"Kneel before me Barton."

Clint's eyes sharpened into a glare as his gaze locked with Loki's cruel stare. Green battled against grey, fighting simply with their eyes for the moment as Loki waited for the archer to submit to him.

The demigod raised his hand as he stepped forward, gripping Clint's jaw harshly and forcing his head up. "Kneel." He hissed against Clint's face, irises filling with rage as the man continued to stare at him in defiance. "It will not be you who suffers. Kneel!"

A growl of anger fell from his lips as Clint didn't move, and Loki shoved him back. With a snap of his fingers, the air shimmered beside him and Pietro seemed to fall through the darkness. The young man stumbled unsteadily, forced back upright when Loki's thin index finger pressed under his chin.

There was a flash of metal and a slender, curved knife was put to Pietro's throat.

"No!" Clint screamed as Loki gave him that terrible smile.

The blade slashed across Pietro's white neck, blood spurting from the wound. He choked out a startled yell, a hand whipping up to his throat, as he struggled in vain to stop the blood pouring from his neck, pulsing between his fingers.

His terror-stricken irises came to rest on Clint, who leaped forward to catch the kid as he swayed. Pietro collapsed into his arms and Clint knelt to ease his fall, staring down helplessly as crimson oozed from the tear in his neck. Blood welled between his parted lips and Pietro's throat convulsed over and over, thick streams of scarlet melting down the side of his jaw.

Pietro spluttered, mouth open but filled with a thick pool of red. Clint was forced to watch as the kid drowned in his own blood, a few desperate, gurgling chokes emitting from Pietro's throat before his eyes glazed, dozens of small bubbles of blood growing and bursting at his lips as the breath left him.

His chest stilled, no longer did he heave for air. The blood streaming from the corner of his mouth was unaided by breath or Pietro's struggles, falling down to stain the porcelain skin of its own accord.

Red.

The colour danced in Clint's vision, fogging over his eyes. The sharp, salt-ridden scent of blood smothered his sense, a hint of copper touching his tongue.

Blood.

There was so much blood...

Clint's eyes snapped open with a gasp.

He lay on his back, splayed out on the hard floor, a white ceiling stretching out above him. Dream, he told himself quickly. Just a dream. But no, the noise was there still. That strangled choking was still in Clint's ears and he snapped his gaze to the side, scrambling to his knees at the sight before him.

Pietro lay seizing on the floor, on his back, while his body convulsed erratically. His eyes were squeezed shut, mouth open, and he seemed to be trying and failing to gasp for air.

"Kid!" Clint exclaimed, bracing him hands against Pietro's chest.

He attempted to hold the young man still, but quickly realised the sounds were due to Pietro choking on his own tongue. God knows this was far too similar to Clint's nightmare for him to think coherently; he had to silently repeated instructions to himself. Turn him to his side, Barton. Come on, you useless idiot. He's choking, get him on his side.

As gently, but as fast, as possible, Clint rolled Pietro to his side, sparing a hand to brace to the side of Pietro's jaw, holding his head still as the kid's muscles seized beneath his other hand. It seemed to continue for far too long, but Pietro eventually fell still.

He stirred almost immediately and Clint released his grip as the kid turned his head to gaze up at him. His throat convulsed weakly, sitting up and a slight cough causing him to pant faintly.

"Are you okay…?"

Clint's eyes narrowed, jaw twitching with grief and he shot forward. He felt Pietro's shoulders tense up but he didn't let go. Arms wrapped around Pietro's shoulders, he turned his face down slightly, biting his lower lip to force his emotions back.

There was a breeze of a touch and then Clint felt a hand on the back of his head, Pietro's fingers stroking his hair.

"You were dreaming, Barton…" He whispered kindly. "It's okay, it was just a dream."

Clint took in a deep, silent breath. This boy, this brave, brave child had just experienced yet another seizure and almost as soon as it had ended, he asked if Clint Barton, of all people, was okay. He then continued to soothe the archer after a nightmare. How was it possible to both hate someone as a punk-ass kid and love them as a son?

Clearing his throat slightly, Clint extracted himself from Pietro. "Are you alright?"

Pietro nodded faintly. "I.. Yeah, I'm fine but I…" He paused, glancing to Clint's eyes briefly. "I thought you... I don't even know. You were twitching and panting and yelling and I couldn't wake you up."

Clint closed his eyes, dropping his head for a second. "That's why you starting fitting…" He mumbled, raising his head to look at Pietro again. "You can't get stressed like that again, Pietro. You know the doctors told you it can set off your epilepsy."

"Was I just supposed to watch you?" Pietro retorted, frowning. "You expected me to sit calmly and watch you, listen to you scr- uh!"

He hunched over, clutching a hand to his stomach and gasping quietly, his teeth clenched tightly.

"Pietro!" Clint exclaimed, gripping his shoulders. "Kid, are you alright?"

Pietro shook his head, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. "It… It hurts… I…" He suddenly leaned to the side, throat convulsing as he retched violently, vomiting watery bile onto the floor.

Clint laid a hand to his back, shifting behind him slightly, rubbing circles above his spine. "Alright, okay kid. It'll stop soon, it's gonna be okay." He desperately glanced in the direction of the door. "I need some help in here!"

Mere seconds passed before a few doctors rushed into the room and Pietro let out an exhausted sigh, falling back against Clint's chest. The archer held him, smoothing white locks of hair back from his forehead as his eyes closed, lips flaring as he breathlessly gasped for air. Pietro pushed the doctors away when they tried to touch him, groaning faintly.

"Kid, you need to let them help you." Clint murmured softly.

Pietro grimace weakly, shaking his head and Clint sighed deeply, gently taking the young man in his arms. Cradling Pietro against his chest, Clint rose to his feet, carefully making his way to the bed and laying Pietro back against the pillows. His gaze flitted to Pietro's chest, noting the ragged, erratic breaths, the clenched jaw, the small, anguished sounds escaping Pietro's lips.

"He needs morphine." He pointed out, glancing to a doctor.

The man shook his head, reaching over to inspect Pietro's eyes. "I'm not sure we can do that."

"What do you mean?" Clint ordered, anger clenching his fists. "He's in pain, damnit, help him!"

"He's showing symptoms of morphine withdrawal." The doctor informed, gently pulling Pietro's eyelid up, shining a small torch to the irises. "Pupils are dilated, heartrate increasing. Right, Pietro.." The doctor pulled back slightly to attach and oxygen mask to one of the tanks. "Pietro, we're going to put you to sleep now, okay? We'll try to make the pain stop."

Pietro's eyes were closing even before the doctor fitted the mask on. His fading irises flitted to Clint and he moaned softly, lifting his hand in the archer's direction. Clint's eyebrows jumped, briefly surprised, but he quickly forced his lips into a slanted smile, sitting on the edge of the bed and gripping Pietro's hand.

"Sleep, kid.." He murmured quietly, noting Pietro's drooping eyelids. "Doctors are gonna get you better."

"Stay…" Pietro whispered, his eyes closing, hand slackening what weak held it had on Clint's.. "Please…"

Clint watched with eyes narrowed in sympathy as the kid let out a small, exhausted sigh and slipped out of consciousness. He squeezed Pietro's hand, laying it down to rest over the young man's stomach.

"Sure, kid…" He murmured, although he knew Pietro wouldn't be able to hear him.

Pietro's heavy breathing clouded the inside of the mask, his chest rising and falling in synchronisation. Clint reached forward and smoothed loose strands of white hair from Pietro's forehead, tucking long locks behind his ears.

"I'll stay with you…"