A Strange Sort of Family

Greetings, all! Just getting my feet wet a little bit in the Avengers. I've done a few bits for Agents of SHIELD, so I'm not completely new to fanfic for the MCU, but this is the first time I've wanted to write about the Avengers themselves.

Anyone else think that the whump was not covered well enough in AoU? Yeah, me too. So, this is mostly, a fluffy little gap-filler for after the first fight in Sokovia at the beginning of the movie.

Enjoy!

Natasha looked around at the snow-covered landscape of Sokovia as she stood over her injured teammate. Seeing no more incoming threats, she allowed her stance to relax.

"We're all locked down out here, guys," she said into her earwig, giving one last look around and casting a glance at Clint to make sure he was still breathing.

"Then get to Banner," Cap's voice came on the comm a moment later, "it's time for a lullaby."

She very nearly took off in the direction of the Hulk immediately, but her gaze snapped back to Clint, still laid out on the ground, clutching his side and gasping. She was just about to say she wasn't going to leave him alone until Thor got there, but a thump alerted her of the Asgardian's landing just behind her.

Thor, who had also been privy to the conversation through an earwig, could see that Natasha was conflicted. He took only a moment to put a comforting hand on her shoulder on his way past to go tend to Barton.

"I have him," he told her gently as he knelt by the archer with concern, "go and soothe our savage beast."

Natasha nodded a thanks to him, then took off at a jog in the direction of the Hulk's path of destruction through the woods.

Thor watched her go for a moment before looking down at Clint. The archer was still gasping and stifled whimpers every now and then, his eyes screwed tightly shut. His skin was starting to pale and Thor knew that he needed more than just the slap-dash field dressing that Natasha had applied.

"You took a mighty blow, my friend," Thor said to Clint.

"Bull shit," Clint ground out, "got sloppy. Distracted."

Thor couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You are too hard on yourself," he said, "beat yourself up later. I've been sent to bring you back to the Quinjet. Can you sit up?"

Clint shook his head, weakly. "Not on a bet," he replied, "not without help."

Thor nodded and put his hands under Clint's shoulders. He was able to help lever the archer into a sitting position easily, though Clint let out a yelp and went even more pale than he had been. He wavered and threatened to topple to one side, so the Asgardian kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"The Widow would have my head if I allowed you to try to walk," Thor said with a shake of his head.

"Not much alternative," Clint managed to say between pained gasps and while resisting curling in on his injured abdomen.

"Yes, there is," Thor replied, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet and repositioning his hands, one between Clint's shoulder blades and the other beneath his knees. He lifted the archer effortlessly as he stood.

The move seemed to surprise Clint, who clenched one arm over his wounded side and the other locked on to Thor's shoulder. He gave a yelp as the Asgardian adjusted his grip and began to make his way to the Quinjet. As they went, Clint couldn't help but let out a few whimpers when Thor's footsteps came down a little jarringly.

"Hey Sparky," Clint said around a steadying breath, about half way there, "one word of this visual to Stark and you will suddenly grow an arrow between your eyes."

"Worry not," Thor replied, "your honor is safe and will remain in tact with me."

By the time they made it back to the Quinjet, Clint had very nearly passed out. As gently as he could, Thor set him down on the waiting gurney, careful not to let the archer's head loll too far back. The movement seemed to rouse Clint a little and he let out another pained whimper before settling into the gurney, gasping.

"Are you still with me, Barton?" Thor asked, placing a steadying hand on Clint's shoulder. "I'll need you to guide me."

Hawkeye forced his eyes open to look at the thunderer. Thor could see a great deal of pain in the gaze, but also a determination that would rival any of the Warriors Three.

"Need to... to clean the wound," Clint breathed out through clenched teeth, seeming to hunt for the words, "sutures if they're needed, and then bandage."

"Right," Thor agreed, then turned to find the necessary supplies, "and something for the pain."

Clint shook his head. "Can't," he said, "messes with my aim. Need to get back out there. Too much to do."

Thor turned around in surprise, disinfectant in hand. He studied the archer for a few seconds. He wasn't meeting the thunderer's gaze, looking toward the ceiling instead, body still tensed as if ready for a fight again. Though his skin was pale as a sheet, his eyes were hard as ice. It was obvious he was in a great deal of pain. But having fought side by side with the man for a while, now, Thor was beginning to understand that Clint Barton almost never let on how much pain he was actually in. For him to have accepted the help he was already being given was a sign of just how bad off he was.

Thor set the disinfectant aside for a moment and grasped Clint's face in both hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Hear me, archer," he said, "the battle is won. You have done your part and have taken a grievous injury for it. What you need now is healing."

"The enhanced," Clint ground out, "speedster, gotta track him down and bring him in."

"Barton," Steve's voice sounded in both their ears, "we got this. You're done for the day. Just shut up and take the morphine."

His face still clamped between Thor's hands, Clint closed his eyes in exasperation and what looked to be a little embarrassment. Thor reflected that they probably should have known that the team leader had been listening in, trying to get a status on his injured teammate. It was a good thing there was a pillow under Clint's head because he bounced the back of his skull a few times, as if hitting it against a wall. He wasn't happy about it and it was clearly a blow to his pride, but Thor knew there wouldn't be any further protest from the archer.

"Right," Thor said, releasing Clint's head and turning back to hunt up the needed pain killer. He found it in the form of an auto-injector and tore open the wrapping. "Where?" he asked Clint.

"Upper arm," Clint answered, "bicep."

"Your armor will need to come off," Thor stated.

Oddly enough, Clint gave a pained chuckle at this. "All the good it did me," he mumbled out, reaching for the zipper at the coat's front.

Thor helped him to painfully struggle out of the coat and then discarded it on the floor of the Quinjet. A moment later, he pressed the auto-injector against Clint's bicep and pressed the button, then helped the archer to lay back again, allowing the medication to do its work.

As Thor began to clean the wound in Clint's side, the tension slowly left the archer's body as the morphine took hold. He twitched and whimpered at the touch every now and then, but by and large handled it with determined stoicism.

By the time Thor had cleaned the wound, the morphine had taken hold and Clint was fairly relaxed, though his face was still drawn with pain. The Asgardian was just beginning to inspect it more closely to see what should be done next when Natasha made it back to the Quinjet, with an exhausted-looking Banner in tow. As soon as Thor and Hawkeye came into his view, he rallied and immediately joined the Asgardian.

"Looks pretty nasty," he said, inspecting the wound, "some third-degree burn here, but at least it looks cauterized. Please tell me you're not trying to be a tough guy, Clint."

"Oh, he tried," Thor said, a slight smirk, "but he relented."

"M' high as a friggin' kite right now," Clint mumbled, "hate morphine. Makes me nauseous." His breath hitched slightly as Brush prodded the wound.

"Sorry," Bruce said with an apologetic cringe. His hand then moved to Clint's wrist and counted out a pulse. "Yeah, that's a little fast. Let's start you on some fluids. Natasha?"

"Yup," she replied, reaching for a bag of saline and an IV from the med kit. She moved to hand it to Bruce.

Weakly, his eyes swimming, Clint pointed to Nat. "She does it," he said, "no offence, Banner, but you're still looking a little green yourself. Sharp things..." Clint's head lolled a little drunkenly and his eyes drifted shut.

Bruce held up his hand to inspect it. It was slightly shaking. "Yeah," he said with a sigh, "you're probably right."

"No sweat, I got it," Natasha said, handing him a cliff bar on her way past to Barton with the IV.

Thor took a step back and watched his teammates as they went about their tasks with barely a word to each other. They each knew what needed to be done and knew how to do it. Natasha expertly set the IV in Clint's arm with a gentleness that belied her other skills. Bruce practically inhaled the cliff bar, keeping a wary eye on Barton for any signs of further trouble. And Clint? Well, he finally began to drift, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, half in a dream-state, it seemed.

Running footsteps outside the jet heralded the return of the group's super solider. Steve came up next to Thor and took in the scene quickly. "What's our status?" he asked.

"Clint's pretty messed up, Steve," Natasha stated. She had finished her work with the IV and had moved to place a comforting hand on the archer's forehead and gently running her fingers through his hair. "We should get him some real medical help, ASAP." Giving a soft, stifled moan, Clint turned his face toward the contact.

"The enhanced?" Thor asked.

Cap shook his head. "Couldn't catch him. Banner, you holding up?"

"Could use a little quiet time," Bruce replied around a bite of his cliff bar.

Steve nodded. "Take what you need. We've got a long flight home," he said, "as soon as Stark gets back with the scepter, we're in the air."

As if he had been waiting for the introduction, Tony dropped out of the air just aft of the Quinjet, his repulsors cutting out as he reached the ground. "Wait no longer, the hero has returned!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide with bravado. The scepter was in one hand, glowing its eerie blue glow. He strode forward, the boots of the Iron Man suit clomping on the metal deck of the Quinjet as he made his way to the waiting receptacle and placed the scepter inside. The suit then clattered open on a set of hinges and springs and opened from the front, allowing Tony to step out of it with the same ease as exiting a door. "Storage mode," he said to it. The suit immediately folded itself neatly into a compartment in the jet. "So, kids, now that that's done, what's our encore?"

"A record speed back to Avengers Tower," Cap stated, already triggering the back hatch of the Quinjet closed and pulling his helmet off. "Barton's in bad shape, we gotta get him back."

"Right, right," Stark replied, sobering a little, "JARVIS, do the pre-flights. Make it the short list."

"Very good sir," came the calm, synthesized voice of Stark's computer. The engines of the Quinjet began to hum and several of the control panels in the cockpit came to life.

"ETA?" Steve asked.

"Six hours, give or take," Stark replied, "I mean, it still is the other side of the planet, after all. He gonna make it that long?" He chucked a thumb over his shoulder at Clint, then looked over at Banner.

"He's stable," Bruce said with a nod, "and the morphine's taking the edge off, but he's in quite a bit of pain."

"Doesn' begin to describe it," Clint mumbled, his eyes still closed, as if trying to get some rest and yet failing.

"You know!" Stark exclaimed, spinning around on the ball of his foot to turn back to the scepter, one hand holding up a single index finger as if he had an idea. "We've got the glowstick of destiny."

"Good thing, too," Steve put in, "God only knows what Strucker was going to use it for."

"Yeah, but," Stark pressed on, picking it up thoughtfully, "who knows what we can do with it, too, right? Thor, this thing have any healing properties? Tissue regeneration, that sort of thing?" He wandered in Barton's direction with it and waved it over the archer's chest as if it was a magic wand. "I mean, could we just, like, bippity-boppity-boo and Barton's right as rain?"

Clint's eyes cracked open at the mention of his name. Unfortunately, the first thing they saw was the blue glow of Loki's scepter, only inches from his chest. Immediately, Clint gave a yelp, his eyes going wide in what looked like terror. He thrashed, suddenly, trying to push away from the scepter without touching it. "Jesus! No! Get it away!"

Surprised by the reaction, Stark just barely dodged out of the way of Clint's flailing limbs, taking several steps back. The movement seemed to aggravate Clint's wound and for a moment, it looked like he didn't care. Eventually, the strain won out and he curled in on himself in obvious agony.

Natasha was with him in an instant, trying to calm him down. "Careful, Clint!" she exclaimed, her hands on his shoulders and trying to push him back to a flat position. "It's all right, you're good!"

"Keep that damned thing away," Clint ground out, his arched back slowly relaxing back into the gurney, breathing heavily, his eyes screwed tightly shut in pain once again. Slowly, with Nat rubbing circles on the back of one hand, he relaxed once again and his eyes drifted shut to try and hold back the pain.

"Oh-kaaayy," Stark said, breaking the ensuing silence, "not going to try that, then."

As if a switch had been flipped, Natasha sprang back to her full height and marched over to Stark. She snatched the scepter out of his hand and in one fluid motion continued around and slapped him hard across the face. Stark wheeled around, holding his jaw.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. "Geez, what the hell-?"

"He's been shot and he's hopped up on morphine, you jackass!" Natasha yelled. "He didn't see you, he saw Loki!"

Silence descended in the Quinjet again. Stark and Romanoff's eyes were locked on each other and Banner, Thor, and Cap were watching the two carefully for any signs of further trouble. The tension in the jet was thick, to say the least. It was finally broken by JARVIS' voice coming over the speakers.

"Sir, pre-flight check has been completed. We are ready for departure."

"Right," Stark said softly, his eyes sliding away from Natasha's as he stepped around her to take his place at the stick. "Let's get out of this hell-hole, then."

For her part, Natasha deposited the scepter back in its receptacle with a metallic clunk. She leaned against the table for a moment, taking a couple of breaths. A moment later, Thor was on the other side of the table from her, while the others all wandered off to their own concerns.

"Clint Barton is a strong warrior," Thor said to her, softly, "he will recover."

"I know, I know," Natasha replied, shaking her head, "I just... I know." As the Quinjet lifted off the ground, Natasha pushed herself away from the scepter and lighted on the seat nearest to Clint's gurney, hands clasped in front of her and elbows resting on knees.

Giving himself a moment to simply breathe in relief, Bruce reached for a pair of headphones and put them on. He cranked the volume up and soon he was lost in a slow, classical orchestra.

Steve took up residence in the seat next to Natasha, joining her vigil over their wounded teammate. Whenever Clint would look like the pain was getting to be a little too much, Steve would start talking to him, always about something completely irrelevant to the situation. The tactic seemed to work and soon Clint would drift off again into morphine-induced dozing. Sometimes he would stir and seem distressed, though he wouldn't wake. When this happened, Natasha would gently put a hand on Clint's arm or shoulder and either wake him or simply the touch would somehow be calming.

Tony seemed to regard himself as being in something of a doghouse. He had gone uncharacteristically quiet after taking the stick of the Quinjet. Every once in a while, he would cast a glance backward and a glint of worry could be seen. After that, there would almost always be an almost imperceptible feeling of acceleration.

For his part, Thor took a seat in a back corner, where he could see everyone. He kept watch over them all, ready to lend support wherever it was needed. It was strange, what he felt for this group of mortals. He had not felt such camaraderie for brothers and sisters in arms aside from Syf and the Warriors Three. Certainly, he had never felt it for mortals before. There was Jane Foster, of course, but that was different, somehow. Now that they had found Loki's scepter, the thunderer found himself wishing that another matter would bring them together again. Something had begun, here, with these mighty heroes of Earth, and Thor wanted to see it through.

And as the Avengers' Quinjet sped toward its destination, the Asgardian vowed to himself that he would do just that. They were his friends, this odd group of mortals. The clever armored knight, the strong and inspiring general, the gentle man who held the raging beast within, the courageous archer who never missed, and the fiercely loyal warrior woman with fire in her heart. His time with them was not over.

He knew, he would always return when they needed him.