Need
That night Tony had spent the night with Clint in his room. Tomorrow there was yet another mission, the two decided they wanted to be together to get ready for the mission, Tony thought that was the last mission he would truly have to worry about. The last mission he’d see Clint in fear for his life. But of course, the mission had gone sideways in a way no one had predicted.
What was supposed to be yet another “simple” extraction—an “in-and-out“ operation to secure some intel—had turned into an all-out firefight. More HYDRA agents had appeared out of nowhere, swarming their position with reinforcements and advanced weaponry. The Avengers, used to chaos, adjusted as best they could, but it was clear from the start that this was no ordinary skirmish.
Clint had been on comms with Tony, perched high in the rafters of the old HYDRA facility, calling out enemy positions and providing cover fire with his bow. “You’ve got two on your left, Cap,” Clint’s voice crackled over the comms, followed by the distinctive twang of a released arrow. “And—wait, Stark, one’s got a lock on you from the south hallway.”
“I’ve got it,” Tony responded, his voice calm despite the chaos. His repulsors lit up the dark corridor as he took down the agent with a precision blast. “Keep your eyes peeled, Barton. I don’t want to have to scrape you off the floor.”
“Aw, you care,” Clint replied, his voice laced with teasing. “Touching, really.”
Tony didn’t have time to retort before the situation escalated. A group of HYDRA agents had activated some kind of experimental weapon—something big, glowing, and clearly unstable. Natasha shouted something about an energy surge as Steve gave the order to retreat, but Clint didn’t budge from his vantage point. He was focused on taking out the agents trying to fire the weapon, his arrows flying with deadly precision.
“Barton, get out of there!” Tony’s voice came sharp over the comms, almost frantic. “The energy readings on that thing are off the charts. You’re too close.”
“I’m fine,” Clint replied, his voice steady despite the chaos below. “Just a few more shots, and we’ll—”
The explosion was deafening.
The weapon detonated in a blinding flash of light, sending shockwaves through the facility. Tony’s HUD lit up with warnings as debris rained down around him, and for one horrifying moment, all he could hear was static on the comms.
“Clint?” Tony’s voice was strained, almost desperate. “Clint, respond. Where are you?”
Nothing.
Tony’s chest tightened as he flew through the rubble, scanning the wreckage for any sign of Clint. “JARVIS, , scan for life signs,” Tony commanded, his voice trembling. “Find him.”
“Scanning,” JARVIS responded, his tone calm despite the chaos. “There is one faint signature approximately fifty meters west of your position. It appears to be Agent Barton.”
Tony’s breath hitched, relief and dread warring in his chest. “Hang on, Clint,” he muttered, pushing his thrusters to full power as he flew toward the coordinates.
When he found Clint, his stomach dropped. Clint was pinned beneath a massive piece of steel, his body limp and covered in dirt and blood. His bow was shattered, lying a few feet away, and his face was pale, his breaths shallow and labored.
“Clint,” Tony whispered, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside him. He pushed at the debris with shaking hands, his suit groaning under the strain as he lifted the steel beam off Clint’s body and tossed it aside.
Clint groaned weakly, his eyelids fluttering. “T-Tony…?” His voice was barely audible, but it was enough to make Tony’s chest tighten with both relief and fear.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Tony said, his voice shaky as he carefully checked Clint for injuries. His hands hovered over Clint’s chest, where blood was seeping through his shirt. “You’re okay, Barton. I’ve got you.”
“D-didn’t—didn’t think you… worried this much,” Clint rasped, his lips twitching into a faint, pained smile.
Tony let out a choked laugh, his hands trembling as he worked to stabilize Clint. “You’re an idiot, you know that? A reckless, stubborn idiot. And if you ever pull something like this again, I swear—”
“T-Tony,” Clint interrupted, his voice soft but insistent. “I’m… fine. Just… tired.”
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” Tony snapped, his voice rising in panic. “You hear me? Stay with me, Barton. You don’t get to check out on me.”
Clint’s eyes opened slightly, the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Bossy.”
Tony’s chest tightened as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “I can’t lose you, okay? Not now. Not ever. So stay with me, Clint. Please.”
Clint’s expression softened, his lips curving into a weak smile. “Okay,” he murmured. “Not… going anywhere.”
Tony’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Clint’s voice, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. “JARVIS, get the Quinjet here now,” he barked, his voice sharp with urgency. “Tell the others to clear a path. We’re leaving.”
-
The ride back to the tower was a blur of controlled chaos. Bruce and Natasha worked to stabilize Clint as Tony hovered nearby, his hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking. He couldn’t stop replaying the image of Clint pinned beneath the debris, couldn’t shake the sound of his weak, rasping breaths.
When they finally made it back, Clint was rushed to the med bay. Tony followed, pacing the room like a caged animal as Bruce and Helen Cho worked to patch Clint up. He was vaguely aware of Natasha’s hand on his shoulder, her voice calm but firm as she told him to breathe, but it felt like he couldn’t. His chest was tight, his thoughts racing.
Hours passed before Bruce finally approached him, his expression tired but reassuring. “He’s going to be okay,” Bruce said, his voice gentle. “He’s stable, but he’ll need rest. You can see him if you want.”
Tony didn’t hesitate. He pushed past Bruce and into the med bay, his heart pounding as he approached Clint’s bedside. Clint looked pale and fragile, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath the thin blanket. His eyes were closed, but Tony could tell he was still awake by the faint twitch of his fingers.
“Hey,” Tony said softly, pulling a chair up beside the bed. He sat down heavily, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as he leaned forward. “You scared the hell out of me, Barton.”
Clint’s eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head slightly to look at Tony. “Guess I… owe you one, huh?” he rasped, his voice weak but tinged with humor.
Tony shook his head, his throat tight. “You don’t owe me anything. Just… don’t do that again, okay? Don’t make me think I’m about to lose you… again.”
Clint’s gaze softened, his lips curving into a small smile. “Didn’t think you cared… that much.”
Tony let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the mattress tighter. “Of course I care, you idiot. I—” He broke off, his voice catching in his throat.
Clint reached out weakly, his fingers brushing against Tony’s. “I’m here,” he murmured. “Not… going anywhere.”
Tony closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling as he exhaled slowly. “You’d better not,” he said, his voice low and unsteady. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if you did.”
Clint’s smile widened slightly, his hand resting over Tony’s. “I’ll… stick around,” he said softly. “Promise.”
Tony didn’t say anything, but the weight of Clint’s hand on his was enough to steady him, at least for now. And as he sat there, watching Clint’s chest rise and fall with each breath, he realized how much he couldn’t afford to lose him.
The quiet hum of the med bay was almost oppressive, the sterile light doing little to soften the tension in Tony’s shoulders. He hadn’t left Clint’s side, not even when Natasha had stopped by to check on him, murmuring something about grabbing a meal or getting some rest. Tony had waved her off without a word, his focus entirely on the man lying in the bed in front of him.
Clint had drifted off at some point, his breaths evening out, though his face still bore the faint lines of pain. Tony hadn’t let go of his hand, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the rough calluses on Clint’s palm. It was grounding in a way Tony couldn’t explain—proof that Clint was still here, still alive, still his.
His.
Tony exhaled shakily, leaning back in the chair as he ran a hand over his face. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago, leaving behind the crushing weight of everything he’d almost lost. Clint could have died. Clint should have died, given the extent of the injuries Bruce had rattled off earlier. If Tony had been just a second slower, if he’d hesitated for even a fraction of a moment—
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the thought away. It didn’t matter now. Clint was alive. That was all that mattered.
“Tony.”
The sound of Clint’s voice, soft and raspy, made Tony’s head snap up. Clint was awake, his eyes half-open and his lips quirking into a faint smile as he looked at Tony. “You’re still here,” Clint murmured, his voice rough but tinged with something warm and amused.
“Where else would I be?” Tony asked, his voice hoarse as he leaned forward again. He studied Clint’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Barton.”
Clint chuckled weakly, the sound more of a huff than anything else. “Didn’t think I’d get rid of you at all,” he said, his eyes flickering down to where Tony’s hand still held his. “Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?”
“Damn right,” Tony said, though his voice softened at the end. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his words quieter. “You scared the hell out of me, you know. Thought I was going to lose you.”
Clint’s smile faded slightly, his expression turning serious. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t trying to be reckless, I just… I thought I could handle it.”
Tony swallowed hard, his grip on Clint’s hand tightening. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own, Clint. That’s what we’re here for. That’s what I’m here for.”
Clint’s eyes softened, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “I know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against Tony’s hand in a faint, reassuring gesture. “I’ll try to be better about that. For you.”
Tony exhaled shakily, his chest aching in a way he couldn’t quite name. He looked down at their joined hands, his voice quiet. “I can’t lose you, Clint. I just… I can’t.”
Clint didn’t respond right away, but when Tony finally looked up, he saw an expression on Clint’s face that he’d never seen before—something raw and open and completely unguarded.
“You’re not going to lose me,” Clint said softly, his voice steady despite the lingering rasp. “I promise.”
Tony blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the stinging in his eyes. He wasn’t the emotional type—at least, not in front of people—but Clint had a way of breaking through every one of his defenses without even trying. “You’d better keep that promise,” Tony said, his voice thick. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if you didn’t.”
Clint’s smile returned, small but genuine, and he gave Tony’s hand a faint squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his tone so certain that it made Tony’s chest ache even more.
They sat there in silence for a while, the weight of the near miss hanging heavy between them. Tony didn’t let go of Clint’s hand, and Clint didn’t seem to mind. Eventually, Clint’s eyes started to drift shut again, his exhaustion catching up to him, but Tony stayed right where he was, watching over him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
Because, Tony realized, he was.
The med bay’s calm hum shattered with a sudden, shrill alarm that made Tony’s head snap up. His stomach dropped as he saw Clint’s vitals on the monitor spike and then plummet.
The heart monitor blared, and Tony’s world tilted on its axis.
“No, no, no, no!” Tony scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over as he hovered uselessly by Clint’s bedside. His brain went blank, unable to process anything but the sharp, horrifying drops on the monitor. Clint’s chest rose and fell erratically, and then it didn’t at all.
“Someone—!” Tony choked, his voice barely working. “Bruce! Helen! Anyone!”
The med bay doors slammed open, Bruce and Dr. Cho rushing in with their equipment. Natasha and Steve were right behind them, both their faces taut with worry. Natasha reached for Tony, but he shrugged her off, his hands shaking violently as he backed away to give Bruce space.
“Stay with me, Barton,” Bruce muttered under his breath, frantically checking Clint’s pulse and issuing instructions to Dr. Cho. “He’s crashing—we need to restart his heart!”
“Restart his heart?” Tony repeated, his voice rising in pitch. His breathing hitched, and suddenly, it felt like the walls were closing in on him. The air around him seemed too thin, too tight. His hands were shaking so badly that he pressed them against the wall just to steady himself.
“Tony, you need to step outside,” Steve said, trying to guide him toward the door.
“I’m not leaving him!” Tony yelled, jerking away, his voice a desperate snarl. “You think I’m going to walk out of here while—while he’s—” His voice broke, and he stumbled back until his legs hit the wall, sliding down to the floor. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.
The sound of the heart monitor flatlining pierced his ears like a scream.
“No—Clint—!” Tony pressed his fists into his temples, his entire body trembling. He could barely hear Bruce shouting over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The panic clawed at him, swallowing him whole as his vision blurred. He gasped for air, his chest tightening so painfully he thought his reactor might rip out of his sternum.
“Tony!” Natasha’s voice was sharp, breaking through the fog. She crouched in front of him, gripping his shoulders. “Look at me. Look at me. Clint is strong. He’s fought through worse. You have to trust Bruce and Helen, okay?”
But her words barely registered. All Tony could think about was the sight of Clint lying lifeless on the bed, pale and still and gone. He tried to pull away from her, his hands clawing at the walls, desperate for escape, for air, for anything but this crushing, suffocating loss.
He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t do this.
Without a word, Tony staggered to his feet and bolted out of the med bay, his heart racing so fast it felt like it might explode. He didn’t know where he was going—his legs moved on their own, his mind a mess of panic and grief. Before he knew it, he was on the roof of the tower, the freezing wind biting at his skin as he stumbled toward the edge.
The city stretched out below him, bright and oblivious, and for a terrifying moment, Tony thought about stepping off. The thought came unbidden, sharp and insistent, like a voice in the back of his mind. If Clint didn’t make it—if Clint was gone—what was the point? What was the point of any of this?
He teetered dangerously close to the edge, his hands shaking as he stared down at the streets below. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his mind spiraling further and further into the darkness.
And then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced.
Clint, laughing as Tony complained about a stray arrow that had somehow embedded itself in one of his lab walls. “It gives the place character, Stark,” Clint had said, grinning like a kid. “You should thank me for improving your decor.”
Clint, sitting beside him on the couch late one night, both of them nursing drinks as they talked about everything and nothing. “You’re not as much of a jackass as you pretend to be,” Clint had said, smirking. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Clint, kissing him for the first time, soft and sweet and full of a warmth Tony hadn’t realized he’d been missing until that moment.
The memory hit him like a tidal wave, pulling him back from the edge—literally and figuratively. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold rooftop, gasping for breath as tears streamed down his face. Clint wasn’t gone. Not yet. And as long as there was even the slightest chance he could pull through, Tony had to believe in him.
He had to.
“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, his voice cracking as he buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Clint. I can’t—I can’t lose you. Please.”
It took several long minutes for his breathing to steady, the sharp edges of his panic dulling into a low ache. When he finally stood, his legs were shaky, but his resolve was firm. Clint had fought for his life, again and again. It was time for Tony to fight for him, too.
-
When Tony returned to the med bay, the atmosphere was still tense, but the flatline alarm was gone. Clint’s vitals were erratic, but they were there—faint, fragile, but holding. Bruce and Dr. Cho were still working, their focus intense, but Natasha turned when she saw Tony enter, relief flickering across her face.
“You okay?” she asked softly, though her tone held more concern than judgment.
“No,” Tony admitted, his voice raw. “But I will be. Is he…?”
Natasha’s gaze softened. “He’s still fighting.”
Tony nodded, swallowing hard as he stepped closer to the bed. He didn’t care how fragile Clint looked or how precarious his condition was—Tony was going to believe in him. He had to. For both their sakes.
Clint had kept his promise to stick around once. He’d keep it again. Tony was sure of it.
-
The hours crawled by, each one feeling like an eternity. Tony sat by Clint’s bedside, his hand resting over Clint’s, willing him to wake up. The erratic beeping of the heart monitor was a constant reminder of how close Clint was to the edge, but Tony refused to leave. He couldn’t. Not again.
Bruce and Dr. Cho had done everything they could, stabilizing Clint just enough to keep him alive, but his condition was still precarious. The rest was up to Clint, and Tony wasn’t sure if his own heart could take the waiting. He didn’t know how to sit still, how to breathe when every second felt like it might be Clint’s last.
The others had stopped by briefly, checking in on both of them. Natasha had lingered the longest, standing silently at the door as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Steve had placed a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder, grounding him for a brief moment before leaving him alone with Clint again.
Now it was just the two of them. The med bay was quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the steady, fragile rhythm of Clint’s heartbeat. Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He felt hollow, drained of every ounce of energy, but he couldn’t leave Clint. Not now. Not ever.
“Come on, Barton,” Tony murmured, his voice barely audible. “You’ve got to wake up. You promised me, remember? You said you weren’t going anywhere.”
His throat tightened, and he blinked back the sting of tears. “I don’t know how to do this without you,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’m not as strong as you. I don’t… I don’t know how to hold it together when you’re not here.”
He reached out, brushing his thumb over the back of Clint’s hand. The skin was warm, a faint comfort in the sea of uncertainty. “I was a mess before you,” Tony continued, his voice trembling. “You… you make me want to be better. For you. For us.”
He swallowed hard, his chest aching with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “I need you, Clint,” he whispered, his head bowing. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Tony sat there, clutching Clint’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, the faint beeping of the heart monitor the only sign that Clint was still alive.
And then, just as Tony thought he might shatter under the weight of it all, there was a faint, almost imperceptible squeeze against his hand.
Tony’s head shot up, his heart leaping into his throat. “Clint?” he said, his voice a mixture of hope and disbelief.
Clint’s eyelids fluttered, his face scrunching slightly as he struggled to wake. His lips parted, and a weak, raspy sound escaped—barely a whisper, but it was enough.
“Tony…”
The relief that washed over Tony was so overwhelming that it left him breathless. He let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling down his cheeks as he leaned forward, his forehead brushing against Clint’s. “You son of a bitch,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Clint’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, his hand weakly squeezing Tony’s again. “Didn’t… mean to,” he murmured, his voice rough but familiar. “Guess… I owe you… one.. again.”
Tony laughed again, the sound shaky but genuine, and he pressed a kiss to Clint’s knuckles, his chest aching with equal parts relief and love. “Yeah, you do,” he said, his voice soft. “But we’ll call it even if you promise not to pull this crap again.”
Clint’s eyes opened just enough to meet Tony’s gaze, and despite his exhaustion, there was a spark of warmth in his expression. “Deal,” he whispered.
Tony let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his thumb brushing over Clint’s hand. For the first time in hours—maybe days—he felt like he could breathe again. Clint was alive. He was here. And as long as they had that, Tony knew they could face anything together.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again, Barton,” Tony said softly, his voice still shaky but steadying with every word. “I mean it. You’re not allowed to die on me.”
Clint’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes shining with something Tony could only describe as affection. “Still not… going anywhere,” he murmured. “Promise.”