the weakest
Clint woke up with a massive headache. His hearing aids buzzed uncomfortably, amplifying the dull ringing in his ears. He blinked blearily, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but the dim lighting and his own disorientation made it difficult. He had no idea where he was—or why.
He took a slow, deep breath, forcing himself to think. The last thing he remembered, he had been at a convenience store, picking up popcorn for the Avengers’ movie night. Then there was that sketchy couple who wouldn’t leave him alone. Right. And then… an ambush. A blindfold. A gag. A moving truck.
And now, here he was. Kidnapped.
“Oh! The little birdie just woke up,” a voice sneered.
Clint turned his head—too fast. The world tilted violently, and a sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the source of the voice. A bald man smirked at him from across the room.
Great. Creepy and bald. Clint decided to call him Baldie.
Baldie strolled over to a nearby table, casually picking up Clint’s jacket. “I wanna thank you,” he said, inspecting it with a smirk. “I was gonna have to get this the hard way, but you made it easy for me.”
Clint’s stomach dropped. What did he mean by that?
Baldie pulled something from Clint’s pocket—his Avengers Tower ID.
Clint cursed under his breath.
“Now I can waltz right in without much trouble,” Baldie gloated.
Clint groaned. “Seriously? Why do you bad guys always have the same plan? The team is gonna stop you before you even get within five feet of the tower.”
Baldie’s smirk widened. “That’s where you’re wrong, Birdie. They won’t even see me coming… just like they didn’t notice you were gone.”
Clint froze.
Baldie’s grin turned cruel. “Oh, struck a nerve, did I?” He crouched in front of Clint, voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “You really think the Avengers are coming for you?”
Clint refused to answer, his throat tightening.
Baldie laughed. “Face it, Birdie. The Avengers have a literal god, a giant rage monster that can level buildings, a deadly assassin who can kill with a touch, and don’t get me started on Captain America and Iron Man. You? You’re the weakest Avenger.”
Clint’s breath caught in his chest.
He knew he wasn’t weak. He had to believe that. But the words stung because—because some part of him had thought them before.
“Sir, your ride is ready,” a new voice interrupted.
Baldie stood, rolling his shoulders. “Guess that’s my cue.” He glanced back at Clint, his smirk turning venomous. “I guess the Avengers really don’t care about you after all. If they did, they’d be here by now.”
Then—pain.
A sudden, brutal blow to Clint’s head sent his thoughts scattering. His hearing aids whined, distorting the sounds around him. His vision swam as he slumped forward, barely managing to stay conscious.
He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay awake. Focus, Barton. He forced his eyes open, scanning the room despite the throbbing in his skull.
There. A computer screen, displaying a security feed. Baldie was outside, climbing into a vehicle.
Clint swallowed hard. Maybe—maybe Baldie was right. Maybe they really had forgotten him.
His chest tightened, a sharp ache blooming alongside the pounding in his head. Why can’t I get his words out of my head?
Then—gunfire.
A flurry of shouts. Boots pounding against concrete. Loud bangs that rattled Clint’s already spinning brain. His hearing aids crackled, struggling to process the overwhelming noise.
Too much. Too loud. His head was going to explode.
Just as he felt himself slipping under, the door slammed open.
A scuffle. A grunt of pain—someone got punched, hard.
Then, a familiar voice, sharp with concern.
“Clint?”
His sluggish brain barely processed it, but—they came.
A choked breath of relief escaped him as he finally let the darkness pull him under.
The moment the door slammed open, Natasha was the first one inside.
Her gun was up, sweeping the room for threats, but her stomach lurched when she saw Clint—her Clint—slumped in a chair, unconscious, bound at the wrists and ankles. His head lolled forward, a dark bruise already forming along his temple.
She barely registered Steve barking orders behind her, barely noticed Tony’s repulsors glowing hot as he scanned the area. All she saw was her best friend, looking far too still, far too vulnerable, and she swore the air turned red.
Nat was on him in a second, kneeling down and pressing two fingers against his pulse point. The relief was immediate but did nothing to cool the rage curling in her chest. His pulse was steady but weak. He had been hit hard.
Behind her, Bucky and Sam cleared the rest of the room, making sure the scumbag responsible wasn’t lingering, while Bruce hovered near the door, hands clenched into shaking fists.
“He’s breathing,” she announced, voice clipped, barely keeping her fury in check.
“Good. Now move,” Tony said, stepping closer with a scanner. His face was uncharacteristically serious, the usual sarcasm gone. He ran a quick scan over Clint’s skull, his frown deepening.
“Concussion for sure,” Tony muttered. “Some bruised ribs. No fractures, but he’s gonna feel like absolute hell when he wakes up.”
That was all Natasha needed to hear.
She stood up and turned, eyes blazing, as she set her sights on the security feed showing their target—Clint’s kidnapper—Baldie, who was still outside, trying to escape in an unmarked van.
Natasha moved.
She strode toward the door, gun already raised, jaw set in lethal determination.
“Nat—Nat!” Steve grabbed her arm, stopping her just before she could storm outside. “We need him alive.”
“I don’t,” she snarled, yanking against his grip.
“Natasha.” Steve’s voice was firm, but she could hear the barely restrained anger underneath it. “We need him alive. Otherwise, we don’t find out if this was just a one-time thing or part of something bigger.”
“We already know enough,” she snapped. “He took Clint. Hurt him. He doesn’t get to walk away.”
“You think I don’t want to rip his head off?” Bucky growled from behind her. His metal hand flexed at his side. “But we do this the right way.”
“The right way takes too long,” she spat. “And he’s getting away.”
“I got it,” Tony cut in, voice cold. A second later, a repulsor blast shot from his gauntlet, hitting the van’s back tire and sending the vehicle skidding into a lamp post.
“There,” Tony said flatly. “Problem solved. You can shoot him in the knee, but Fury will be pissed if you kill him.”
Natasha’s finger twitched on the trigger.
Then she looked back at Clint—still unconscious, still too pale—and exhaled sharply.
“Fine,” she bit out. “But if he so much as breathes wrong, I’m putting two in his leg.”
“Atta girl,” Tony muttered.
Steve shot him a glare but didn’t argue.
Sam was already on comms, calling for extraction while Bucky and Bruce moved to untie Clint.
“C’mon, Barton,” Bucky muttered, slicing through the ropes with his knife. “Wake up and tell Nat not to commit treason.”
Clint didn’t stir.
Natasha crouched beside him again, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Come on, Barton. Open those damn eyes before I kill a man in your honor.”
Still nothing.
She glanced at his hearing aids, noting the way they buzzed slightly. Too much noise. That, plus the head trauma, was probably making things worse.
Carefully, she reached up, adjusting them to lower the volume.
“Clint,” she tried again, voice softer now. “We’re here. You’re safe.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, finally, finally, his eyelids fluttered.
A weak groan escaped him as he stirred, brow furrowing like he was in pain. “Too… loud,” he mumbled hoarsely.
Natasha huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you let yourself get kidnapped, dumbass.”
Clint blinked up at her, sluggish and dazed, but his mouth twitched faintly. “Didn’t… let anything.”
“Sure,” Bucky said dryly. “That’s why we had to come bust your ass out of here.”
Clint groaned again, clearly trying to get his bearings. His head lolled slightly before his unfocused gaze landed on Natasha.
“…Did you kill him?”
Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Not yet.”
Clint let out a small, pained chuckle. “Huh. Progress.”
Steve exhaled, finally letting some of his tension ease. “Let’s get him out of here.”
As they helped Clint to his feet, supporting his weight between them, Baldie was dragged from the wrecked van, kicking and cursing, straight into SHIELD custody.
Natasha still wasn’t sure how long she could keep from shooting him.
But right now, she had Clint, and that was all that mattered.