*******
Thor is running out of people to fight, and that must mean things are dying down...so to speak. He sighs to himself a little; they haven't had a truly worthy adversary in some time, and he is a bit disappointed.
These people fire weapons and hide. Thor despises guerrilla tactics; prefers it when his enemies fight him bravely out in the open. There are not many in this group, and they are so covert, so hard to find, that this is taking longer than it should. He can tell from chatter on the comms that the others feel as he does, that the fight is over.
Iron Man announces that he is making a final sweep; the Captain says he will check in with Shield.
Thor is heading back to the jet when he hears a man's voice singing loudly behind him. He turns and sees Barton about a block away, walking toward him. The archer is limping a little but otherwise seems unharmed. He is smiling and even waves, looks absolutely thrilled to see the Asgardian. Thor is surprised at his exuberance, but starts to smile back when he notices something not right; Barton has his bow hanging loosely from one hand, dragging it behind him. It bumps and skitters on the pavement as he walks.
"Are you alright, my friend?" Thor asks, moving quickly toward him, and suspects he already knows the answer. Clint's carelessness with his bow is telling; he cherishes that weapon as much as Thor does Mjolnir, and would never treat it in this way if he were thinking clearly.
The humans are fragile, Natasha and Clint especially. So is Tony, outside of his Iron Man armor. Thor has seen them injure their heads in ways that has led to odd behavior, and he wonders if that is the case now.
"Are you hurt, Clint?"
"Hey, where's Bruce? He around?" Clint asks, ignoring the question, and his voice is carefully casual. His bow hits the curb and bounces high, and Clint loses his tenuous grip. The weapon clatters to the street and he just stares at it blankly for a moment before stooping to pick it up. His balance is wobbly and he almost goes over.
Thor is there in an instant and steadies him with one large hand. "Our friend Banner remains the Hulk at present. Are you injured?" he asks again.
He does not see any blood or bruises on Clint's head. They always seem to look at one another's eyes when determining a head injury, so Thor cranes his neck down a little, stares in Clint's eyes intently. He is not quite sure what he is or is not supposed to see. Clint recoils a bit and looks confused, but that might just be because Thor's face is suddenly so close, almost touching his own.
"Never stare at an animal like that, Thunder Thighs, it challenges them and they don't like it!" Clint announces and his voice is cheerful, like it's a joke, but Thor frowns because a few of the archer's words are slurred. Clint gives an odd, hiccuping laugh. He turns jerkily away and starts meandering up the street, toward the jet. He resumes dragging the bow behind him, his fingers now clutching it so tightly that they are white.
Thor says into the comm "I believe Hawkeye is injured; I am bringing him back to the jet." He still does not understand how the devices work exactly, but knows the others will hear his words.
"I am NOT." Clint laughs again; there is a shrill note to it.
"What's wrong with him?" voices chorus at once, then the Captain's, with authority, says "You do that. I think we're just about done here. Widow, can you get the Big Guy settled?"
"Yes." She doesn't say anything else.
Thor considers Clint, who acts drunk--he is stumbling openly now and has begun singing again. The song doesn't make much sense, but then little of their music does, to Thor's ears.
"Come along, brother," the Asgardian says and tries to take his arm. Clint pulls away with an easy grin and a shake of his head. Thor tries again, then finally just puts one arm under his friend's shoulders, the other under his knees, and scoops him up easily.
"Whoooooa!" Clint says loudly, but he does not look angry at being picked up like a child, as Thor would have guessed he would be. "Thor, you are so STRONG!" he exclaims, laughing. "Thor is my hero! Save me, Thor!"
He can feel the heat of fever on Clint's skin, even through his uniform.
Thor was going to walk with him back to the jet, but instead he runs.
*******
Tony has arrived at the jet first, one of the many advantages of flight, and is getting things prepared for takeoff. When he looks up and sees Thor carrying Clint he gets a tight, frightened look on his face. "What happened to him?" He hurries over, dark eyes looking everywhere.
"I think his head suffers another concussion," Thor says gravely, setting Clint down gently in one of the seats along the wall. Clint leans back against it, sweating, but still grinning.
"Oh yeah?" Tony sits beside Clint, looks in his eyes. This time Thor sees it--both pupils are hugely dilated, his eyes looking almost black instead of grayish blue. "Oh yeah. His head suffers something, that's for sure."
"Thorrrrrrrr," Clint says, rolling the 'r' out obnoxiously. "Thorrrrrrrrr, god of thunderrrrrrrrr." He laughs loudly, and Tony raises his eyebrows, a little taken aback by how hysterical it sounds, but laughs with him. "Brrrrrruce Bannerrrrrr. So many 'r's on this team, what the hell. Rrrrrrrromanov! Barrrrrrrrrrton." The smile abruptly vanishes from his face. "Huh. Actually, I don't think I like this game anymore, Thor."
"Alright," Thor says soothingly and pats his shoulder. Clint's skin is so hot. Hotter than how Thor knows it is supposed to feel. That is another sign of human illness, he has been told that before, and wonders why Tony says nothing.
"You're a mess," Tony says with a laugh, then helps Clint turn sideways and lie back across the seats. There is an emergency blanket underneath and Tony spreads it over him. "There. That being completed, I have exhausted my entire medical knowledge. We better get a Shield medic up here to look at him."
"Aren't you at least gonna hold my hand?" Clint asks querulously. "Nat always holds my hand." He walks his fingers out from under the blanket and reaches for Tony, then suddenly seems to get distracted. "Is that...is that MY hand?" He brings it close to his eyes, staring at the palm.
"Yes, it is," Thor assures him, concerned at how deeply confused his friend looks.
Clint's eyes go to Tony, then down to the blanket that covers him, then back to Tony. His expression suddenly turns sly, and he raises a knowing eyebrow. "If that's my hand, then where is YOUR hand?"
Tony dissolves into laughter, seems to think everything Barton says is funny. Thor only frowns more deeply. Things are not right.
Tony holds up both hands, wiggles his fingers. "My hands are right here, you pervert."
"Ahhh, okay, that is good news ." Clint leans up onto his elbows and waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Tony's smile fades then, as he seems to finally pick up on the oddness of Clint's behavior, that Clint isn't just trying to be funny. He exchanges an uneasy glance with Thor. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, just as Clint sits up the rest of the way with a jerk and vomits hugely all over himself. "Jesus Christ, call an exorcist! Gross! Clint, you nasty bastard!"
"I'm sorry," Clint says weakly, then immediately throws up again. Thor catches most of it in the blanket, which he then balls up and tosses to the floor. Clint is pale, even his lips are a sick, milky color. He puts his hand over his eyes. "I don't feel so great."
"Yeah, no shit," Tony is saying, and then the Captain's voice comes into their ears.
"You said Hawkeye is injured; how is he hurt? Was he shot?"
"I do not think so," Thor starts to say, but stops when he sees Clint looking away, biting his lip. Knows then that it is true.
"These guys had some sort of poison dart they've been shooting people with. Was he hit?"
Tony's eyes are wild as he grabs the archer's shoulders. "Were you?" He shakes him hard and Clint's head lolls back and hangs there, as if he can't lift it back up. "Were you?"
Clint just groans and Tony screams "Motherfuck!" and dashes to the front of the jet, flipping controls.
"Get him to Shield," Steve is saying, "the hospitals are overrun. The rest of us will meet you there. Natasha, are you and Bruce okay?"
"The Hulk is also hit," Natasha says evenly. "We'll stay where we are, for now."
The jet takes off with a jolt, Tony operating it with none of his usual finesse. Thor sits back on his heels beside the seats, where Clint lays shivering. "Where are you hurt?" His runs his hands over his friend's arms and chest, looking for injury, still seeing none.
"My--the leg," Clint says weakly, and all of his former good humor is gone. His eyes are wide. "I took her out, but she got a shot off first. I thought maybe the Kevlar would catch it. That maybe it would be okay."
It isn't.
*******
Hulk can feel the poison trying to spread. It feels cold, not hurting and hurting at the same time, as his blood fights it. Something about it makes his thoughts too fast, more unfocused than they are already.
Lullaby is there, but she does not tell their story, does not reach out to him. Instead she is trying to get him to follow her, to leave the city, to go to the trees. Away from people, she says.
It is quiet in the forest. Lullaby is also quiet, she sits watching him. Her face is calm, like always, but Hulk can tell that she is unhappy. She touches his back, where he had been shot. She is upset. Upset for him? He thinks maybe she is.
(Clint) Banner whispers (he is hurt where is he)
Hawk, he realizes--Bruce is talking about Hawk. Hurt, like the Hulk is. This makes him angry, because Hawk is not supposed to be hurt. He is supposed to stay up high, where he is safe. He is no good on the ground like the others; he is too weak there. He is only good up high, where he can send things crashing to the ground. Hulk likes seeing that.
Bruce tries to return, to overtake the Hulk, but he cannot. The poison pushes him immediately back down, becomes too much for the body to handle as the Hulk weakens and Bruce grows stronger. Bruce fades back as the Hulk stays strong.
Lullaby (Natasha her name is Natasha is everyone okay please ask her) puts her hand on his arm.
"Just be patient," she says, "and rest. We're safe here."
*******
Thor does not know much of human maladies, only those he has seen in his teammates, or in his beloved Jane. He has seen illnesses put them low, where they lay on couches and beds and moan and demand to be coddled. "Colds" they call those illnesses, and they must be terrible, for they suffer dramatically, albeit briefly. They take medicines and the complaining also must relieve the pain somehow, for they do that constantly.
He has seen them injured. "Concussion" is the one he knows the best, knows it means their heads have been hit too hard. This only happens to the fragile ones--to Tony and Natasha and Clint. They suffer, but bear this pain more silently than the colds. They usually become angry when they are hurt. They try to hide it.
He has seen their skin torn, when it must be sewn back together, like clothing. He finds it fascinating, how they can be so delicate, but still their bodies work so hard (and so slowly) to rebuild themselves.
Natasha is rarely hurt. She is clever, protects herself better than Clint and Tony. Tony's armor shields him, but still he is hurt when outside of it. He is clumsy, makes mistakes, poor decisions. Clint gets the most stitches. His body is a book of scars, and Thor knows many of the stories himself, has seen them written in red. Clint is clever, like Natasha, but also as foolish as Tony. He gets hurt the most often and cannot explain why.
There are many other injuries and illnesses that Thor sees so infrequently that he does not know their names. He asks the others to explain when needed, and they do. They always say that he cannot do anything to help, that only medicine or time can fix the problem, but still he asks. Thor would cure all their ills, if he could. He would protect them, if he only knew what to protect them from.
But Thor knows poison. This he has seen; every world has poison. Animals, people, even plants--everything uses it. It burns, it hurts, it tears through the body and destroys. Even on Asgard the cures do not come easy, and his people are so much stronger than the humans.
Tony is flying the jet and talking rapidly to himself, the way he does when he is angry or scared. Usually he is both at the same time, like he is now. He hits buttons harder than necessary, snaps orders at JARVIS. Looks frequently back towards Thor and Clint with worried eyes.
Clint keeps moving around, stretching his limbs and clenching his fists as the poison moves through him. He looks confused, and his eyes cast about restlessly. The side of his mouth twitches up in a shaky smile, as if trying it on, as if seeing if a smile will help.
Thor pulls off his boots, then tries to use his knife to cut up the leg of Clint's pants. They are made of a special fabric, almost an armor, that does not give easily. Thor abandons the knife and pulls the pant leg apart with his hands. He does not have to go far before he sees it.
The lower leg is red, is purple, is black--is all the wrong colors. Clint props himself up on his elbows to see. He is shaking a little, and sweat pours down his face like tears. His eyes meet Thor's.
"It doesn't hurt," Clint says hollowly. He sounds sad. Scared, maybe. "You'd think it would...but it doesn't."
He smiles again, and Thor knows then that Clint is dying.
"So, is he hit?" Tony barks from the cockpit. "Ishe?"
"Yes," Thor says, and put his hand gently on Clint's shoulder, trying to get him to lay back down, but he will not.
Tony curses, yells angrily, but neither of the other men pay him any attention. It doesn't matter what he is saying, not really. Thor pushes at Clint again.
"You should rest, my brother."
Clint shakes his head, gives him a mournful smile that trembles around the edges. "I would have said something...but I thought...I thought maybe it would be alright."
"It will be," Thor assures him, but he doesn't believe it. The jet is fast, and Clint's will is strong, but human bodies are too weak. He takes Clint's hand in his. It shakes, feels too hot. Thor can feel the bones beneath the skin. So fragile, so easily broken if Thor is not careful.
*******
Hulk is not made for this, for sitting quietly. He is for moving, for running, for smashing, for fighting, for breaking. He does not bend things to his will with words, like Bruce does, but by force.
Bruce cannot talk to a tree and make it uproot itself. Can never do it, even if he talks forever, says sweet words, pleads, threatens. But Hulk can make it happen in one smooth movement; a tree that has lived a hundred years will succumb in a moment to his whim.
On the other hand, Hulk cannot make Lullaby smile with his actions--well, sometimes he can, but it is her tight, angry smile, for when he smashes the things that she wishes she could. But he cannot make her smile for real, to laugh her tinkling laugh, the way Bruce can with his words.
Hulk wishes she would smile now, but she is too worried. For Hawk, maybe even for Hulk (Bruce she likes Bruce). Hulk knows she wishes he would disappear and that Bruce would come back, and that makes Hulk angry at her. He picks up a rock and hurls it into the ground with a loud, satisfying sound.
She looks wary then, and he likes that, too. She should be afraid of him. He is strong where the others are weak. He is stronger than Lullaby (that's Natasha she's our friend), could break her if he wanted (we don't want to).
No, he doesn't want to. Because then she would be gone, would never smile anymore, would never laugh again.
"Are you alright?" she asks. "Does it hurt?"
Words don't come easily to him. His body, that can do so much, fails him only in this way. Somewhere in the journey between his brain and his mouth things get muddled, makes it difficult to pull the words out. Words are Bruce's fists, not Hulk's.
Lullaby seems to understand that, and when he does not answer she just nods.
(Clint) Bruce frets (can't you ask her if he is alive just ask goddamn you)
Bruce worries but Hulk is annoyed. Hawk must have been in the wrong place, again. He is hurt when he does this. Hulk likes him better when he is in the right places, unhurt and shooting things out of the sky.
The poison burns, but less. Hulk is stronger than poison, is stronger than everything.
Lullaby sighs, sits with her elbows on her knees, looking back toward the city. Hulk can't tell what she's thinking like Bruce can. Bruce guesses, but he almost always guesses right. He can read faces.
Hulk doesn't need to read faces, doesn't need words. There is not much that he would say to them, even if he could. They are weak. And other humans are weaker still, even more fragile than Hawk and Lullaby. Weak, just like--
Ugh.
Hulk pushes the image of her away, hates the thought of her.
(BettyBettyBettyBettyBettyBetty) Bruce sobs in Hulk's mind. Bruce hates the thought of her too, because it hurts. It hurts them.
Betty is gone, Betty is far away, but still she hurts them; the picture of her in their mind hurts, the memories.
Bruce and Hulk will never be gone. The Hulk will not allow it.
But they will be alone one day. When everyone else has fallen, has aged, has died.
(When only we are left) Bruce adds sadly.
That thought burns as much as the poison.
*******
Clint is not talking anymore, and that's a bad sign. Instead he sweats and shakes and his eyes are screwed tightly shut, as if his eyelids were sewn together. Sometimes he opens his mouth as if he were going to speak, but just pants instead in loud, gasping breaths.
Thor strokes his hair, says comforting words. He smiles at Clint, in case his friend does open his eyes, so he can see calm, can see reassurance in his last moments. It would not be right for him to see Thor looking worried, would not be good for his final thoughts to be made even more afraid. But Clint does not open his eyes, and probably doesn't hear him either.
The jet lands and doctors are waiting with a stretcher. They lift Clint onto it and rush him away. Tony tries to follow and people push him back. "It's his leg!" Tony shouts, but they pay no attention, they have been told that already, and they do not look back as doors swing shut behind them.
Thor puts his hand on Tony's shoulder and the other man shrugs it off angrily. Thor doesn't know the right words for times like this, but knows Tony wouldn't listen to them anyway.
*******
It is almost over. The wound is long closed, the poison has almost all burned away.
Bruce pushes. The Hulk is tired of this, of sitting, of waiting. He sighs.
Lullaby senses the change and comes close. She looks at him. Her expression is controlled, is calm, like always. "Bruce?" she asks. Her eyes search his face.
(NatashaNatasha let me in I will take care of things now NatashaNatasha)
Bruce pushes again. The Hulk diminishes as Bruce gets stronger.
"Natasha."
(Lullaby)
She smiles at him.
*******
The Captain makes decisions for Clint, who still does not wake. If he is unsure of himself, it does not show. Tony is angry, looks up information on his tablet computer, second guesses everything, challenges everyone. The Captain's jaw tightens at Tony's behavior but he says nothing.
Natasha and Bruce arrive at Shield Medical, and the team is together again, as they should be. Bruce talks to the doctors, and their words make more sense to him than they do to any of the others, even to Tony, who is so clever otherwise.
Thor is a man of action, of absolutes. When they are told that Clint will live after all, it is enough for him. The doctor and Bruce try to explain about dialysis, about medicines, but Thor does not need to know how miracles work, as long as they do.
Clint's body is weaker than Thor's, but again he has lived. The resiliency of humans and their determination to save one another never ceases to amaze him. Clint Barton is still alive.
*******
"You stop messing with that IV or I'll have them stick the next one in your neck."
Clint frowns at Bruce in the sulky, miserable way that only he can pull off with such flourish. "It pinches," he gripes, and raises his eyebrows. "How much longer till I can go home, do you think?"
It is a ridiculous question and even Clint knows that. The poison lingers in his system and his body is trying to burn it out with a fever that won't break, tries to flush it out with an insatiable thirst that makes him beg them for water. As hard as the poison tries to kill him, his body fights harder to live.
"Let me see your leg," Bruce says, ignoring him, and Clint sighs as he pulls the blanket away. "God." Bruce winces and shakes his head. "That is really gruesome."
His leg is discolored, swollen, painful. Bruce is uninjured. The Hulk has taken care of that. He will never be hurt again, never be sick again. The poison that leaves Clint in agony even days later burned right through him in hours, passed through until no sign of it remained. No scar will tell the story.
"Yeah, it is," Clint agrees. "Here's how I've been dealing with that whole situation." He takes the edge of the blanket and flips it back over his leg, covering it. "There, all better!" He grins and sinks back down to his pillow, triumphant and exhausted.
(Weak) Hulk rumbles (weak)
Bruce cannot argue. It is true. It makes them angry when Clint does this, when he passes off injuries as nothing, when he hides them. His flippancy is dangerous, will probably kill him one day.
Not probably. Will.
"Just try to rest," Bruce tells him. "And keep your hands away from that IV."
*******
Bruce goes out and sits by Thor. They watch doctors, nurses, patients, visitors bustle by; each busy living out a lifetime of heartbreak and joy, of pain and triumphs that no one else can ever truly know.
Tony saunters over, coffee in one hand, donut in the other. Gestures to the door of Clint's room, dropping chocolate sprinkles on the floor as he does. "He awake?" he asks, and when they nod he pushes the door open with his foot. Bruce can already hear the two men snarking at one another before the door swings shut again.
Bruce starts to say something and then changes his mind. Thor looks over at him. Waits.
"He could have died," Bruce says finally. "But not me. There was never any danger of that."
(Strong) Hulk whispers gleefully.
And he can see that Thor understands, understands in a way that none of their teammates ever will. The Asgardian nods.
"One day they will each be struck down and will not rise." Thor's eyes are timeless; are sad. "An enemy, an injury, an illness. If they are lucky maybe it will only be infirmity from old age that ends them. But they will fall."
The Avengers. Jane. All the humans he cares for.
"It's hard to think about," Bruce says, and maybe his voice catches just a little.
Thor sighs in agreement. "We must strive to be happy that for now, death has been thwarted. That today, they all still live."
Bruce nods and doesn't say anything else. But they both think it.
Today their friends live.
And tomorrow.
And maybe some tomorrows after that.
Thor and Bruce (and the Hulk) will worry, will wait outside rooms and beside beds, will stand beside graves.
They will survive.
When their loved ones are no more.
When only they remain.