And Steve Rogers Held His Hand

In retrospect he really should have seen it coming. Not the explosion that blew the roof off of the old brownstone, the shattering of glass and the concussive force that hurtled him back. Realistically no one could have seen that, it was a good spot, a clean shot, a sheltered point to take aim and cover his team. No, not the explosion. As his foot lost purchase on the crumbling ledge and he tumbled back, clawing at empty air for a handhold, Clint Barton could only think one thing; Why in the world was a normal person like him pretending to be a super hero?

He wasn't, he really, really wasn't. He was the odd man out in a group of one-offs. Sure, Stark was normal. Well, normal for a guy with an IQ of 267. Even without the big metal suit and the reactor in his chest he was still a freak of nature. The rest of the team consisted of Norse gods and bio-engineered enhanced super-humans. As he felt the earth rush up toward him he wondered what Banner would think of that assessment. He laughed.

He never did remember the impact.

When he opened his eyes, his ears were ringing, the blood rushing through his head like the churning of ocean waves and the world swimming around him in distorted images.

"Hold on Clint!" the voice sounded far away and he knew he should recognize it. He couldn't focus and he tried not to retch. The level of pain was phenomenal. He'd never been run over by a train but he couldn't imagine how that could be any worse. He pressed his eyes closed, fighting down the nausea as the figure at his side shouted for a medic. Only one person would be stupid enough to yell for back up when he was wearing an earpiece.

"Hey, Cap," he murmured, forcing a smile as he opened his eyes to bare slits. Steve Rogers was holding tight to his hand and for some reason he found that funny. "Sorry I left my post."

"Don't move," Steve ordered, meeting Clint's gaze with brilliant blue eyes and an unflappable expression. "Just stay calm, help is on the way."

"Did we win?" It was all so incredibly amusing, he was probably crushed to smithereens and dying, he really couldn't tell, but that didn't make the whole thing any less funny. If he wasn't struggling to keep from crying out in pain he'd probably be giggling.

"I'm pretty sure I have a concussion," Barton declared softly. A bare laugh bubbled through his lips and the shot of pain to his chest was crushing. He shouldn't be laughing, he should be screaming. As he stared up at Captain America swimming over him he wondered if his skull were crushed.

"I'll buy that," Rogers nodded, a kind smile on his own lips. "I take it this isn't your first?"

"I think this one is seven," Clint mumbled. It was getting harder to make sense of the world, to hear, to think. Definitely a concussion. A bad one. "It might be eight. I'm absolutely sure it's less than ten."

"Save your strength," Steve soothed, his strong hands gently stroking Clint's fingers. That was funny too. He wondered if naive innocent Captain America had any notion what sort of ideas people would get from his current behavior.

"Whats his... oh god," Phil Coulson skidded over the rubble, his perfectly polished shoes dragging up a light cloud of dust. His face was blank, completely without emotion but his eyes, Clint had seen that expression before and it wasn't good.

"I need an evac team, STAT," Coulson barked into his com, kneeling on the broken street at his side.

"Bad huh?" Clint murmured. He could feel a stupid and entirely inappropriate smile on his lips. Coulson smiled back, god the man was the best liar going.

"I've seen worse," Phil admitted.

"You've been dead," Clint pointed out. Coulson actually looked taken aback. Speechless Phil; now that was funny. He almost laughed this time but the motion quickly turned into agony. Instantly Steve's hand was cradling his face, stern worried eyes meeting his.

"Don't you walk out on me soldier, you're not dismissed yet." Steve declared gently.

"Yes sir," he whispered. Pain rattled his body and he choked on a cry. He could feel reality slipping from him and he stared up into the face of Captain America struggling to force himself to stay focused. If he closed his eyes now, he'd probably never open them again. He could see Steve hovering over him, trying to keep him awake, Phil in the background signaling down an ambulance. His vision was tunneling. He could hear the medics scrambling over the broken street as his eyes slipped shut.

Damn, he was an idiot.

The next time he opened his eyes it was like a nightmare, the world wrong and unfocused to such a degree that he couldn't even tell where he was or who was at his side. And the next, and the next, and the next. A haze of pain and drugs and tortured misery. White coats flitted over him in a blur of lights, shouting at each other. He couldn't see, not properly, he couldn't think. He couldn't even hear, not voices, not really, he could hear the words but they didn't make sense. He could hear the rapid staccato of a monitor, and then a flat tone, more rapid beats and tone. Over and over again. Was he dying a thousand times? And wasn't that just hysterical? He didn't know if he was laughing or crying. The world slid in and out of darkness, bright lights burning his eyes, pain crushing him and then blackness and torment suffocating him. He didn't know if it was day and night or life and death or his body slipping in and out of consciousness. All he knew was that it was bad.

But he wouldn't think about that.

When he finally did awaken properly there was still a warm hand in his and he smiled.

"Damn it, Cap," He murmured with a grin. "Tell me you haven't been there the whole time holding my hand like a teenaged girl."

"No, we've been taking turns," Steve said with a chuckle, the tips of his ears flushing pink. "How are you feeling?"

"Great!" A grin spread across his face. He did feel pretty good, better than he really thought he should. SHIELD medical must have done some first class work on him.

"Find out what this stuff is that they're giving me for the pain," Clint added, allowing himself to let out a sigh of relief. "It's some seriously good shit, I'm half numb. I can barely feel a thing." There was a wince, the tiniest spasm in Steve's expression and then it was gone. Clint frowned.

"Cap?" Steve pulled back his shoulders in a way that made Clint's stomach clench. He could almost see the reassuring words forming on the other man's lips when the door opened.

"Hello lazy," Natasha gave him a sweet, tender smile as she glided elegantly though the door, every hair in place and her appearance perfect in every detail. Whatever Rogers had planned to say Clint had entirely forgotten. "You gave us a scare."

"Damn, Nat, you look like hell," he teased, grinning as she brushed a kiss on his forehead. "You should be ashamed for letting yourself go like this." Steve stared at them in confusion. He glanced up as the door opened again and to his surprise Stark had slipped in, hanging back around the doorway and propping the door open with his foot.

"Barton," He nodded in greeting, folding his arms over his chest. Clint blinked at him, trying to decide what didn't feel right. It wasn't that he and Tony didn't get along, it was true the man made him crazy sometimes and he did take a bit of fiendish delight in crawling through the tower's wet walls and utility accesses just for the sheer joy of watching Tony Stark's paranoid glances over his shoulder when things weren't where they'd been left. He liked to think there was some mutual respect there too. Stark was putting them all up rent free for god sake, in his own place, no less.

It was true that Stark was still taciturn at times and occasionally dismissive. He'd hole up in his lab for days, emerging to take verbal pot shots at the team and then, just to keep everyone on their toes, take them all out to dinner somewhere repugnantly expensive. Barton had come to the conclusion that Tony was a lot like a five year old kid, incapable of telling you he liked you so he resorted to punching you and then offering to give you a ride home on his bike.

"He's awake?" Clint squinted at the door, a faint smile curling his lips as Bruce leaned around the door with his usual sheepish expression.

"So they tell me, doc" Clint shrugged, giving the other man a friendly smile. He'd been wary of Banner at first but as they'd worked together he'd come to appreciate the scientist's unique situation. Bruce, at his heart was a gentle soul who, in any other circumstance Barton would have felt protective over. It seemed strange to be defensive of someone who could crush a building but there you are.

"Everyone's been worried about your head injury," Banner declared, picking up his chart from the foot of the bed and going over it. "This isn't your first concussion."

"Not in my line of work," he smiled. "I got hit by a hummer once, that one left a knot on my head you wouldn't believe." Bruce pulled up the stool beside his bed and he felt Natasha's soothing hand gently rubbing his shoulder. Deep inside him something felt wrong but he couldn't place it. The meds must really be doing a number on him.

"We need to talk about your injury," Bruce stated softly, biting his lip.

"What about it?" Clint asked in confusion. "I mean, the headache's killer but I've had worse. I'm conscious so brain injury can't be that bad, right?" Banner only stared back at him. Natasha's fingers weren't stroking his shoulder any more, they were gripping it and he looked over at Stark who was purposefully staring out the window. That was when he realized, Steve was still holding his hand.

"Clint," Bruce met his gaze with unwavering eyes. "Would you move your toes for me?"

Author's Note:

This story is part of a series called "Coulson Lives but the Avengers Might be the Death of him." The full list of stories and their chronological order can be found on my profile page