Use Somebody
"… you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?"-Loki
Thunder crashed through the sky and the clouds openly wept upon the city beneath them. The desolate gray of the concrete buildings blended into the dreary grayness of the night. The asphalt floor of the industrial district rippled as the steady drops of rain splashed into the thin layer of water that had settled over it. It was late spring but the storm had settled a deep chill in the air.
Clint stared up at the angry rain clouds through squinted eyes. The raindrops splashing on his face and the few meager drops that made their way past his parched lips into his dry mouth were heavenly. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, not that it would have taken long for his clothes to soak through the way they had. Here he was, a top assassin for SHIELD, lying in a puddle in a deserted alleyway somewhere in a city of little significance, dying for a mission that was fucked before it even started. A laugh escaped his lips. Irony had been a governing principal of Barton's life and thus the particulars of this moment, alone in an alleyway so far from home waiting for the release of sweet death, was not lost upon him.
The pain in his side had seemed to quiet some or maybe he just didn't notice it so much after it being there for so long. He knew he needed to get up, to get moving. If he kept laying there his pursuers would catch up and finish what they started. Clint weighed the effort of having to crawl to his feet again versus being shot in the gutter like a dog. If he was going to be honest with himself in that moment, he was leaning more towards the latter. It wouldn't be undeserved, just late in coming; fourteen years late, but finally someone would be able to do what a misguided man in a suit failed to do.
There was the other side of the coin as well. Dead men can't make amends and he had so much to make up for. There was also the team to consider; sure they would get along fine without him but being there to watch their backs just made him feel better. Making sure the heroes could save the world without having to worry, knowing that someone had their backs. That was what Barton's function was now. He gladly did it every time the Avengers were called out.
The archer clenched his fists and braced himself for the agony that was about to erupt in his side. His face contorted in pain and a sharp hiss escaped his lips as he made his final push to contract his stomach muscles and sit up. The cold water ran through his hair, down his face and negated some of the heat that was radiating from his wound.
Clint managed to get his shaky feet underneath him and continued staggering on his way. He had to make it to the extraction point; that was his singular goal. The team would be there, they would take him home. The thought became his mantra as he stumbled through the darkness.
"Extraction point … team … home." Clint mumbled the words over and over again until they became nothing more than an indiscernible jumble of poorly formed sounds. He stumbled into the wall and slid down to his knees. Ragged breaths escaped him as he tried to breathe through the agony.
A traitorous tear slipped through his lashes and curled down Barton's cheek. It was so far, the enemy was closing in and he was so, so tired. He'd been going at it alone for two days now and he was done. Blood loss and fever probably amplified that feeling. He leaned his head against the building and let his eyes slowly close. He wasn't prone to giving up in the face of such obstacles but everyone had their breaking point and Clint believed that he just might have found his.
"You have to keep moving Barton."
Clint cracked one eye open and scanned the area. There was nothing and no one, just the empty darkness that had gripped the city. The archer shook his head to clear the rain and the voices. He could add hallucinations to his list of ailments, though he would much rather be hearing someone else's voice in his head than that one.
"Get up Barton. You're not going to make the extraction point sitting on your ass."
Clint's head lulled to the side as he tried to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. His eyes eventually landed on a fuzzy figure standing a few feet beside him. He rubbed the water from his eyes bring into focus a soaking wet designer suit. "Sir?" Barton croaked.
Coulson squatted down so he was at eye level with his agent. Barton looked awful and in desperate need of salvation but he certainly couldn't sit there and bleed to death. The man needed help and Phil was the one handler that could do it. "Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Barton."
It was the most reassuring sight Clint had ever seen. Phil was there and everything was going to be alright now. Coulson always knew what to do, how to make things work out. Clint had long since lost count of the number of scrapes the man had saved him from. Something akin to hope fluttered in his chest. Coulson saved him from this once before; maybe he could do it again.
"It's Jäger. I was sent to take out Jäger, but my cover was blown and he knew I was coming. Now he's coming for me and I can't … I don't think I can out run him. I can't beat him, sir. I've tried, but…" the words tumbled out of Clint's mouth with a sob. He had to explain to Phil; had to explain that he tried but he just couldn't pull this off.
Coulson placed a reassuring hand on Barton's shoulder. "Shhhh. It's going to be okay. We'll get you out of here and away from Jäger. I promised you it wasn't going to end in the gutter with a bullet in your head. We just have to get you to your feet."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I think I've kept my word so far, Barton."
"You're dead sir. You can't keep that promise anymore."
"After all I had to go through to bring you in the first time? You think I'd let a little thing like death stop me?" Phil offered him his hand and it was so real and reassuring.