Light Up The Night

Steve watched with an edge of suspiciousness as the paramedics wheeled Pietro into a waiting ambulance – well, more of a van than an ambulance. Tony had sworn they were legitimate and trustworthy. Given that the alternative was to allow a kid to bleed to death in Shield or to place him in a dangerous situation by bringing him to the hospital, there weren’t exactly many options. Despite the small vehicle, there was apparently room for both Darcy and Wanda, and they climbed inside without hesitation. Steve made note of the license plate and any markings on the vehicle, regardless of the fact that he’d already cross-referenced everything with the information Stark had provided and it all checked out. He couldn’t help it though. He had to do something, now that the outcome of this situation was now out of his – and all of their – hands.

Steve took a deep breath as he locked the door and stepped back inside when he heard Clint curse, followed by Sam sharply saying Bucky’s name. Upon running back to the office, he found Clint struggling to lower Bucky to the floor, awkwardly pillowing Bucky’s head against his knees. Sam knelt beside the two of them and Steve felt his heart sink even further in his chest. Clint’s face was nearly white and he gritted his teeth. Sam’s fingers moved to Bucky’s right wrist to check his pulse and Steve realized that calm, steady Sam’s hands were shaking.

Even Sam’s voice sounded ragged and unsteady as he spoke. “C’mon, Buck. C’mon, you’re okay, you’re safe, just hold it together a little longer.” By the time he finished speaking, Steve wasn’t certain whether he was talking to Bucky or himself.

“Is he okay?” Steve asked.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at him. For an instant, his eyes were wide and panicked but then he swallowed hard and took several slow, deep breaths.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said, turning back to Bucky.

For an instant, Sam stiffened and his breath caught in his throat, his eyes unfocused. He rested his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder, almost as though he didn’t believe he was feeling the metal. When Sam’s eyes closed a moment later, Steve reached for his shoulder, afraid that he was about to go in the same direction as Bucky. But Sam’s eyes immediately fluttered open in response to Steve’s touch and he exhaled raggedly.

“His pulse is steady,” Sam said, his voice more clinical. “A little faster than I’d like but I don’t think he’s in any danger. If anything, I’m thinking he got severely triggered by everything that just happened and shut down.”

Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, flinching when he saw the blood streaking his own arms, as well as on Bucky’s skin, and on the ground surrounding them. His heart lurched painfully in his chest as the reality of the situation sunk in. Pietro had been shot and might be dying, Steve’s entire shop was now a crime scene, and Bucky wasn’t even conscious or responsive.

Not to mention that Sam’s eyes were glazed over, his gaze distant, and Clint stared blankly at the floor in front of him in a way that suggested he wasn’t seeing much of anything either. As far as Steve could gather, he was the only one remotely functional.

Still, he tried to address Clint to get some information on the events of this evening and, hell, to check in and see how the guy was doing because he looked like shit.

Steve started by saying his name, waiting to see if Clint would respond, and when he blinked and glanced up at him, Steve asked, “Are you okay?” Clint’s only response to that was to nod and Steve stifled the urge to sigh. “What happened? Where did you find him?”

“It’s a long story,” Clint said quietly. “I’m just glad I did.”

Steve couldn’t determine whether to follow up with another question, when just forcing out those words seemed to have drained the last of Clint’s energy, but a moment later that was the last thing on his mind.

The bell over the front door chimed. Someone had just entered the shop.

Steve jumped to his feet immediately, scanning the area for the nearest item that could be used as a weapon. All he could come up with was to the lid to the trashcan. It wasn’t much but it was something he could defend himself with, if nothing else. He doubted it would hold up against a bullet but it wasn’t as though he had a readily available flak jacket or anything like that.

“Steve?”

It wasn’t just hearing his name but the familiar voice that made Steve drop his guard as he stepped out into the lobby. Tony stood, just a short ways inside of the building, and then froze when he saw Steve standing there, his gaze shifting to the blood smeared on Steve’s clothes and skin. Before Steve could even say anything, Tony gestured for him to take a step back, and he somewhat reluctantly lowered the trashcan lid to the ground.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, what the fuck are you thinking? Don’t come out here looking like that. There’s no point in getting more blood all over this place.”

As always, Tony had a knack for making Steve bristle, although he found himself responding to the words and stepped back towards the hallway and the office where he’d left the others. He hated to admit it but there was some logic to Tony’s words. Still, that didn’t mean that Steve had to like Tony taking charge of this entire situation. Just because he’d helped them out, at least theoretically, by sending the paramedics to save Pietro didn’t mean he ran the show.

Dealing with Tony was the last thing Steve wanted to do at the moment. He just turned on his heel and went back into the office where the others were. If Tony chose to follow, that was his choice to make. Steve had more things to worry about. The scene hadn’t changed too much in the few moments he’d been gone. Clint remained kneeling on the floor, Bucky sprawled out against him, with Sam by their side but this time, this time Bucky’s eyes were open. Granted, he seemed to be as focused and functional as the others in the room, which was to say not at all, but it was a step in the right direction. Steve moved slowly, carefully and knelt down beside Bucky to reach for his hand.

“Hey, Buck,” he said softly. “It’s me. How’re you feeling?”

It took several repetitions of those sentences before Bucky blinked and his fingers tightened around Steve’s hand. It was only a few moments after that when Bucky murmured Steve’s name, letting him know that he was back, or at least as close as back as Steve could hope for. He felt guilty at pulling Bucky back, when there were triggers all around them and Bucky wasn’t particularly stable to begin with, but the fact that Bucky responded was also a relief. While Steve trusted Sam’s assessment of Bucky’s condition, he hadn’t known for certain what was going on and whether he needed to be more concerned about him.

The sound of Bucky’s voice also seemed to trigger something in Sam, who raised his head and surveyed the area around them. His eyes seemed more focused as he took everything in. Steve had the suspicion that he was gearing up to start giving orders when Tony just so happened to catch up with them or, at the least, no longer be rendered speechless by the site of all of the blood. Steve considered the fact that he’d found his voice again to be decidedly unfortunate, particularly with his first words.

“Alright. First things first, I need you all out of those clothes. Not in an inappropriate way, in a “we need to burn that shit” sort of way. I’ll grab some towels or something for you to stand on. Hopefully all of you can fit into Barnes’ clothes, since I’m sure he has some spares upstairs since he basically lives here, and Steve’s clothes aren’t going to fit anyone else. We’ll get you all cleaned up and then get you out of here while I take care of this mess.”

Stress bristled. “You can’t kick me out of my own place, Tony.”

“For starters, yes I can, this entire shop and the apartment above technically belong to me. You rent it, but I own it.”

Steve opened his mouth to retort but Tony kept on going.

“Secondly, right now this place is a crime scene. If the events of tonight need to be kept hush-hush, like you’ve indicated to me that they do, then I need to fix that. If whoever those assholes are out there – and, yes, I have my suspicions from what I know of Talbot. If they know that the kid ended up here tonight, you can bet that you’ll be having visitors and if this place hasn’t been taken care of, you’re going to have a lot of questions to answer, as am I.”

Steve wanted to find something in all of that to argue about, and was reasonably certain he could, but one glance at Bucky made him relent. Bucky’s face was pale and drawn and no one else in the room looked particularly better, which meant that as much as Steve wanted to argue with Tony, he had to admit this wasn’t the time for that.

“Alright,” he said. “Where are you sending us?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sending you after Pietro. You guys will meet up with Darcy and Wanda at the clinic he’s at and whatever you do at that point is up to you. If you want to go crash at Red’s townhouse, I won’t stand in your way. I can assure you that if you want to stay near the kid, there will be accommodations for you.”

“What type of place did you send him to?” Clint asked, giving the first sign that he’d actually been following the conversation.

“A nice discrete place where I have on retainer just in case I need medical care and I don’t want a public scandal as a result of it. Trust me, no one there will say anything to anyone. They’ll take care of him and they’ll make sure the rest of you are taken care of as well.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Sam questioned, pushing himself to his feet and only looking somewhat unsteady.

He offered a hand to Bucky, who reluctantly withdrew his hand from Steve and accepted Sam’s help to stumble to his feet. The fact that Bucky remained standing was a positive and Steve quickly scrambled up to help him as well. He was grateful that Tony disappeared for the moment; not having him there made him feel less on edge, and he took the moment to focus entirely on Bucky.

He kept his movements slow and steady, giving Bucky ample time to see what he was doing and respond accordingly. He gently brushed his fingers against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky didn’t flinch or lean into the touch, which was about on par with what Steve expected, and he did his best to remind himself that things could be worse. Bucky was standing. He was conscious. He wasn’t entirely unresponsive. All of those were positive steps compared to what could have been happening.

By the time Steve was certain Bucky was functional, Sam had already shrugged off his own shirt and was tugging off his pants. Clint was doing the same, although substantially more slowly. The moment Clint’s shirt came off, Steve saw the odd position of his right shoulder and the bruises on his chest and stomach.

Sam spoke first, as he quickly moved closer and rested a hand on Clint’s uninjured arm. “Holy shit, what the hell happened to you, Clint?”

“Nothing I’m ready to talk about yet,” Clint replied. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad, Clint,” Bucky said quietly, breaking his silence. “You need that shoulder to be fixed, if nothing else.”

“I can do that,” Sam offered.

Clint nodded. Steve stifled the urge to tell Sam to wait, that Clint needed to be evaluated by a doctor, because as far as he could gauge, there wasn’t the time for that. Sam knew how to handle medical concerns; hell, he’d been a medic, which meant he could handle popping a dislocated shoulder back in place.

“I’m gonna need you to focus on breathing, since the more you tense up, the more difficult this is going to be for me and painful for you,” Sam said, gently running his fingers over Clint’s shoulder to examine it.

Clint’s lips twisted in bitter amusement. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Sam, or the first dislocated shoulder I’ve had. I know how it goes. Just do it.”

Steve lowered his gaze under the guise of shrugging off his clothes in order to give them the closest thing to privacy he could manage under the conditions; he wasn’t exactly fond of having eyes on him when an injury was being tended to. It helped that he also needed to keep an eye on Bucky to make sure he remained steady on his feet as he shed his own shirt and jeans. Steve could still hear the soft, soothing cadence of Sam’s voice, followed by a sharp inhalation, almost a gasp that had barely been held back, and then Sam more clearly say, “You alright, Clint?” and when Clint gave some sort of affirmative gesture, “We really should get that arm looked at. You carried Pietro after being injured and caught Bucky when he fell. There could be further damage that we can’t see without scans.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Clint mumbled. “We’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just want to see how Pietro’s doing and make sure Darcy and Wanda are safe.”

“Which we can do the moment you guys go upstairs and get cleaned up,” Tony chimed in. “No one is getting in my limo with blood still on them. Hop in the shower, rinse off, get dressed, and then we’ll see about getting you guys out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, the slightest bit sarcastically, which he regretted almost immediately given the entire situation. “C’mon, Buck.”

He let Bucky lead the way upstairs, staying close behind him every step of the way with his hand gently resting on his lower back to guide him and ensure that he didn’t fall down the stairs. But Bucky remained steady, almost on autopilot, until the door opened to the apartment and Winter immediately moved forward. Then, his expression broke the slightest bit and he dropped to his knees, though in a much more controlled fashion than how he’d gone down earlier.

“Hey, Winter,” he murmured, and Steve didn’t make any attempt to dissuade him from sinking his fingers into the dog’s fur.

Instead, since he recognized that Bucky was being taken care of by his dog for the moment, he turned his attention onto Sam and Clint, who were slowly making their way up the stairs. Sam seemed more functional now than he had earlier, focused entirely on Clint and ensuring that he remained upright and kept moving. Clint, for his part, was moving more slowly and gingerly than he had been earlier.

Steve’s immediate response to the two of them reaching the top of the stairs was to offer, “I’m pretty sure I have some painkillers left over from when I broke my fingers. You want one, Clint?”

“I’m not saying no to free drugs,” Clint responded.

“They’re in the medicine cabinet. Help yourself to as many as you need.”

“Without overdoing it,” Sam added. “You know the healthy amount of drugs to take.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Clint agreed, as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Steve caught Sam’s hesitation when the bathroom door started to close and softly said, “You can join him, you know. Get cleaned up and everything too. Probably better if you do. We don’t need him passing out in there or something like that.”

Sam’s expression relaxed. “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.”

Bucky, who hadn’t seemed to be following the conversation at all, suddenly added, “And you’re welcome to any of the Xanax I have in there. Seems to me you could use it.”

Sam frowned and Steve half-expected him argue against that but instead he said, “Thanks, Buck. I’ll pop one or two and then bring them out to you.”

For the moment, Steve stayed near Bucky, watching him closely to see what was happening. Thankfully Bucky’s focus appeared to be entirely on Winter. As the seconds continued to tick by, a bit of the tension left Bucky’s shoulders and the look in his eyes cleared. While his gaze remained haunted and not quite all there, Bucky seemed less lost in the past and more in the here and now. Steve gave Bucky his space for the moment, to let Winter do his job.

That was around the time Steve realized his own hands were shaking and his heart was pounding into his throat. He’d thought he was perfectly calm – or at least as calm as one could be after something like this happened – but now, as the adrenaline faded, it became apparent that he wasn’t doing as well as he’d thought. Thankfully his thoughts didn’t have a chance to drift too far in that direction seeing as Sam stepped out of the bathroom, a bottle of pills in hand, and passed them off to Bucky, who murmured his thanks.

By the time Sam headed back into the bathroom and Bucky popped two pills and swallowed them dry, Steve could hear the sound of the water going in the shower. He carefully took a seat beside Bucky, making certain that neither one of them had blood anywhere that might end up on the floor or any furniture. He could see the exact moment when the Xanax took effect, as the rest of Bucky’s muscles unclenched and he visibly relaxed.

Steve didn’t say anything. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t really a point to speaking. It was pretty clear from Bucky’s body language that he wasn’t up for talking and it wasn’t as though Steve had the words to think of something to say anyway. Instead, he just sat there, lightly threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair, trying not to think about the blood swirling down the shower drain, or Tony standing amidst the mess downstairs, or the look in both Sam’s and Bucky’s eyes while they tried to save Pietro, or the condition that Clint was in, or the fact that he didn’t know if Pietro was alive or dead at this point.

He had no control over any of those things and from what he could gather, for the still unanswered questions, there would be an answer soon enough.

Steve just hoped it wouldn’t be bad news.

-~-

Despite the fact that the majority of the people present were in some state of altered consciousness, the tension in the room was palpable.

Bucky lay, stretched out on a couch on the other side of the room, his head pillowed in Steve’s lap, Winter lying by his side. Natasha had checked on him briefly when she’d arrived, just enough to be glad that he was drugged for the time being. The look in his eyes was far from comforting and he’d barely been speaking, although she hoped that might have had more to do with the drugs in his system. At some point, in-between all of the restless waiting, Steve had managed to coax him into lying down. Somewhere in the midst of that, he’d fallen into the closest thing to sleep that anyone could manage in this type of environment, given the circumstances.

Still, she was glad that he had Steve because she did not have it in her to be taking care of Bucky in addition to Sam and Clint. When Sam had called her to tell her the details as to what had happened and where to meet them, she’d managed to pry out enough details to gather that no one was okay and Clint had been injured. Upon entering the waiting room – though room was a bit of a misnomer, this was more of a private suite, like the small rooms that waiting rooms kept to either keep potentially contagious patients away from others or to give waiting, worried families somewhere quiet to wait for what might be bad news – she’d found everyone sitting in chairs, shoulders hunched, eyes locked on the floor.

Upon discovering that Steve had Bucky well in hand, she’d turned her full attention onto Clint and Sam. Clint’s eyes were glassy, a fairly visible sign of someone who was drugged trying not to look as out of it as they felt, but he insisted that he was fine each and every time she asked – and in the process, repeated himself more often than any sober person ever would have. Not that she minded. Judging by what Sam had told her, he’d needed the medication to remain functional, especially since he didn’t seem willing to consider having a doctor medically evaluate him at this point.

If she didn’t know Sam as well as she did – and perhaps if she hadn’t spent as much time with Bucky – she wouldn’t have been able to tell how off he was. It wasn’t just the shakiness in his hands or voice, since that seemed to apply to everyone in the room at this point. But it was other things that she picked up. His constant scanning of the room, his inability to stay still even once everyone else had settled down and was resting in some capacity, and his overall restlessness. None of this was common for him. He always exuded a zen-like quality that was now completely absent.

But when she gently questioned it, he shut her down, and after the third time, she just focused the majority of her attention on Clint. The drugs were enough to keep him from being overly skittish around her, though they’d barely spoken since the arrival of his brother. For the time being there was no reason to not let bygones be bygones. He’d been punished enough for that mistake. While she still had no idea exactly what had happened tonight, save for being aware that Clint had found Pietro and at some point had been injured, she could tell that he wasn’t coping well.

It had taken awhile but she’d finally convinced him to get some rest himself, particularly given that they had no idea when further news would come out regarding Pietro’s condition. All they knew for the moment was that he was still alive and in surgery. Natasha spent her time stroking Clint’s hair and lightly running her fingers along the back of his neck until he gave in and stopped fighting unconsciousness. For the time being, he wasn’t talking and she wasn’t pushing him, particularly not with the others around. She’d ask once they were back at the townhouse, when it was just the two of them and Sam, and when he was in a better place physically and emotionally. For now, she was grateful that he was resting, despite the occasional restlessness, either due to pain and discomfort, or simply the situation as a whole.

Wanda sat off to the side, knees hugged to her chest, rocking back and forth slightly. Just as she’d done with the others, Natasha had done what she could to check on her, but after Wanda’s response of, “Not now” Natasha hadn’t pressed any further. Darcy, who sat beside Wanda, close enough to touch but not actually touching, had offered a quick, “I’m fine” when Natasha turned her attention to her, and Natasha had seen no reason to push either one to say more at this time.

She hadn’t spoken much to Steve, but while he seemed to be holding it together more than the others, there were definitely cracks. In some ways, she supposed, that placed them in a similar position. From what she knew of Steve, he wasn’t about to show his emotions anymore than she would in these circumstances. Especially not with Bucky already struggling, though it did mildly surprise her that he was keeping the mask up despite the fact that Bucky slept quietly.

Sam hadn’t been able to sit still for more than a few moments since her arrival, alternating between pacing and stepping outside – he said to get some air – and even the few times he did sit, she saw his eyes darting in every direction, taking in all the details, looking for potential threats, as his body all but vibrated with nervous energy. She didn’t force him to stay put but would rest a hand on his shoulder or lightly rub the back of his neck whenever he sat close enough for her to reach him, just to remind him that she was there.

Finally, after all of the movement, Sam slumped onto the couch beside her, and she hoped against hope that it would be for more than a minute or two this time. She could see the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, in the deep lines in his forehead, and the look of defeat in his eyes. A few moments before he’d stopped this time, he’d paused long enough to check on how Bucky was doing.

Now, as he took his seat beside her, he turned his attention to Clint and asked, “How is he? Is his breathing normal? Does his skin feel right – not hot or clammy?” and so on and so forth, just like he’d asked Steve about Bucky.

She answered as simply as she could. “He’s asleep and he has been for at least 15 minutes. His breathing was a little fast while he was awake, now it’s slowed down and it’s pretty even. His skin temperature is fine, as far as I can tell.” Before Sam could follow up with another question, she asked, “What about you?”

She was relieved to see him take a moment to consider the question without responding automatically.

“I’m not okay,” he admitted, after a long moment where he visibly struggled to find the words. “What happened definitely brought a lot of stuff up for me. Stuff I thought I’d mostly processed and gotten over but obviously haven’t, not entirely.”

“Sam, anyone going through the type of situation you did tonight would be struggling. For you, having already been through similar situations, it’s no wonder that you’re having a difficult time. It’s not a matter of taking a step back.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, in a way that did not suggest to her that he was hearing anything she said. “Anyways, for the time being, I can handle it. Probably won’t be sleeping any time soon. I’m more concerned right now with Bucky, Clint, and Pietro.” He lowered his voice before adding, “I hope that the kid is still alive.”

Though he spoke quietly, Wanda jerked her head up and stared at Sam for a long moment before snapping, “He’s not dead. I’d know if he was dead.”

Then she quietly repeated, “I’d know” and Darcy wrapped her arm around Wanda’s shoulders.

Sam replied with a gentle, “I’m sorry, Wanda.”

Clint stirred in response to Wanda’s voice. Natasha all but held her breath, hoping he’d settle and fall right back to sleep, but a moment later his eyes blinked open and he blearily looked up at her.

“Go back to sleep,” she murmured, smoothing back his hair.

Clint’s expression shifted to a sleepy, confused frown. “Pietro…?”

“No word yet,” Sam added. “Just get some rest, Clint. We’ll wake you up when we hear something.”

He gently ran a hand over Clint’s shoulder and Natasha both felt and saw Clint flinch the slightest bit.

“Sorry,” Sam said gently. “I was just checking on how it was doing.”

“It’s okay,” Clint said groggily. “Do what you need to do, man.”

Clint’s jaw tightened as Sam slowly examined his shoulder, and Natasha wasn’t the only one to catch that. The examination only lasted for a few moments before Sam withdrew his hand.

“You need another pill?” Sam asked

“Nah,” Clint said dismissively. “It’s not that bad. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m not asking if you can handle it. I’m asking if you’re in pain.”

Clint’s expression suggested he would continue to be argumentative but he didn’t have the chance to, since there was a knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Before the doctor stepped inside, an actual doctor this time rather than the nurse who’d brought the previous several updates, Wanda was already on her feet and halfway to the door, Darcy a stride or two behind. Clint scrambled his way into a sitting position, barely even grimacing as he moved, his gaze fixed on the doorway. Across the room, Bucky startled awake. Natasha watched him, noticing how Steve calmly and gently helped Bucky to focus, reminded him of where he was and what had happened, and kept him steady. Then she focused her full attention on the doctor’s face as she stepped into the room, noting every signal or sign as to what the message might be. She felt herself relax as she got a read on the woman’s emotional state and hoped against hope that her instincts were correct.

“He made it through surgery.”

Natasha knew there was more coming but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else for the time being. Wanda rocked back on her heels and all but gasped in relief. Darcy seemed torn between reaching out to Wanda, trying to steady her, and still caught in the midst of processing that news herself. Sam murmured, “Oh, thank God” and Clint echoed that sentiment.

Natasha exhaled slowly; one immediate emergency down and plenty more repercussions to follow.

-~-

Everything was too white and sterile. The beeping of the machines set Wanda’s nerves on edge. It wasn’t that she’d never sat at her brother’s bedside while he recovered; she’d done that way too many times while growing up, but never in an actual medical setting, never in a place like this and never when she’d come this close to losing him. She’d never seen him that close to the edge, bleeding out and frantic, and she could still feel the twist in her heart during those moments she’d been convinced she might lose him. Regardless of what she’d said to the others, there had been a part of her that was afraid he was gone and that she hadn’t known. It wasn’t until she actually saw him – even the doctor’s words weren’t enough to provide full reassurance – that the pain in her chest decreased to a manageable level.

The doctor had informed her that the surgery was successful but that her brother wouldn’t be going anywhere until his injuries had healed and there were no signs of infection. She’d also been informed that his injuries were more extensive than the gunshot wound, some of which had included trauma to his ribs and other internal injuries that made the surgery more difficult, in addition to assorted bruises and cuts all over his face, culminating in a broken cheekbone.

While this was the last place she wanted to be, she understood that it was more important for her brother to recover properly, rather than bringing him somewhere that didn’t set her nerves on edge but couldn’t provide the necessary medical care. That said, despite how kind the staff had been here and the brief assurances she’d been given by Tony through the others, she also wasn’t about to go anywhere and leave her brother completely alone. While the others seemed to trust that this place wasn’t dangerous, she feared that if she were to leave her brother vulnerable, he could potentially be handed right over to Talbot.

For the time being, he slept quietly, though he had been awake – at least briefly – when she’d first come in. Enough to register her presence and murmur her name, as well as Darcy’s, though the words came out in a pained rasp, and she’d quickly told him not to speak. He’d fallen asleep shortly after she came in and she’d been more panicked than it probably warranted, which was when the doctor had explained that it was unsurprising and normal, due to the amount of anesthesia still in his system, the meds he was on, and the overall trauma and blood loss he’d experienced.

The others had allowed her and Darcy their privacy and Wanda was grateful for that. There was a part of her that would have preferred to be entirely alone with her brother, but Darcy had a right to be there too. While Darcy and Pietro had only known each other a short time, the two of them were dating, and it was understandable after everything she’d seen and everything that had happened that she wouldn’t want to leave him alone either.

Besides, if she went to the logical side of things, it was probably a good thing that Darcy was there, too. While she and Pietro might be wanted and hunted, Darcy wasn’t, and while anyone horrible enough to work for her father and be willing to shoot her brother probably wouldn’t care about something like that and might even harm Darcy if necessary, somehow it made Wanda feel a little better, a little safer.

Instead of dwelling on that, she focused on the sensation of her brother’s hand in her own, of the warmth of his skin, of each slow, even breath he took in. All the signs that he was still alive and the two of them hadn’t been separated.

Wanda didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t made it through the surgery, if she’d been left alone. The idea of following him definitely would have been there because she didn’t want to be on her own. Eventually, of course. Not right away.

Not until she’d ripped apart every person who had a hand in her brother’s death.

No, not his death. She had to keep reminding herself of that. He wasn't dead. He wasn't going to be dead.

And there was no point in letting her thoughts turn in that direction. For the time being, Pietro was safe. If the doctor was right – and she’d better be right – he would heal. He would survive, just as he always had, as they always had.

And before he healed and was back out on the street and in danger, she would need to prepare and plan if she had any hope of preventing this from happening again. Perhaps the others would not want them to return to their life of wandering the streets and helping out at Shield and they would be told, once again, that they had lost their freedom. At this time, she did not know how to feel about that prospect. Everything in her said that it would be safer to hide, to stay in the townhouse, to not tempt fate. But underneath that fear, there was anger. She was reasonably certain that when the shock lifted, the anger would be more powerful than the fear. She and her brother hadn’t carved out this new life just to have it ripped away from them by the same man who’d created the situation to begin with.

Regardless of whether they retreated or refused to accept those limitations on their freedom once again, she knew there were steps to be taken and probably to be taken now before she lost her nerve. While her brother recovered, there were things she could do to ensure that the two of them were not unprepared the next time. There were things she could do to make sure that she could protect him. She had no doubt that he wouldn’t agree with her choice, which meant that acting now while he slept, while he healed, was the best choice she could make.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t hear her, squeezing her brother’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Then, to Darcy, she asked, “You willing to stay with him?”

“Of course,” Darcy assured her. “I’m not going anywhere. You okay?”

Wanda shook her head. “Okay definitely isn’t the word. But don’t worry. I’m just going to talk to Clint.”

Still, she paused when she reached the doorway, glancing back at where her brother lay in the bed. Darcy held his hand – the one Wanda hadn’t been attached to from the moment she came back – and spoke softly to him, her voice low enough that Wanda couldn’t catch what she was saying. That in and of itself was a shock, given how vocal Darcy typically was at all times. The jealousy that sometimes flared up when Wanda saw the two of them together was now nonexistent. If anything, she was grateful to know that her brother wouldn’t be alone while she tracked down Clint.

She didn’t know quite what changed when she stepped out the room but suddenly her breath caught in her chest and she stumbled back against the wall, trying to convince her lungs to work. It was so stupid to react this way now. Pietro had made it through the hardest part already. That was all that mattered. She shouldn’t be panicking.

But that wasn’t all of it. She knew that this was just the beginning. The warning that all of them had been waiting for. She still didn’t know exactly what had happened with Pietro this evening but she had enough information to know that the people Talbot had sent after them were closing in.

The idea of being taken back to him scared her more than the thought of dying. Being back with Talbot would be a fate worse than death.

Several deep breaths later and Wanda felt steady enough to carefully compose her expression and step out into the waiting room, where she found Natasha sitting beside Bucky and Steve, her mouth pressed into a tight line and something haunted and dark in her eyes. Clint and Sam sat near the door and both immediately glanced up when she came in. Apparently her attempts to look more composed weren’t enough, given that they both looked alarmed and Clint’s face paled.

“Is he…?” he asked uncertainly, unable to finish the sentence.

“No,” she said quickly. “He’s… he’s as fine as he’s going to be. That’s not what this is about.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I want you to teach me how to shoot.”

Both Sam and Clint looked taken aback but her resolution remained the same. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Wanda, now probably isn’t the time to be thinking about this…” Sam cautioned, and she immediately cut him off.

“Now is exactly the time to be thinking about this. I know you know how to fire a gun. You were in the military. You could teach me. I’m pretty sure Clint could too. Hell, I’m sure Bucky could but he’d be the last person I’d ask since I don’t know if it would be good for him to do that.”

“Wanda,” Clint started, then stopped himself and took a moment before beginning again. “This isn’t a good idea. You don’t want to be in that position.”

“You really don’t,” Sam added. “It’s not like the movies, Wanda. This is real. This is taking a life and it weighs on you.”

“I never said I wanted to kill anyone,” she said firmly. “I will if I have to and I will if I ever find the person responsible for shooting my brother. What I want is to be able to protect us. What I want is to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

The two of them exchanged a look and she could see their resolve slipping.

“Please,” she said softly. “I’m only asking to learn. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sam exhaled slowly. “I’m not going to agree now. But I’ll consider it after I’ve gotten some sleep.”

Clint nodded his agreement and Wanda tried to curb her frustration. If this was the best they could offer, then it was what she would take.

Besides, if she had to, she would find someone else to teach her.

-~-

“Are you feeling up to talking now?”

The question registered, at least faintly, but Clint’s primary focus was on the fact that he was back in the townhouse for the first time since he’d found out Pietro was missing. Everything felt weird, which might have been the meds leaving his system, the general exhaustion, or the entire situation. There was a surreal quality to be sitting here now, when Pietro was still at the hospital with Wanda and Darcy. The townhouse crew offered to stay with them but in the end, the decision had been made for the three of them to return home. Natasha called Tony specifically to ensure that the twins and Darcy would be safe and whatever he said had convinced her, since she’d agreed to head home with Clint and Sam.

Now, settled on the couch with Natasha on one side and Sam on the other, Clint felt somewhat safe and calm for the first time in hours. He couldn’t entirely understand why the two of them kept flanking him like that, as though he was the one who needed support when they’d all been through hell, but for the moment he wasn’t complaining. Walking was almost possible and at this point sitting up wasn’t going much better. It was a lot easier to lean into Sam and watch Natasha knock back a glass of vodka. Being the only un-medicated person, she was the only one to have the luxury of drinking.

He tried to focus back in one the question. Natasha’s voice was gentle but Clint had no idea what to do with a loaded question like that. Was he feeling up for it? Would he ever be feeling up for it? Would a refusal to answer be acceptable? Would it be acceptable but make him feel too guilty? That was the point where Clint tried to shut his mind off. He was way too tired to be thinking like this. At the last glance he’d caught, back when they stumbled through the front door of the townhouse, the clock read 4:30, maybe 5:30, he couldn’t honestly remember at this time. His body ached with every breath and drained wasn’t even the word to describe how he felt. It was more like his energy bar was completely empty.

He could always say no. He could say not now, that he needed to rest first. He could do all of that but the one silver lining in the midst of this entire fucking disaster was Natasha talking to him again and no longer giving him the silent treatment he’d been getting since Barney made his unexpected-but-semi-expected appearance. The last thing he wanted to do now was disappoint Natasha.

“You don’t have to,” Natasha said, stroking his hair.

He realized he’d been silent for way too long and her words sealed his decision.

“I can’t say much,” he hedged. “I went to get some intel. It didn’t go well, which I guess you figured out already, although it definitely went better than it should’ve gone. It’s not every day you walk right into a place where people want to kill you. Aside from beating the crap out of me, they were willing to listen. They were pretty curious as to why I cared about the twins and why I’d come back seeing as they sent a guy with a gun after me the last time. So I mixed truth and lie and said that I knew all about Talbot’s reward for the twins. Said I was hoping to re-ingratiate myself by bringing the kids to them so they could bring them to Talbot and get the reward. Said I might have had some leads and I’d almost been close enough to catch up with the twins earlier but I lost track of one of ‘em. Asked if they had any idea where he might’ve gone.”

Natasha stared at him with undisguised horror, a rarity from her. “So, you’re telling me that you walked right into the grasp of the people who want to kill you and then lied to their faces?”

“Yeah. I realized it was extra stupid after the fact because of how visible my presence is with the twins. It sounds like they’d never gotten close enough to them before to see me with the two of them, thankfully. Guess I’ll just have to be more careful in the future when I’m out with them. If I’m out with them.”

“I don’t exactly foresee them being back out at Shield any time soon,” Sam pointed out. “What happened tonight changes everything.”

Natasha nodded her agreement. “Did they already have Pietro? I’m guessing not or else you’d be dead. I still can’t believe you put yourself in that kind of danger, Clint.”

“I didn’t see another choice,” he mumbled. “They didn’t have him. They just said that they’d heard that the Irish might have gotten lucky and that they might consider not killing me if I tracked him down and got him back for them to give to Talbot.”

“And since you failed to deliver, that target is right back on you,” Natasha said.

“Most likely yeah,” he acknowledged. “But the info was worth it. It helped me track him down. The kid’s resourceful, I’ve got to give him that. I don’t know what happened, we didn’t really have the chance to chat. But he’d gotten away from the Irish somehow. I found him a few blocks away, bleeding out and all, carried him back to the shop, and you know everything from that point onward.”

He stopped there. It was hard enough to think about the relief followed by raw, coursing terror that went through him when he found Pietro, thinking for a moment that he’d acted quickly enough and everything was okay, and then realizing how wrong he’d been. There’d been a few moments where he wasn’t certain his shoulder would be able to handle the kid’s weight and an even briefer moment when he wondered if he might be destroying his shoulder permanently if he did this. Then he decided that he didn’t care and just focused on getting Pietro to Shield because he didn’t know what else to do.

He startled when Natasha’s hand closed around his own and followed that up by murmuring a few words of comfort. His body relaxed the somewhat in response to the contact, and the last of the tension leave his body as Sam’s arm gently wrapped around his waist.

“It’s late,” Natasha murmured, her lips brushing against his throat as she spoke. “Let’s get everyone properly medicated and to bed. How does that sound?”

Sam immediately tensed up beside him. “Yeah, about that, I should probably get back to my place.”

“What are you talking about?” Clint blurted out. “It’s almost dawn, you’re exhausted, and there’s already been one shooting tonight. Just stay here with us.”

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Sam said, shifting his weight away from Clint although he didn’t entirely pull away. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay here. Not after what happened tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Clint asked, glancing at Natasha who seemed to be getting this situation more than he was, given the look of dawning comprehension.

“Sam,” Natasha said gently. “Look, I get it. You must have been triggered pretty badly by what you saw. I’ve seen James after he’s been triggered. You’re worried about what’s going to happen when you sleep.”

“If I sleep,” Sam quietly said. “But, yeah, you’re right. I know you guys haven’t really seen me like that before. I can get bad. Like, really, really bad. Nightmares doesn’t even cover it. I can get agitated and even violent. I don’t want to hurt either one of you. I mean, hell, Clint’s already all banged up.”

With that, he tried to pull away fully. Clint moved as quickly as he could to catch his arm before he stood up.

“Sam,” he said softly. “Please stay. We can handle it. We want to handle it. You should be here with us. Let us take care of you. I’m not worried about you hurting me.”

“I’m not either,” Natasha added, slowly and carefully shifting closer and reaching out to brush her fingers along Sam’s shoulder. “If you recall, I dealt with James and his nightmares for months. I shared his bed during that time. He woke up swinging more than once. I know what to do. Clint’s right. You shouldn’t be alone tonight, Sam. We want to take care of you.”

Sam’s resolve crumbled. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Natasha said, lightly squeezing Sam’s shoulder before pulling back. “In that case, how about the two of you get dressed – or undressed, as the case may be – and I’ll see about getting some painkillers for you, Clint, and some benzos for you, Sam.”

“Just make sure you’re not up all night yourself, Nat,” Clint pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean all day, don’t you? It’s pretty much dawn.” Then she kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“We can take care of you too,” Sam said softly. “Just like you take care of us.”

With that, he rose to his feet and offered Clint his hand. Clint accepted automatically, grateful for Sam’s presence when he felt himself stumble and almost fall, and didn’t argue when Sam kept an arm around him as he led the way up the stairs. Clint’s body protested each and every step and he did his best to ignore it. The pain wasn’t going away and if he was standing, that meant he was able to function. At least well enough to make it up the stairs and to bed.

He didn’t have enough energy to get dressed or to protest when Sam helped him out of Bucky’s clothes that hung on him all wrong and into the pajamas he’d left on the floor that previous morning. He tried to return the favor to Sam but he must have grimaced at some point because Sam told him just to settle down on the bed and rest. It was possible that he might have drifted off, at least briefly, because he jerked back to the present by Natasha, who had two Vicodin pills waiting for him. After taking them, he found himself drifting once more.

Somehow, Clint was aware enough to shift off to the side, despite Sam’s protests, and he caught himself insisting that Sam should sleep in the middle. His words sounded like they were coming from far away but they were his and they were enough, given that after a few moments of protest Sam settled down in the center of the bed. The tangle of limbs was warm and comforting and maybe it was that, maybe it was the drugs, but he found himself already losing touch with the present once again.

In the back of his mind it occurred to Clint that there were pieces he hadn’t shared with Natasha or Sam, things he’d probably pay for at a later date, but that was something to worry about then and not now.