Touch an angel's wing (for broken_arrow)

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha knew that Clint would be dying in her arms in less than five minutes.

It was just so plain fucking stupid. This was the only thought, the only ruling emotion raging, while she pushed her way through to her partner, taking the last of their enemies out with a clear shot between the eyes. Scorching, maddening hate. They fucking should have known.

Working for S.H.I.E.L.D., you really didn’t need to be told first not to trust people like Charles Xavier. What in the blazes had the Avengers been thinking, answering an emergency call from Westchester?

Admittedly, the danger had been real enough. Enough for Bruce to Hulk out, resulting in now half of the Mutant School for the Gifted lying in ruins.

But no one had bothered to tell them that they had been merely a distraction, so the X-Men could get their children out of here.

At least that had worked. All of the the students had escaped before Clint and Natasha had ended up locked up in the cellars, outnumbered, looking into a dozen of rifle muzzles. It was a job, they had done it. No one to blame for that.

Except for this idiot of a partner Natasha had, who had run straight into a fucking bullet for her.

She would have had his balls for such inappropriate chivalry, if she wouldn’t have been out of her mind with worry, anger on people who were supposed to be their allies and shock.

It felt like half an eternity before she finally reached the corner, where Clint had crashed, half behind a huge supply cabinet. Probably the only reason why there was one and not a dozen bullets perforating his body now.

Not that it made a difference. Natasha had kind of known when she had seen him being hit… And she was absolutely certain even before her mindless haste nearly made her slip on the pool of blood on the floor.

The left pelvic artery wasn’t just grazed, it had all but exploded. No way to repair this, even under the best of circumstances. Natasha had been on enough battlefields and had grieved for enough comrades to understand that immediately.

Ironically enough, they were locked up in a fucking sick bay, but this was merely a storeroom, not an operating theatre.

And the others, including the only doctor they had in their team, were busy securing the house on the ground. They were cut off from this room not only with heavy steel shots but also through heavy noise in their radio frequencies.

For all of her training, Natasha could just as little find out how to eliminate that technical glitch in time, as she could program the fucking doors to open. Not when the only computer terminal in the room burned and smoked after several hits.

She couldn’t do anything.

A scream of rage escaped her lips, breaking the last of composure she had forcefully scrambled to defeat their enemies and check the situation, see if maybe she had been wrong, if there still was any hope… But there wasn’t.

And yet she tried. There was no way she couldn’t have tried at least.

Her hand trembling, she reached for a pile of sterile clothes on one of the preparation counters before she knelt down next to Clint. The thick liquid staining her uniform pants she ignored, as well as the nausea threatening to tighten her throat. Not now.

Freaking out, breaking things - probably including one or two of her own bones - screaming, that was for later. Right now she needed to be there for the man who had always done the same for her.

But she couldn’t fight tears when she carefully pushed away his hand that had lost all strength, from his side.

Her own arm didn’t fully obey her, a faint throbbing from her shoulder all the way down telling her, she probably had some kind of megalomaniac flesh wound of her own somewhere back there. Irrelevant.

Blinking rapidly, her breath harsh, hot in her throat, she tried to hold Clint’s fading sight when she pressed her hand tightly against the gushing streams of red on his lower body, digging in her fingertips and crooking them until she could at least slow the bleeding.

Five minutes had been a very optimistic guess.

”Clint…”

Comments

[broken_arrow]

It had all happened so fast. That was the cliché explanation for when things went so horribly wrong, right? Laying where he was, the life draining from his body, Clint laughed silently to himself at the realisation that people said this because it was actually true. It had all happened so fast. They had been fighting as a team, like they always did, and everything had been going well enough. All the children had been evacuated safely, at least as far as Clint knew, and that had been the primary goal. If only the rest of them had known that going in.

They hadn’t known what they were getting into, not that it would have changed their decision to help, but it might have changed how they fought, how they moved. No point worrying about that now, though, was it? No point worrying about anything... anything but her.

So yes, it had happened so fast. Clint and Natasha had gotten separated from their team, but they had fought together for so long, just the two of them, that this was no problem. They had fought many a mission like this before, but just like it always happened with other agents, there was always happened to be this one time when something was different, when one of them didn’t move fast enough or there wasn’t appropriate cover or a million other little things that led up to the one big thing that changed everything. There hadn’t been another way, hadn’t been time to think of another option, he had only known that Natasha was about to be shot and it would have been a kill shot, he felt it deep down to his bones. No room to fire back, no time to warn her, no time, no time to think, no time.

It all happened so fast.

He had dove in front of the bullet, cried out in pain as it seared through him, but it had been enough. It had protected her, saved her, given her the time to turn and finish the guy, given her the time that Clint hadn’t had.

He had fallen partially behind a cabinet, and he had tried to get his gun, tried to stay in the game, but his body grew weaker, his vision fainter. Eventually the gunfire around him ceased and he held his breath. He wanted to call out to her, needed to hear her voice, needed to know he had done right, that their enemies were gone and that she was safe. Then she was there by his side and he let himself relax until her scream ripped through him. It was so raw, so harsh, he wanted to pull her in and tell her it would all be okay but he couldn’t move. Besides, she would hate it for him to lie right now.

He didn’t even wince when she pressed her hand to his wound, barely even felt it, barely felt anything anymore.

“Hey, beautiful,” he croaked out in reply, just barely opening his eyes to look at her. “You get ‘em all?”

[russianchildatprayer]

"Of course. One of has has to do his job, right?"

She tried to laugh, hoarsely, because if she started crying now, she wouldn't be able to stop, and she didn't want it to end like this. She wanted to keep her eyes open, see him clearly, every single second they still had. She wanted to talk to him instead of doing the sobbing and screaming sitting so tightly in her throat.

But she was far gone from any composure she usually handled situations like this with. Her hand trembled visibly when she reached for her earpiece again, searching through the frequencies once more, but there was nothing but silence and noise answering. She was tempted to rip the damn thing out and throw it across the room... But again, if she started breaking things now, she wouldn't be able to stop.

Instead she rested her hand against Clint's horribly pale face, the first tears falling when she could feel his skin ice cold against hers. The light in his eyes was fainting, much too quick, much too infinite, her hand and uniform long soaked with his blood where she tried to keep the life inside him and knew she couldn't.

"Clint, please... Look at me... Stay with me..."

Her voice broke when she saw him fight, the way he had fought through all his life, to fulfill her wish, but the weakness grew worse by the second. Just a few moments more and she would never have these fascinating color shifting eyes of his resting on her again, would never have to guess again which shade she would see in there next and what it would mean.

The realization of what was really happening here, what this meant for her, for them, struck her with new exploding horror, a despaired sob burning in her throat like acid.

No guessing anymore what was going on inside his head. No carefully hidden smiles from the other corner of the shooting range, no leg softly brushing hers during a long meeting. No hanging out on the sofa, watching a silly Hollywood movie over pizza and beer. No silly jokes in her com connection when she was trying to make a straight face in a boring conversation with a mark.

No aching in her heart when their mission forced them to sleep in the same bed and all she wanted to do was lock her lips with his. Something that had not happened in years. Because... because. Because everything.

Why?

Suddenly she couldn't remember even one of these silly reasons why not anymore. It had always been so much easier in the end, running from it, thinking, maybe someday things would change, when their lives would be different. And Clint had always given her the feeling he would wait for her even though she had never asked him to.

And now it was too late.

"I'm sorry..."

She brought his hand to her mouth, ignoring the traces of red on both his and her skin, and kissed it, her lips dry with salt and shock.

[broken_arrow]

Clint choked out a laugh but it was strained and painful and died quickly in his throat.

Died.

He almost laughed again at his own mind’s choice of words. As much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he wanted to hold on and pretend this was just another injury that Natasha could patch up until she got him proper help, he knew that wasn’t the case, and her broken voice only confirmed his fears. He tried to do what she asked, tried to focus on her but he couldn’t focus on anything, cold barely keep his eyes open.

So this was it, then; this was the end. In some ways it was the best way to go, in Natasha’s arms, her face the last thing he’d see, dying with the knowledge that he had saved her, that he’d had her back as he’d always promised he would. There were certainly worse ways to go, but the ultimate truth was that he simply wasn’t ready. There was so much he hadn’t done, so much he hadn’t said and now it was too late. He would never hold her again, never watch her drink all the other agents under the table, never hear her curse in Russian when she got really worked up. He would never get to watch horrible movies with her again while making terrible commentary for it, never see her fight with the grace of a dancer, never catch her watching him while he did target practice. Of course he would never do anything ever again, but with her holding him, her heartbreaking sob tearing through him, the loss and regrets he felt the deepest in his last moments were mostly about her. He couldn’t help but wonder what might have been.

“No... sorries,” he said, blinking up at her but looking more through her than at her. “No... regrets...”

But there were regrets, so many of them, more than he could dwell on right now. What he didn’t regret, though, was sparing her life all those years ago.

[russianchildatprayer]

A hysterical laugh nearly tore from Natasha's throat. She couldn't help but wonder if this was what going crazy felt like.
Even now, in spite of all the times she had done him wrong, Clint still tried to comfort her. It should have made it better, but it just made her realize even more, the kind of man by her side she had denied herself.

All she suddenly wanted to do was give him the kiss she should have given him five years ago, instead of putting an end to the best thing in her life. But both her body and mind felt paralyzed. She couldn't risk reducing the pressure on his wound in bending down, and then... It didn't feel right.

Not like that. Not because she was losing him. She wanted him to know that he had always been in her heart, that she had just been too stupid to admit it.

But the right words didn't come from her lips either. She just couldn't. She couldn't say good-bye...

Torn between growing despair and terrible resignation, Natasha fell back from her awkward kneeling position, got her legs under her to rest Clint's legs on hers, further slowing down the blood flow. Even if it brought just a few seconds more... She couldn't have lived with knowing she hadn't tried everything.

Even through all the layers of clothes she could feel his limbs heavy and cold. The shiver ran all the way through her body, producing another loud sob from her throat.

She had accompanied more people than she cared for in such last minutes, some of them close to her. But never she had felt like her own life was sucked from her body with every weakening breath of her comrade.

"Don't even think of passing out on me, Barton."

She rested her hand back against his face, her thumb, trembling, caressing his lips, making sure there was still a faint hint of breath there.

He was still fighting, and for a gruesome moment she suddenly wished he wouldn't, that she could let go, that this nightmare would end.

But instead of taking her hand off his injury, she reached for a new pile of bandages when the first was soaked through. She had never given up, not once in her whole miserable fucked up life. She wouldn't start now.

When she stretched to reach the nearest counter, her eyes shortly caught the mess of equipment in the cabinet that Clint had stumbled against. Natasha startled without knowing why, her subconsciousness reacting long before the small, still rational working part of her mind recognized a familiar symbol.

The X-Gene. Imprinted of the background of the Westchester crest, in the blood red color of danger. Locked and hidden for good reason. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been in a conflict with the X-Men because of this stuff before, not exactly a pleasant battle memory.

Xavier had been forbidden by both the Ethics Committee and the Security Council to produce this serum, no matter the circumstances. Experiments on humans were strictly banned, postponed for the next 50 years or something, until every single aspect of such genetic developments was considered, every danger ruled out...

Xavier obviously had not wanted to wait.

Before Natasha really knew what she was doing, she rammed her elbow through the thick layers of glass, ignoring the shards that tore her uniform and stuck deep into her skin, and carefully freed the wooden example tray from the tilted shelf.

Positive. Several different substances, neatly labeled with whatever DNA they were based on. Natasha rather not thought about why Xavier kept these probes ready along with the fitting injection in his lab. She never had cared less about breaking rules.

Pushing aside every screaming warning on her mind, she snapped the injection from its clamp. Somehow she managed it to get it ready with her teeth and just one, blood stained hand, in spite of a lot of muscles not quite working anymore, new floods of red dripping onto her uniform with every movement.

But somehow she made it, her eyes feverishly checking the labels while she worked, before she reached for the only serum that could be some kind of right in something horribly wrong she was about to do.

She knew she should have asked, should have left Clint the choice, but she doubted she could even make him understand what was going on, in this half fainted state of mind. There was simply no time to discuss a dozen of possibilities.

It was up to her, and even while she uncorked the bottle with her teeth, she was fully aware of the possibility that he would come to hate her if this actually would work.

She shook the hurtful thought off, violently. This wasn't about her. This was about him, about his life that he had sacrificed for her. She didn't own him anything less. If she would destroy everything that was between them... Well, it was about to be destroyed anyway.

Still she hesitated when she turned back to Clint, the slender silver cylinder between her fingertips. She had to tell him, at least. All these years she had never asked anything of him than to leave her the freedom of choice. Again, she owned him nothing less.

"Clint... Look at me."
Not caring about her hand losing its strength on his wound anymore, she bent down to rest her lips on his forehead, the salt of cold sweat mixing with her tears.
"I'm gonna put a mutation trigger into your body. Full cell renewal is your only chance."

[broken_arrow]

Her laughter was painful, her sobbing heartbreaking. He wanted to tell her not to cry, that he was okay with how this had turned out, that she would be fine, she was strong; he wanted to tell her all the awful, cliché things people always said in the movies as their last words but he couldn’t seem to say anything. His tongue felt heavy, his mouth dry, and he was just so tired, so tired.

His consciousness was slipping when she pulled him back and despite everything he smiled. “Like you’d... let me...” he managed to force out but it took so much effort. He wanted to close his eyes, just for a moment, but her touch kept him as grounded as anything could. He wanted to kiss the thumb she brushed over his lips, wanted to take her hand, wanted to do anything but just lay there, but he knew that time for anything else had passed. All he could do was stay alive for a few more minutes; she was fighting so hard to keep him he had to fight just as hard to stay, to give her what little time he could.

It was just so damn exhausting.

“Tash...” he tried to get her attention but she was reaching for more bandages, reaching desperately for anything she could hold on to. “Let me go...” but the words were too faint for even him to hear them so he knew they wouldn’t reach her ears.

She had been in this situation before, more than once; he knew this. Did she fight this hard every time? Did she try to make them hold one when they knew it was over? She knew, she had to know, that there was nothing she could do, that no matter what she did this was the end. “Not your fault. Don’t...” Clint tried to reassure here, tried to assuage any guilt she might be feeling that was making her fight this hard. He didn’t want her blaming herself for how this had happened, it had been his choice and he would do it again in a heartbeat. She wasn’t listening, though, wasn’t paying any attention to him, her focus having shifted desperately to something else, some last ditch effort to save him. It wouldn’t work, nothing would work, so Clint paid it no mind. He had reached the point where he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Rational, clear thought had faded along with his surroundings. Peace was settling in.

Still, she tried to pull him back but he was ready to let go. He didn’t listen to her, her words didn’t register. He felt her lips, heard her voice, but anything else was too much. “I woulda waited forever for you...” he whispered. This time when he smiled it was pure and content, no longer marred by pain. He couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t feel anything. He even gave a short laugh. “I guess I did.”

This was his forever, this was his end. He was ready.

Despite her urgings he let his eyes close and embraced the darkness.

He stopped fighting and welcomed peace.

He let go.

[russianchildatprayer]

Useless. Just like Natasha had feared, Clint was too far gone to even understand what she was trying to tell him. The choice and the great risk she was holding in her hand. She wouldn't be able to pretend it had been anything but her choice if something went wrong.

If something went wrong with him.

She stared at him through the veil of her tears, her hand with the injection hovering over his body. A conflict she had never faced before was tearing her soul apart.

A thousands of things that could go wrong. No telling what would happen, what it would do to his body, to his mind... What if this changed him completely? Did she have the right to make something of him that maybe he couldn't live with?

She only realized she had been holding her breath when he whispered another few weak words... And then it was her heart that seemed to stop for a long painful beat.

She had been right. He still... wanted her. After all this time. And she had kept herself from him, until the very end. This was not what he deserved.

"Fuck this."

No time, not another single second left to think it over or to fiddle around with a vein that might not even respond anymore. Natasha pressed her hand flat against Clint's chest, searching for the last, much too weak pulse, and shot the automatic injection needle right into his heart.

She didn't know if he had even felt it, how much of his senses and consciousness were still with her. For a few endless minutes she didn't know, see, hear anything.
She didn't move even the slightest bit, the dull stinging of overstretched muscles and numbing limbs a faint throb in the distance.
All she could feel was that ongoing, instable heartbeat under her fingertips and the silent prayers to whoever might be listening that it wouldn't stop.

She also didn't look up when heavy blasts crashed the lab door, finally, and the well known roaring of Tony's suit aggregates landed right behind her.

Voices, shouts, discussions, unimportant. Her mind had completely shut down, concentrating on nothing but a barely alive body. Only her instincts, trained and alert as usual, reacted to any possible surrounding danger.

Her instincts it was that made her snap back to reality when someone grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her away from her partner. Bruce was lucky that her arms didn't obey her as much as usual. That would have been a nasty bruise before even the Hulk could have responded.

"Natasha, please. Come. This is over..."
Bruce broke off, gasping, when he leaned over her and finally spotted the instruments and bottles on the floor, and that she was not at all holding a dead man's body in her arms.

In fact she was pretty sure that Clint's breathing had grown a little stronger while she had been off completely. The bleeding had nearly stopped.

Bruce didn't seem to deem this half as positive as her.
"Are you fucking nuts?"

"Would someone care to explain why we're having a prayer circle instead of getting that guy on an operation table?"
Tony sounded at least as pissed as Bruce, more shaken in fact than Natasha had ever seen him. He was already busy blasting his way through the other parts of the med bay to reach the mentioned operation room.

"I'm a radiation scientist, not a surgeon, Stark", Bruce growled, getting angrier with every word. A suspicious greenish glance dancing behind his glasses warned Natasha that she might have to get Clint away from here. "Lucky, we obviously don't need one.
Natasha, what the hell were you thinking?"
His grasp, strengthened by the power of his second identity, around her arm tightened, so much that the remaining pieces of glass under her skin made her wince out in pain and new blood stained Bruce' shirt.
The quiet sound fortunately reached his true self just in time. The slight swelling under his sleeves collapsed, and after a long moment of closing his eyes they had their usual dark color back.
"Steve, get me some instruments ready. Whatever you can find to patch the lady up.
Romanoff, you move your ass and let me get to work. Now. It's pretty much likely we'll all be in big trouble in a few minutes when the cell structure starts to change. I need to act. Don't make me get the other guy to remove you from this room."

"You might just have to, Banner. I'm not going anywhere."
The threat was impressive enough to not try and shove her teammate away, but Natasha had no intentions of leaving her partner alone now.
Still her teammates had at least helped her to find back to reality. No matter if she liked it or not, Bruce knew a lot more about all this than she did.
Very reluctantly, she got up enough to help him carefully move Clint's still lifeless form away from that tight corner. But she didn't leave his side for even a second and very suspiciously watched everything Bruce was doing.

Both Steve and Tony let hear a shocked hiss when they could finally get a clear view on the both of them, and Natasha could only imagine what they looked like with blood... pretty much everywhere.

She couldn't bring herself to care. There was no new fluid coming, at least not from Clint's wound and that was everything that counted right now.

"Wait a second." Only now, with the rest of the serum probes and the injection coming into view, Tony realized what they were talking about. "Are you telling me, our Legolas is turning into one of these freaks?"

"Not helping, Stark." Bruce didn't even look up, he was very busy measuring vitals. "There should be a contamination chamber on the other side of the sick bay. Make sure it's ready.
Natasha, I'm not saying it again. Back off and get on a fucking stretcher. We don't need one more person in this room bleeding to death."

Natasha forget the several polite and not so polite ways to tell Banner to fuck himself immediately when she turned her gaze back to Clint's still much too pale face.

Just the slightest movement, really not more than a weak blinking... But it was there.

"Clint, please..." Shaking off the hands that tried to hold her back, she leaned back over him, cupping his face with both hands, her lips trembling when she brought them to his mouth, just the slightest of touches. "Stay with me. You're strong. You can do this..."

[broken_arrow]

While the Avengers gathered in the medical bay, the X-Men secured the rest of the house and tended to their own wounded. They didn’t know where their allies had gone and it was Remy LeBeau you finally stumbled upon them and the chaos that still reigned around them.

“Looks like I missed de real party,” he drawled, glancing around at the bodies that littered the room. It wasn’t a sight he liked seeing, killing wasn’t something that X-Men did, and something he himself stood firmly against since Sinister, but there wasn’t always a choice when you’re attacked in your own home.

In one corner of the room there was one particularly large pool of blood littered with soaked rags, but no body. Approaching the hole in the wall to the operating room he saw quickly why. “Merde. I’ll go get de doc.”

Clint lay on one of the examining tables, and even with his dark uniform there was enough blood staining his arms and face to make him a pretty horrific sight. Still, his chest moved as he breathed, no matter how laboured, and that had to be a good thing, right?

Depends on perspective.

Clint hadn’t wanted to die, not by a long shot, but when the time had come he had been ready. It was a noble death, one caused while fighting to protect children whose only sin was being born different. What more could he have asked for? He had been ready, he had accepted it, and for a moment the darkness had taken him and he had felt no pain, only peace.

Slowly, though, he began to notice things around him. He heard distant voices, felt his body being shifted... then there was pain. It started at his heart, a dull aching throb, but soon it spread outward through his entire body, slowly increasing in intensity as it moved. The sounds became louder until the felt like they were piercing his ears, and when he felt the touch on his face, his lips, it felt like it was scalding him.

With a sudden cry that didn’t sound altogether human his eyes shot open but they weren’t their normal blue. There was a flash of gold, irregular shaped pupils, something entirely animalistic before he squeezed them tightly close again. The pain was excruciating, tearing through him like his entire body was revolting, trying to rip itself apart from the inside out. His bones ached, his skin burned, his blood boiled. Writhing on the table he struck out at anything that touched him, anything that even came near, the whole time screaming in pain.

By the time Remy returned with Dr. Henry McCoy Clint had rolled over to his hands and knees and was clutching desperately at the medical table, his back heaving and rippling like something from a horror movie.

“Oh my stars and garters...” the doctor exclaimed.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha awoke from a half dazed state with the realization that her upper body was naked and that someone was touching her.
Her first deeply anchored reaction was breaking a few of her attacker's bones. But her arms missed their usual strength, so she didn't manage more than a weak blow to a very well known shaped chin, before Steve caught her hand and forced it back to the stretcher she was laying on.

"Sorry."
She ground her teeth, noting, relived, that whoever had moved her here at least had been polite enough to cover her breasts with a sterile operation clothe, hazily knotted behind her back.
But how the hell had she even ended up here? She should be in the room nearby, where a series of heart breaking screams emerged, from a voice she knew all too well...

A sharp sting behind her temple reminded her that she had tried to hold Clint down when the pain had started. She had been determined to be there for him, instead of just throwing him in a badly disguised prison cell as Bruce had insisted.
She had both underrated the strength of a man writhing in horrible pain and the trouble her arms were giving her.

He hadn't recognized her, he had been too far gone... At least that was what she could only hope. Maybe he had known what he was doing...

Growling, she pushed the thought away. She could worry about that when she knew if she had made it to save him.
And if Steve would try to stop her, she would have no scruples hitting an old man right again.

"Get the fuck off me."
She gave him a fair last warning when she tried to sit up and he he held her back. Successfully, unfortunately. Now that the shock had passed, she could feel much too clearly the damage herself and some sharp glass had done to some of the muscles.
Irrelevant. She still had her legs to make a statement if Steve insisted on it.
"Stop it, Rogers! I don't need anyone pampering me. I need to..."

"Shut your hap, Romanoff."
Steve growling at her in a way she had never heard him speak, actually made her stop, gasping.
Only slowly she began to realize her other team members might be just as much shaken by this horror scenario as she was. Steve's bright eyes looked blazing black with anger, hectic red spots covering his cheeks. The impressive muscles of his arms flexed when he shoved her back on the stretcher. He did it with enough force to make her wince out when she came to lie on a wound deeper than she had thought.
"You let me help you or I swear I'll do what Bruce wanted me to and chain you up or sedate you."

"You wouldn't dare."
A threat of hers had sounded more intimating before, admittedly. She could feel her usual mental strength slipping, fading, with every of these terrifying sounds she heard nearby.
It didn't help that she couldn't fucking see what was going on there. Whatever it was, it was her doing, and it was nothing but her duty to be with Clint now, at least try and help him get through this.

Maybe Steve saw the growing worry and guilt in her tear stained eyes. His face softened along with the grip on her shoulders.
"Don't count on it. I've lost more than one comrade on battlefield to stupidity and pride, Natasha. I will have you bandaged before you bleed out enough to need a transfusion."

Natasha's lips were a thin line, her hands trembling when she forced herself to get her temper under control. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't have given shit about someone's gigantic chivalry issues.
But she felt herself being too close, much too close to throw another fit like just a few minutes ago when she had nearly watched Clint die. Fighting her teammates would mean only trouble which didn't help anyone, certainly not her partner.
"You can patch me up over there."
More gentle now but still persistent, she shoved Steve aside and swung her legs over the edge of the stretcher, just slightly wincing when her body reminded her of everything she had done to herself. The only thing she needed right now was a good dose of morphine.

Only when she finally sat straight and tried to get up, she saw the second male in the small therapy room and an aggressive growl escaped her lips. Her hand shot straight for her thigh before she realized her holsters were gone as well.
"You touch my guns again and I'll cut your balls off with a fish knife, Rogers. What the actual fuck? What's one of them doing in here? They have done enough for today, don't you think?"



*******



"Quite a temper."
Hank bare moved a muscle when the noise in the room nearby grew, voices shouting at each other and especially one female one outstanding.
"Let me guess whose brilliant idea this was."
His lips retracted from his fangs in a gesture of both anger and disapproval when he slowly neared the patient. After the first shock he seemed not half as taken aback from the sight of what was going on in Clint's body as Bruce and Tony.

"Anything we can do, McCoy?"
Sweat stained Bruce' collar and sleeves. His eyes closed every few seconds with the effort of recalling his mental training to fuel his emotions right. Seeing one of his closest friends in such great pain wasn't helping to calm the other guy.
He had tried to help, he still tried, but whenever he neared Clint, he could tell his soothing words fell on deaf ears. And he was too much of a scientist to get too close while the transformation reaped through Clint's body.
Not that he had anything to fear from maybe bones turning into diamond sharp razors or new built strength snapping someone's neck by accident, but the Hulk had done enough damage for one day.

"Say a prayer, get out of the way and keep your beast on the leash.
Shut your face, Stark."
Hank pointed one of his claws at Stark before he could comment the unlucky phrasing.

But frankly, not even Tony looked like throwing silly comments right now.

The air was vibrating with the fear of the unknown, of losing a close friend to either death or... something even worse. And although Hank for now didn't mention the illegality of this thing that had happened here, he wasn't exactly exploding with joy and politeness either.
"That wasn't a metaphor, by the way. Close your armor and help me. We can't leave the patient here. Too risky."
Hank neared Clint, carefully but without stopping, closing his pranks firmly around the tensed muscles of his arm.
"Barton. Listen to me. I need you to let go. We're here to help you."

[broken_arrow]

Remy lingered back in the shadows, it was where he felt most at home, and watched the proceedings, just trying to stay out of the way but there if he was needed. Absently he flipped a single playing card between his fingers though what he really wanted was a smoke. Probably not the best place for one, the doc would have his balls he tried to light up in the med bay, no matter what else was going on. He also wasn’t so sure the redhead wouldn’t kill him just for spite.

“Now, now, chère, dat ain’ a nice t’ing t’ say ‘bout someone who’s tryin’ t’ help,” he drawled, but his unusual red on black eyes flashed at her words. One of them, she had said, which made her little better than the men she had killed, ally or not. “I know y’ brought your own doc an’ all, but dis is more Henri’s field.”

In all honesty, this whole situation was leaving Remy very tense. Unlike many mutants he had been obvious from the start due to his eyes, but when his powers had first manifested there hadn’t been pain, not like whatever Clint was going through. It had to be because the gene had always been there for him while introducing it into the system of a human who wasn’t supposed to have it... this wasn’t just migraines like Kitty had experiences, this was a full on transformation, and who knew how it would manifest itself in the end.

And least the other Avengers seemed to be trying to help.

*****

Clint tried to speak, tried to listen, but all he could do was scream. Pushing himself up to his knees he scrambled out of his vest leaving him bare from the waist up and giving everyone pause at the visible protrusions that were pulsing on his back at his shoulder blades.

Even Hank was frozen a moment as realization seemed to dawn. He had known Warren Worthington the third long enough to make a guess at how Clint’s newfound mutation was manifesting itself. It would explain the pain as entire cells and structures within his body would have to change. It was fascinating, to be honest. Fascinating and horrific. The serum had never been meant to be used, only studied. Normal people hated them because they didn’t understand them and people feared what they didn’t understand, and this was supposed to be a way to offer understanding, at least that was what Hank had thought. Seeing this before his very eyes he found himself uncertain of Xavier’s motives for wanting to keep the serum on hand.

Clint’s screams were growing hoarse, sounding more like sobs than anything now. His back was itching, aching, and he tore at his skin with his nails, trying to rip it open, trying to free whatever was trying to break through.

“What’s... what’s happening to me?” he managed to cry.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha was close to snap, closer than even when she had fought for Clint's life, and Steve had indeed been wise to hide her weapons.

"Your people should have thought of that before you brought us into this situation, LeBeau. Just so we're clear on this: I would have anyone's head for that, no matter the species. You don't want to lose a few vital parts, get the fuck out off my sight."

Natasha's voice was pure ice, dancing on the flames of growing anger. Unfortunately she couldn't risk wasting any strength on knocking that guy out right now. It would have felt really good.
There was hardly enough energy left to drag herself outside the room and back into the operating theatre. She had to rely much more on Steve's arm holding her upright than she cared for.

Though she had half and half had expected it, what she was about to see, fresh fear and shock left her blood running cold, when they entered. When she finally faced the result of her crazy attempt to save her partner's life.

If... this was the only... transformation that Clint's body was going through, she probably had to consider herself lucky as it was. Anything could have happened. This was fairly a basis trigger, made from material from a certain group of mutants. It could have been even worse... or maybe it would still get to that.

It had seemed like the best choice in that moment of desperation... But seeing Clint half out of his mind now, from what was going on in his body, left Natasha doubting more and more, she would be able to live with this decision at the end of the day.

Still, this wasn't about her. It was about helping him somehow getting through this. As much as the adrenaline kept him upright now, there was still the fact he had had much too little blood in his body last time she had held him in her arms.
The overstretched skin on his back started to give away and tear, agonizingly slow, feverish red and more bloody by the second. Right now there was no guessing what exactly would come through, how it would manifest.
It certainly wouldn't help if Clint hurt himself even more in the process. Natasha could all but hear his heart race loudly with too much effort already, after it had nearly stopped beating like ten minutes ago.

If she didn't make it to calm him down, somehow, give him something to focus on, the way they had learned it to cope with pain... If his heart would fail again...

She couldn't even think about it. She just couldn't lose him. That was what had brought him into this situation, and it was her fucking responsibility to deal with it now.

At least he seemed to be more awake now than some minutes ago. If she would have any shot at getting through to him, it was now.

She gave Hank a sign to stop trying to talk to her partner, knowing he needed a familiar voice if something was really to reach him.
Ignoring the death glare she earned from the X-Men-doctor, she made her way around the stretcher to face Clint, carefully watching his arms this time.
She still felt like her legs could give in any second and she more crashed on the head end of the operation table than leaning on it. But she felt better at once when she could see him again, make sure nothing had changed in his still much too pale features.

He was alive, breathing... They somehow could make it through the rest. They just had to...

"Clint, look at me, please."

She tried to use whatever strength she had left in her body to keep him from attacking his own skin, tightly intertwining her arms and hands with his to give him something to hold on to.

"Natasha, this is really not a good..."

She continued as if she had not even heard Bruce' repeated protest.
"We... I had to... You were dying. I had no choice. Your body is changing. You'll be okay. You hear me? I'm here. You'll be okay."
If her words sounded half as empty to him as they did to her, she probably would find herself shoved against the next wall soon again.

She just wished he would open his eyes already, so she could try to read anything in this grimace of pain. Anything to know he was still with her and would try to pull through this.

[broken_arrow]

Remy could have snapped back that they had made a call for help and that the Avengers had answered because that was what they did. The X-Men hadn’t called them into a firing squad and she was completely out of line with her accusations and anger. He could have said these things, but he had always been a rather empathic individual and whether she truly meant them or not he knew she was mostly lashing out because she was afraid. Everything that was happening in the other room, all the pain that her teammate was going through and all the consequences they had yet to discover were all on her head. More than that, it was clear that she cared a great deal for Clint and his pain was affecting her much more than even her own. It was for all of these things that Remy bit his tongue and stepped aside, letting her do what she would.

Apparently Steve had given up arguing as well and was even helping her, but better to help her than refuse and risk her further injury by letting her do it all herself. It was clear to everyone gathered that trying to stop her at this point would go very badly.

Clint didn’t see her approach, didn’t see anything with his eyes held so tightly closed against the pain, but somewhere through the fog he could hear her voice, closer an clearer than all the rest. He heard her call his name, heard her saying the same thing she had what felt like a lifetime ago but had only been a few minutes. Perhaps it had been a lifetime, considering the current circumstances.

Shaking his head he tried to hold in his screams, tried to listen to her, but the words didn’t make any sense, his mind was so muddled, he didn’t understand. He felt her touch and at first tried to break away but his strength was waning and she held him so tight, surprisingly tight. Eventually he gripped her arms back.

“It hurts so much,” he choked out, doubling over again and burying his face in their intertwined arms. “What did you... what did you do to me?” He tried to look at her, his eyes once more blue but filled with so much pain and confusion. It was then that the skin tore wider, muscles moving, shifting, as the protrusions grew, lengthening, stretching, fanning out. It wasn’t just the new appendages that were hurting him so badly, but the entire structure of his body changing as his bones hollowed out and reformed. The scream he let out then was absolutely gut wrenching, but a moment later the process seemed to be complete and he collapsed onto the table, a pair of feathered wings stretching down over either side and dripping blood to the floor. The steady drip, drip was audible for a moment in the suddenly silent room.

[russianchildatprayer]

Their arms and hands were still tangled in an all but comfortable manner, Clint's sweat stained forehead resting half on Natasha's leg, while the rest of his body had gracelessly crashed on the table.

It hurt, but she didn't give shit. All she could feel in these endlessly seeming seconds, when his pain finally subsided, was his skin warm and lively pressing against hers. And all she could see in this complete surreal waves of dark brown and black, falling from his back, was the slightest of trembling in his body.

He was alive.
No matter how it had happened... He was still here.

The way he had just looked at her, with so much pain and so much blame, he probably wasn't with her anymore, but Natasha had accepted that when she had put that needle to his heart. If he was to send her away now, she would go.

But not one minute earlier, and certainly not before she could be sure he was really alright. And even more, safe.

Her senses, dulled by lasting shock and exhaustion, only slowly started to wake, when she saw Hank and Bruce nearing from both sides, Tony and Steve both standing pretty pale in the background.

Doctors... Doctors were good. Now was the time for people who had a degree in this to help her partner. She would not leave them out of her sight until they would leave this nightmare of a mansion behind, but she wanted - needed - to go sure, Clint was as alright as could be.

Torn between the fear of how he would look at her in a moment, and the instincts of protecting him from whatever the X-Men would have to say to all of this, she finally got her body back moving.
Or tried, at least. The smallest attempt to move her arms from under Clint's body ended with searing pain all the way down her shoulders. Nothing more than a weak twitch of her muscles happened.

"And this is why transforming patients belong into a cushioned room", Hank stated dryly, seeing her pained grimace.
"Hands off, Banner. We don't know what we're dealing with yet and you're far from calm. There's been enough destruction in this house for one day."
He reached out one of his claws and then his furred fingertip carefully for one of the slender thick feathers falling from Clint's shoulders. The same relief Natasha felt, showed on his face when there was no chemical reaction of any kind.
"Soft, elastic structure. We should be fine.
Hey, Super Soldier, give me a hand? Guy has gotten a lot heavier."

While Steve, obviously glad to be of use, carefully put his arms around Clint's arm and upper body, Hank had his other side, and Bruce finally rushed to Natasha's side.

There was a look on his face that she knew all too well, basically saying, sick-bay grounded for the next two weeks.

She couldn't care less. Her eyes were fixated on Clint's face, on the rest of his body, when Hank and Steve carefully pulled him into a sitting position.
Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, the cramping of her insides completely covering whatever felt wrong in her arms and hands. Only when she could be sure there was nothing else wrong with him, aside from some muscles of his upper body looking a little stronger, she remembered how to breathe again. Tears fell from her eyes that she couldn't wipe off with a hand that wouldn't obey her.
Instead she used the littlest of strength she still had in her limbs to hold on to Clint's hands, stay as close to him as possible even while her own sight threatened to blur with growing tiredness.
She needed to know. Even if it was just one look of his, one word... Anything that would let her know if he would want her to leave right away.
"Clint..."
It was merely a whisper and she hated it how much her voice trembled but she couldn't hold back, not this time.
"Clint, I'm sorry... You're okay. It's over... I'm sorry."
That wasn't right, it would make no difference, no matter how often she had said it. And the one thing she would not regret, ever, was seeing him alive now.
Maybe it was that what she needed to tell him. That for her, no matter how much his whole life had just changed, that was the only thing that counted.
"I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere."
Again she tried press his hand, carefully caress his skin. She realized dully that instead of the coldness of before it had taken on a slightly higher temperature than it was normal... for a human. A few tears fell on their still connected hands while all she could do was wait for him to pull away.

[broken_arrow]

His breathing came in short gasps and his entire body still ached, but the excruciating pain was fading now that the transformation was complete. The turmoil in his mind, though, was far from over.

He didn’t understand what had happened, didn’t know what was going on. It felt like a terrible nightmare, like something out of a horror movie, and he just didn’t understand. The last thing he remembered was letting go, finding peace, knowing that he was dying, that it was the end. What had happened? Because whatever this was, it wasn’t death.

He felt hands touching him, arms moving him, but they felt strange and he had no fight left in him to even think of stopping them. He heard his name, and he recognized the voice; he would always know her voice, but he hadn’t quite made the connection yet, didn’t know why she was apologising. All he knew was that he could hear tears in her voice and that hurt as well.

Nothing felt right. It all felt dulled, cloudy, like he wasn’t quite awake, wasn’t quite alive.

“I need to get blood samples to make certain that there will be no further adverse effects, and determine how... permanent this change is,” Clint heard a voice say, one that he had heard before but wasn’t familiar, one he couldn’t place.

“Clint, can you hear me?”

“...look at those things...”

“...lost a lot of blood...”

“...wounds healed?”

“Mon Dieu...”

“What if it goes bad?”

“What if they...”

“What if he...”

“What if...”

With a frustrated cry Clint wrenched his hands free of those that held him and pressed his palms tight over his ears. Drawing his knees up to his chest he buried his face in them, tried to curl into a ball, and without even thinking about it his newly formed wings also wrapped around him, hiding him from view as heavy sobs shook his body.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha had seen Clint in many moments of distress, even depression, especially after New York, but she couldn't remember ever having seen him cry like that. Not when there were other people around.

It tore her heart in two and brought a new wave of angry energy back in her drained feeling mind. It was because of her that he suffered like that...

Natasha forced her hand into a hard fist where it had fallen when Clint had pulled away. The sharp pain put an end to this pathetic, unoriented guilt trip at once. Not now.

He still wasn't awake enough to realize what was going on around him, which was probably why he hadn't tried to snap her neck yet. At least as long as he could still stand having her around, it was nothing but her duty to help him out in this.

"Alright, that's enough. Everyone get out of here."

"Yeah, right."
Hank, nearing them with a whole set of injections and instruments in his paws, huffed at her words.
"You, young lady, need to get some stitches and even more rest. We'll take this from here."
He made move to just push her out of the way to start sticking needles into her partner, but paused at the new emerging flash of aggression and rejection in her face.

"Do you insist on finding out how much damage I can do with disabled arms?"

"Natasha, please."
Bruce, finally finished with putting the first necessary bandages on her, carefully took her shoulders from behind. He knew exactly that she couldn't use her usual weapons on him, if she didn't want to cuddle with the Hulk next. Smart bastard made use of that advantage every time.
"We have no idea what exactly is going on. There's never been an... experiment like this."
At least Bruce didn't seem to want to lock her up personally anymore for her solo attempt. He just sounded incredibly tired, eying Clint's curled up form with both memory and compassion.
"You should know me better than to think, I'd let anyone try to harm him. But if we want to help him, we need more information."

Natasha nodded, hesitantly. Bruce and her sure as hell didn't always share the same opinion, but in the end they wanted the same. And he... cared. That made the difference between her teammates and these guys whose house they had protected.
"I need just a few minutes. We both do. If you want to help, give me a good shot of chems and make sure no one will come in here."

She heard it in his resigned sigh that he understood and that was enough. Natasha shut her mind down from everything else, trusting her teammates to handle the situation, and concentrated on the only thing mattering right now.
There was a faint short sting on her neck when Bruce got the most important nutrients and hopefully enough morphine inside of her to keep her upright for the next few minutes, and then he was gone.

The aggressive sounds and hostile faces around her vanished one by one, until there was nothing but Clint's rigid, hoarse breathing she could hear. Nothing but the picture, painfully clear now that her own mind somehow brightened, of what had happened to him.

Natasha's half numb hand trembled heavily when she raised it to his shoulder, and it wasn't just effort.

This... was completely surreal. She had seen mutants shaped like this, on surveillance material, in the news, and that one battle with Archangel... But all this... had always seemed so far away.
Now she was faced with such a curiosity of nature right before her eyes, and it wasn't just anyone...

No, it wasn't, and that was the whole point.
Suddenly angry with herself for her childish fear and uncertainty, Natasha rested her hand on Clint's tensed up neck, not paying attention to these foreign limbs, springing from new, snow white skin around his shoulder blades.
Instead she ran her fingers softly through his hair, not pushing any longer, not trying to make him do anything. She just stayed quiet, letting him feel what her words had not been able to get into his head.

I'm here.

[broken_arrow]

Clint could hear mumbling around him but eventually it stopped and he moved just one hand from his ears. He heard footsteps shuffling out, and even recognized the mechanical sounds and heavy steps of Tony’s suit as he left. Then there was silence, but even in his disoriented state Clint knew he wasn’t alone and it was that knowledge that kept him from starting and lashing out at the hand on his neck.

His whole body stiffened at the touch, but when the fingers started threading through his hair he knew there was only one person it could be. “Tasha...” he choked out. Slowly he raised his head and blinked back his tears, confused by the shroud that surrounded him. Reaching out he took one of the wings in his hand, brushing his fingers over the blood soaked wings. Grabbing the top he squeezed it and felt it like any other appendage. They were his, they were part of his body; he had wings.

“I died...” he muttered, finally turning his eyes to Natasha though there was still a sort of lack of focus as he tried to work it all out in his head. Was he dreaming? Was he dead? Was he... some sort of angel? It didn’t make any sense, none of it made sense. “What... I don’t... they’re part of me. They’re... what happened?”

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha tried not to feel too enthusiastic about Cling sounding much more awake, much more sober. It was probably merely the first wave of shock dying away, before the realization would really hit.

It wouldn't help, showing how much she was still freaked out by this whole story. This had been what she had wanted, right? So she better got her shit together and the facts on the table. This all was on her, and she had been taught early in her life to deal with every consequence of her doing.

"It's called an artificial mutation."

She tried hard to remember in her drugged state of mind, how much she really had to say. On that mission to ground Xavier's sorry ass, Clint had not been with her. Illegal gene experiments weren't exactly common newspaper content either.
But Clint and her had always spent a great deal of their time together talking about their work, mostly without any classification boundaries. At some point, she must have told him. She just sure as hell had never thought to face this certain subject in a way like this again.

"The process renews the cell structure, adding the x-gene to the DNA. You were dying."

These horrible minutes of fear and regret were still too close, too fresh to not pause, with her eyes tightly shut, to fight these pictures on her mind that would hopefully turn into just another nightmare soon.

It had not happened. Clint was still there.

She had to tell herself again and again and still could only believe it when she shyly reached for his hand, reassuring herself he was okay, alive, breathing.

"It was either this or watching you go. I couldn't..."

No matter how hard she tried, again her voice choked with the last words.
She couldn't have, no. But it was not her who had to live with the only way out now.

[broken_arrow]

Artificial mutation. Mutation. No, he wasn’t a mutant, he didn’t even have any super powers from a bottle let alone something he was born with. Wasn’t that what the mutants were? People that had a certain gene that developed later?

But they weren’t the only ones with powers. What about the Hulk? His ‘issue’ was completely artificial.

Artificial.

Clint forced himself to focus on Natasha’s words, tried to make sense of what she was saying. “He had been dying but she had stopped it, she had saved him by... by giving him the x-gene? It had repaired his wound, but it hadn’t stopped there.

He didn’t even try to read her, not in the state he was in, though the pain on her face was hard to miss, but whether it was from something physical or the story she was telling he didn’t know. Either way it couldn’t even begin to compare to the pain he had just gone through, the pain he was still feeling to his very bones.

“So you changed me into...” he couldn’t quite say it so he shook his head. “It was either this or I die? Shouldn’t that’a been my choice?”

Given the choice, what would he have done, especially had it been given to him knowing how this all felt.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha could have told Clint a number of things, like, reminding him that she had told him, explain that he had just been too far gone to reach his mind...
But all of this in the end meant the same. She had taken the decision from him, and it didn't matter how it had happened.

So she answered simply "Yes. It should have been", letting him know she was fully aware of the responsibility she had loaded onto her shoulders. But she didn't apologize, not again. Why should he care?

It was up to him how he would start to cope with this. She couldn't do that for him. She could just stay by his side, if he wanted that, and help him along with every step.

She stared down at their joint hands silently, both her body and mind more weary by the second with the morphine running through her system. She simply had no strength left, to defend something that couldn't be forgiven and that she had had to do anyway.
She could just wait for his move that would most certainly break her heart and then find a way to live with it, somehow.

[broken_arrow]

Clint looked away from her, studying his feathers again. His feathers... Christ. He didn’t know how to feel about any of this, couldn’t quite wrap his head around it, couldn’t think straight. She had done it to save his life and if she hadn’t he would be dead right now, but the pain... the experience had been so damn traumatic it wasn’t something he would be getting over any time soon. Would death have been better, though?

Her hand was so weak in his and he didn’t have the strength to pull away from her, but he could tell by her breathing, the way she held herself, that he wasn’t the only one who had been damaged today.

“Doc!” Clint called suddenly, his voice hoarse from all the screaming he had done. “She’s not lookin’ so good, better get her fixed up.” He knew she would argue, would have stopped him if she’d known he was about to bring in reinforcements, so he didn’t give her the choice.

Besides, he needed time; time to think about this, on his own, before he could discuss it with her. He needed time to adjust, to come to grips with what he was now and what it all meant.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha's hand felt numb when she let go off Clint and it didn't have anything to do with the morphine.

So that was it then. Probably best to get her things right away and leave this house behind, and also leave the team, so Clint didn't have to deal with her anymore.

Thinking about it, maybe best to leave country for a while, preferably for something like Greenland, to free her head from all this emotional crap that brought nothing but trouble.

Wasn't that what she had always been taught? Feelings made you weak, they compromised your strenghts and capabilities...

Only all of this was lecturing from the past. It had been Clint who had helped her live beyond her programming and become a real human being. Without him, nothing that had made her new life bearable since she had left her old one behind, would have been possible.

And now she wanted to thank him in running from him at the first chance given?
Not likely.

She had hurt him, he had every reason to push her away now. That didn't mean she had to try and stop helping him. As long as he didn't explicitly tell her to fuck off, she wouldn't leave any further than she could at least hear everything going on.

But it hurt. They had been through so much together, had always helped and supported each other, when a mission had gone downhill. And now...

All she wanted was wrapping her arms around him, comfort and hold him until that terrified, confused look on his face would go away.

He wouldn't let her, then all she could do was tell him, she would be there... and why. Why it hurt so much. Why she couldn't have let him go and why she couldn't be rational about all this.
Why there were tears in her voice when she heard hectic footsteps approaching.

"I love you, Clint."

It wasn't romantic or sappy, nothing dramatic or heartbreaking as she had always imagined it, when maybe one day she would be sure enough about her feelings to actually tell him. Maybe. When circumstances would be right.

Circumstances had never been so wrong and she had never been so sure.

There was no time to wait for his reaction before someone grabbed her arms, a new rush of annoyed, worried words fell on her ears that she couldn't care less about.

She was pulled away from her partner and she let them because he had asked her to go. She tried to get her legs under her to leave the room with something like grace, but they gave away at once.

Bruce obviously thought he had put up with her bullshit enough for one day, he just lifted her into his arms and carried her next door.

All the while she couldn't bring herself to look at Clint anymore.
She didn't know if she could have handled to read the answer in his eyes.



*******



It was Steve who neared Clint first.

Hank for the moment waited by the door, not happy about it, but they had given him a piece about patience.

Steve sat down on the same spot that Natasha had lingered on, probably looking like coming from the middle of a war with his uniform torn and bloody in several places and an incredibly tired look on his face.

"Communications are still down. Probably a disturbance signal device somewhere in the house that they still have to find. Tony has left to tell S.H.I.E.L.D..
The X-Men offered us to stay for a while, to help you... adapt."

For a second his eyes flickered to the brownish-black waves covering Clint's back, both disapproval and compassion coloring his voice.

Tony had overcome his shock pretty quickly. It might have to do something with the flask he kept in his armor for such occasions. Anyway, Stark actually thought, it was pretty cool that their scout and sniper could fly now.

Steve honestly couldn't see anything funny about it. He understood what it had been like for Natasha, but unlike her he had been in Clint's place. He knew what it was like to have his body ripped apart and put together again, into a form that had not been meant for him from the start.

He never would have wished this kind of pain for even his worst enemy and couldn't even begin to imagine what Clint had to feel like now. He, unlike Steve, had not chosen this...

One thing was for sure, he did need help now. And there weren't many choices.

Not even bothering with lowering his voice, he went on. Maybe he wasn't as furious as Natasha, but he had no problem letting Hank know what he thought about this chaotic encounter with far too many victims today.

"I think we can trust them and I'll stay with you all the time. The ones who were not upright to us about this mission, have left the house to get the younger children to Xavier's summer residence, including Charles himself. They'll be gone until the school is rebuilt and secured. We should be okay.
It's up to you", Steve added after a moment, assuming that probably was the most important thing right now, after just this freedom hat been taken away from Clint... Letting him decide for himself how to move from here.

[broken_arrow]

He wanted to be alone, wanted to be away from her, from all of them, but as soon as she let go of his hand he felt the loss, felt empty. Lowering his head he looked down at his lap just waiting to hear her footsteps move away.

He hadn’t been prepared for her parting words.

Head snapping up he watched Bruce bodily remove Natasha from the room, unable to do anything more. She loved him? For years she had been keeping him at arm’s length, avoiding even any hint that he wanted more from their relationship, from her, and yet she claimed to love him? Natasha, who thought love was a juvenile concept? Why would she say it? What could she possibly have to gain from those words? Why now?

Because she had almost lost him, because she had been unwilling to do so... because it was true. It was really the only explanation that fit and Clint wasn’t sure what to do with that, not now, not when he was still confused and scared and shaken by what he had just gone through.

He actually welcomed the distraction when Steve sat down beside him.

“Stay here?” Clint scoffed, barely even recognizing that his whole body was trembling. Trauma, shock, or merely just adjusting, he didn’t know. “Probably just looking for extra hands to help rebuild what got demolished.”

He didn’t know how to feel about the X-Men right now; he didn’t blame them like everyone else seemed to, he was used to the shady way that SHIELD often did business, but that didn’t mean he wanted to move in here. “You don’t have to stay with me,” he said quietly, offering the closest facsimile to a smile as he could managed as he turned his head to look at Steve. He really did appreciate the offer. “I... I don’t even wanna stay here. I just wanna go home.” Be alone.

“Look, homme,” a voice suddenly said from his right and Clint started and turned to find Remy standing off to the side. “I know we prob’ly ain’t your favourite people right about now, but we all be t’rough dis, every one o’ us.”

“Yeah? You had your whole body tear itself apart and rebuild itself in the span of a few minutes?” Clint snarked.

“Non, but you know what I do,” Remy continued. For effect he held up a single playing card and gave it a slight charge. The card glowed fuchsia a moment before he pulled the charge back in, leaving it harmless once more. “Try havin’ t’ learn t’ control somet’in’ like dis all on your own. You t’ink dat was easy?” Clint closed his mouth, swallowing any reply he might have had. “We can help you, even got a few flyers can teach you t’ use dem t’ings.”

Frowning, Clint turned back to Steve. He said nothing, but his expression made it clear that he could use some advice right now, and there were few whose opinions he respected more than Captain America’s.

[russianchildatprayer]

"It's neutral ground, and that's for the best right now. Bruce agrees."

Steve didn't come right out with what he really tried to say, not in front of people whose business this definitely wasn't.

He just could hope that Clint would remember the way S.H.I.E.L.D. had treated Bruce after his mutation. And there had been a time, when people had wanted to do the same to Steve. Some things didn't change. In fact they had grown worse. He had been offered a choice to leave back then at least. There was no way he would let anyone try and make a lab rat out of one of his team members.

"Just for a few days, however long you feel like it. Get yourself checked out, get some rest and mostly... get used to this before you return to home base."

He shyly gestured along Clint's back, not all the way used to this sight yet.

"Your captain's right. This is something you should do for yourself, not around people who tend to ask too many questions."
Hank joined them, still on a much more respectful distance than before Natasha's little sweeping action before, and a great deal calmer too.
Maybe Remy's much more empathic way to handle to situation had reminded his scientific mind that they were not dealing with an experiment here, but with a living being.
"This all... is my fault, too. I worked on this serum. Maybe me, I should have asked one or two questions more. Let me at least help you get started. You will not have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"Thank you, doctor."
Steve forced a short smile on his lips. He still felt irritated, but he could identify the lightly crouched attitude, the hesitate tone in Hank's voice as really apologetic.
Things had happened. They would have to deal with it.
And all benefit of the doubt aside, there was no way he would leave one of his people unprotected here, not as long as Natasha was pretty much out cold.
"And yes. Me, I'm staying. Because you know, Clint... I know what this feels like. Also, it's not like someone's waiting for me."

[broken_arrow]

Clint nodded at Steve’s words as well as the implication behind them. What would SHIELD really do when they found out what had happened to him? What he was now? No matter how loyal Clint had been to them over the years he was pretty damn sure that he would be locked up and tested for days, if not weeks, until they knew exactly what had been done to him, and probably how to reproduce it.

Running a hand along the feathers, he found a loose one and plucked it out, holding it up to study it. He was still having a hard time accepting all of this, that this was what he was now, that these wings were part of him.

“Thanks,” Clint mumbled along with Steve’s words of appreciation to the doctor. The guy was trying at least, they both were. Whatever circumstances had brought them here at least these two, Hank and Remy, did appear to care and want to help. Then there was Steve, and Clint could have kicked himself for forgetting that the man hadn’t always been the powerhouse he was, though under the circumstances he supposed that forgetting was understandable. He wasn’t exactly thinking clearly about anything, after all. “Not really anyone waiting for most of us,” he said, carefully setting the feather on the table at his other side.

He wanted to ask for some painkillers but his pride didn’t let him, even though it was a perfectly reasonable request. “I just... is there somewhere I can get cleaned up? I... shit, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to clean these things.” Without really thinking about it he flexed them and they responded. It was a little surreal.

[russianchildatprayer]

Hank obviously had just waited for an implicit question like that.

"Feathers are constructed as water- and filth repellent. From my experience, a normal shower does perfectly. And afterwards, there should be... If I may...?"

This time at least, he politely raised a paw and waited for a proper confirmation before he stepped closer to his patient, very carefully parting the thick layers of feathers on Clint's lower neck to get a look at where they sprung from.

"Definitely a textbook base thread. Two thin bulges along the shoulder and spine area. A highly sensitive new muscle and nerve system, connecting to every feather's base. Try not to touch that until that tissue has aged a few hours.
Anyway..."
Catching Steve's raised eyebrow, Hank hurried to get to the point.
"...that means, when you're done washing up, you can just stretch out the the whole feathering and it falls back into place dryly."


"Fascinating, doc. Shower?"
Steve didn't mean to sound cranky but it had been a long day for him too. Washing up sounded great. Too much smoke on his skin, too much stale metallic taste in his mouth.


"Oh. Yeah. Over there.
If it's okay, Barton, I'd like you to stand in the x-ray booth on the way, for just ten seconds. Then I can tell you a big deal more when you get back.
Rogers..."

Hank's deep voice carrying a more encouraging than demanding tone by the minute, he stood back by Clint's side to be able to help him up, if he needed it.

"Careful, slow, and hold on to us please. Your balance will be off."



*********



"Hey, Natasha, do you think you could tense up just a little more? When you take a first deep breath then, you'll tear all your stitches and we'll have to start from scratch."
Bruce had not been in the best of moods to start with, and by now he sounded ready to get the other guy's help to do his job.


"Relaxing would be much easier if my doctor stopped being an asshat."

Natasha knew, she was being unfair but she had had it for today, definitely. After that debate with Clint that had not even been one, she felt like curling up in a ball and meditating for the rest of the day. Or hitting the next available wall. All but listening to a invincible creature telling her about battle damage.

She fucking knew, she wouldn't shoot with that arm for the next months, with the triceps basically neatly chopped in pieces. And not be sleeping on her back for a few weeks.
She had been through worse. There was still one hand left to eliminate potential threats and certain doctors overstepping their boundaries.
It amazed her how Bruce still seemed to think, she gave shit about her own condition after what had happened to her partner.

"Think you can just go on with it? I've got somewhere to be."


"You're not the only one who nearly lost a comrade."
Natasha could have sworn the guy used much more alcohol than he needed it, to prepare her flesh for an operation that should probably have done under a general blackout. Even morphine couldn't cover everything.


Well, there wouldn't be any kind of rest for her anytime soon. Not as long as she didn't know Clint in a somewhat stable condition.

The exhausted sadness in Bruce' words than his rough treatment, reminded her that she was not the only one worrying. For some silly, immature reason, that bothered her even more. It felt good being angry on everyone around her, because hating herself obviously didn't get her anywhere.

"If that scenario is so horrible for you, why does everyone looks at me like the incarnation of the devil for saving him?"

For some long minutes Bruce didn't say anything, so maybe she had hit the right spot. Ignoring that annoying hint of a bad conscience, she rested her forehead on her less damaged arm while Bruce worked on the ruins of the other one, and concentrated only on the quiet voices nearby, trying to make out what was going on there.


She couldn't, but what she could clearly make out was still a great deal of distress whenever Clint raised his voice. This was far from over.


"Save him, huh? Are you sure you did?"
Bruce took his poisoned little revenge for her outburst in just a few quiet, strained words, and they were all he needed to finally take her out.
He didn't try to comfort her, but he was discreet enough to close the door to the other room when she started crying, so only he could hear.

[broken_arrow]

Clint watched Henry closely for a moment before giving a slow nod. Even though he knew the touch was coming he still flinched when the doctor touched his feathers to inspect the newly formed wings. It just felt far too strange; how would he ever get used to something like this?

“A few hours. Got it,” he repeated almost mechanically. The idea of stretching out his wings was unsettling, like it would make it even more real somehow, so he didn’t comment further, just nodded again and let Steve to the talking for him. He was glad the Captain was here right now.

Without another word Clint did what was asked of him, letting the two other men help him more than usual and without any complaint. His balance, equilibrium... everything was off, and he couldn’t help but wonder how this would effect his aim but he tried to ignore the thoughts.

Managing to remove his boots before he got back to his feet, he stepped out of what remained of his uniform before he let the x-ray scan him, even attempting to spread his wings a little so McCoy could get a better picture. Then it was to the showers where he let the hot water wash over him, cleaning away the blood and dirt, but not the memories, not the fear nor the uncertainties. His chest felt heavy and it was hard to breathe but he closed his eyes and tried to focus just on that. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale...

***

When it was clear that he wouldn’t be needed anymore Remy made his way quietly back to the other room, pausing only a moment in the doorway when he heard Natasha crying before quickly closing the door behind him again.

“Je suis très désolé, I didn’t mean t’ interrupt,” he apologized sincerely. “Seems de ot’er two are gonna be stayin’ wit’ us for a few days. How ‘bout you two?”