Angst Alert
He doesn’t know how long he’s been stuck in this cell. More than a day, less than a week is about all he can guess.
He does know how long it’s been since Pietro stopped answering his questions. 2 hours, 13 minutes and 27 seconds. Those two hours have been the hardest to deal with.
Pietro had been put in the cell next to him, an unneeded reminder that the stupid kid wouldn’t even have been caught if it weren’t for him. Luckily there was a vent between the cells and Clint had wasted no time at all in letting him know just how stupid coming back for him was.
“It’s bad enough that you’ve died once for me already. You’re not a damn cat, Pietro. You don’t have nine lives.”
Pietro’s faint answer had been glib and soppy and perfect, startling a fond laugh out of him. “I don’t have nine Clint Barton’s either.”
They’d continued to banter through the vent. He hadn’t needed to ask if Pietro was hurt, he could hear that he was, Pietro’s voice growing wetter and more strained as the time passed.
Then silence.
He’d yelled himself hoarse in the past two hours, trying to get a response, trying to get someone’s attention. HYDRA had been feeding them, they obviously didn’t want them dead. Surely they wouldn’t let the kid die from his injuries?
But then, why deal with two hostages when one would do? It was a terrifying thought and it had brought Clint to his knees.
He still knelt, head leaning against the shared wall of their cells, thoughts full of regrets, of the things he’d never said.
“C-c-clint?"
The weak, pained voice is the most beautiful sound he’s ever said.
"I’m here! I’m here. Hold on, Pietro. You keep holding on. We’re gonna be fine.”
Clint thinks of himself as a man of his word, he really hopes he won’t be proven a liar. He was going to get Pietro out of here if it’s the last damn thing he ever did.