Chapter One
Clint slouched deeper into Natasha's side and purposefully ignored the flakes of blood collecting between his fingers and at the creases of his elbows. The large set of bruises developing along his right side flashed hot as he recrossed his arms and the artificial light made his tired eyes ache.
Natasha shifted next to him on the narrow subway seat and adjusted the arm she'd casually thrown over his shoulder. The cut high on her cheek had finally scabbed over and her uniform was dirtier than his.
'Soon.' She signed halfheartedly, head tilted back and eyes closed.
He made a noise of affirmation, something between a sigh and a grunt, and closed his own eyes. After the day they'd had, Clint was certain he deserved at least twenty four hours of uninterrupted sleep. They all did.
Natasha carded her hand lazily through his hair.
"What is in your hair?" Her rough voice reflected the hours she'd spent stuck downwind of the huge fire. She sounded as if she'd been smoking two packs a day since turning twelve.
He adjusted one hearing aid; sound coming from the left seemed far away and muffled. Natasha seemed to be calling to him from the end of a steel tunnel.
"Blood, I think. Dirt? Debris? Ash?" He responded quietly with a look towards her. "What does it look like?"
She cracked open an eye and hesitantly leaned forward with a hiss. Her ribs were equally tender and her hair had long since fallen from its ponytail. Strands hung around her face like a bedraggled curtain. She was going to need conditioner, a fine toothed comb, and a lot of time.
Or, knowing Clint's luck, he was going to be spending a few hours hunched over Natasha, picking at tangles while she watched something mindless on television.
"It looks like you need a shower." She answered.
Clint chuckled and rubbed a filthy hand over his equally covered face. There was a pounding behind his right eye, a splitting headache just waiting to develop into a migraine.
"You and me both." The subway car stopped, doors automatically opening for an empty platform. "Did you tell Steve we're on our way?"
She nodded and shut her eyes again.
He flexed his toes and grimaced. Both of his boots had been damaged today, the soles chewed up and riddled with holes. His damp socks stuck to the bottom of his feet. Sewer water. Clint was going to have to soak his feet in bleach and burn the shoes. He had gone nose blind hours ago, and for that he felt lucky.
A high school kid entered the otherwise empty car just before the doors closed, his face turned down as he moved towards the nearest seat. Clint ignored him and turned his attention back to Natasha. Her dark lashes stood out in sharp relief against her skin as her breathing evened out. Asleep.
Clint was glad one of them could at least enjoy a few minutes of rest. Debriefing would take hours, never mind the fact checking, note comparing, and organizing of schedules for the next few days. He'd already been in the middle of a 36 hour day before the call came in. He was running on less than fumes.
'What's he doing here?' Natasha nudged at him and signed, eyes open and staring at the only other occupant of the car.
Clint blinked and found his molasses slow thoughts catching up. How long had he been blankly staring at the wall?
'Aren't you sleeping?' He automatically responded; his fingers felt like alien appendages.
Her mouth turned down slightly and Clint's shoulders automatically hunched.
'No.' The 'obviously' was more than implied.
Her gaze pierced him again. The lingering look stopped on his forehead and paused on his side. He could practically hear her thoughts.
"I'm not hiding injuries." Clint said in response to her unasked question. "Steve nearly had my head last time."
"We'll talk about this later." Natasha's pivoted her attention back to the high schooler and Clint relaxed as her eyes moved away from him.
The teen sat adjacent to them, oversized hoodie pulled up and arms loosely crossed. His head hung to the side, eyes closed and mouth slack on a pale face. Napping. There was red pen on the cuff of his hoodie and his jeans had massive holes in the knees.
"Maybe he was caught at a friends house during the-" Clint made a motion to encompass the entire shit-storm the last twelve hours had been.
She made a noise that might have been agreement or dismissal. Clint rubbed again at his forehead.
"How many people have you seen in the last hour? What about the hour before that? Or the six before that?"
None. It was early morning, large portions of New York had lost power, and a city wide emergency had been declared. The streets were a ghost town. Jarvis had overridden the entire subway system to get Clint and Natasha home.
"Hey, kid." He raised his voice slightly. The boy didn't stir. "Hey."
Clint spoke loud enough to break the quiet atmosphere. The teenager remained still and the subway car passed through a tunnel. Long shadows flickered across empty seats.
He shared a look with Natasha and she stood with a hiss.
"Hey, there." Her voice was even as she approached the teen. Clint could hear the hidden words behind her casual tone. Identify yourself. "Excuse me?"
Clint's mouth settled into a hard line at the teen's lack of reaction. He pushed himself to his feet and remained just behind Natasha and out of the teen's range. Clint reached for his bow, then changed directions and moved towards a large knife he carried. The small space would make maneuvering a bow too difficult.
She reached out to gently shake a shoulder and the boy's arm slide down onto the seat next to him. The entire section previously hidden by his arm was wet and red.
"Fuck." Clint stepped forward, wiping his grimy hands against his ruined pants as Natasha rotated the kid flat onto his back. The kid didn't respond. "What the actual fuck."
He leaned in close, waited to feel an exhale from the the teen's mouth, and tucked two fingers under the chin for a pulse. Natasha pulled at the bottom of the hoodie.
"He's breathing." The kid's pulse jumped and stuttered at break neck pace under his skin.
"Shrapnel." Natasha spoke with a grimace. "I think." She pulled her hand away and it looked as if she'd just come from finger painting. "Massive trauma."
Clint stared down at his ragged shirt before shrugging it off and tearing what was left into wide strips. Neither of them had anything remotely clean. Natasha took each as quickly as he made them, hands firm as she wrapped the messy torso.
He handed her the last one and moved his attention to the unnaturally pale hand hanging off the seat.
"I'm going to call Tony, see if he can meet us for an airlift." Natasha flicked the earpiece she still wore back on.
"I thought he was grounded." She raised an eyebrow at his words and he shrugged at the motion. Clint supposed she was right. There wasn't much of anything that could keep Tony 'grounded'.
He was used to this, working with Natasha was easier than getting to and from the grocery store. Clint hunched forward enough to pick up the teen as they came to another stop. His head swam and he shook it like a wet dog. "C'mon kid. Let's get you out of here."
Clint hefted the surprisingly light weight through the empty station. Next to him, Natasha spoke in clipped tones. He let her commanding voice wash over him and kept moving. Just had to keep the kid safe. Just had to take one more step.
"You're going to be fine." Clint murmured more to himself than to the unconscious bundle he carried. His bones felt fragile in Clint's grip, as if Clint's large clumsy hands were wrapped around a small bird.
"Tony is on his way." Natasha took the lead as they walked up and out onto unfamiliar streets.