel wrapped around his waist, he was met with Bucky’s eyes locked on his.
“Jesus, Bucky, scaring me half to death, the fuck?”
“There was blood in your room. On the bed, towels, bathroom.”
Oh, Fuck. Clint forgot to clean up. Bucky went looking for him and saw the mess he left. “Don’t suppose I can say I got my period.” He tried, knowing the battle was lost.
Bucky looked unimpressed then his eyes travelled downward, landing on his stomach. “More like you got stitches. The med team wasn't here last night.”
“Turn around so I can get dressed.” Clint ordered, Bucky hesitated before complying and turning around. Childishly, Clint stuck the middle finger at his back before getting dressed. “No, the med team was not here last night.”
Bucky turned back around and his eyes narrowed. “You did it yourself?”
Clint scoffed, “Yeah, I did. Look, Steve sent them away before I had chance to protest so I did it, I fixed myself, I dont need anyone fixing me because I’m fucking good at taking care of myself. Now, my dog is at home and I care about seeing him, not this conversation.” With a flourish, Clint turned, grabbing his phone and headed out of the changing rooms.
“Clint.”
With a roll of his eyes, Clint turned back around, hand still on the door frame. “What now, Bucky?”
“You’re bleeding.”
Sure enough, Clint looked down and his white Hawkeye shirt now stained a deep red. Oh for fucks sake.
“I’ll go to the hospital on my way home.” Clint said, not sticking around to hear Bucky’s protests.
Clint went up to his room, using the stairs, and grabbed his black jumper, throwing that on, cleaning up his room before walking to the elevator, Jarvis wisely staying silent as he took Clint all the way down to the underground parking lot. Waiting for him was his purple beetle, cars already in the ignition. He climbed in, bleeding out as he drove from Manhattan, across the bridge and to Brooklyn. Upon arriving in his apartment, he called for a Pizza delivery and waited for Lucky.
He took out his stitches and replaced them, using his mirror and equipment he is more used to, and even bandaged them afterwards, under no circumstances did he plan on moving.
In half an hour, both food and the dog arrived. Lucky received half the pizza and a lot of cuddles, even being allowed on the couch besides Clint who ate his own half of pizza.
The pain came and went, Clint took pills when the pain got bad enough, but mostly he just slept, head buried in Lucky’s fur. He felt normal. If he ignored the pain he felt normal. It was normal to fix himself, to pull a bullet out his own skin because he was too ashamed to say anything and nobody noticed his pain. It was normal to run when someone pointed out how he was human. It was normal to feel alone in a group where he was different. Fuck it hurts.
At least Lucky was here and calm. He could feel normal. Lucky never judged him. He loved Lucky. He wasn’t as alone when he was with Lucky.