Work Text:
Picking up the Pieces
He doesn’t get to wake up slowly. Instead, a bucket of ice cold water is emptied over him, and he splutters awake, startling and coughing in disoriented panic.
Clint is trying to bolt up, but he is pulled back by buckles around his arms, legs and torso. Breathing is hard, and he’s still choking on water.
The sudden movement pulls on his arm, and the pain of dislocated joints and possibly broken bones shoots through him hot and sudden.
Even in this state, he’s trying to take in all the information he can, letting this particular part of his brain take over for a moment.
There are at least three other people in the room, clad in disposable overalls, faces hidden behind masks. All of them watch him cough and choke with utter disinterest, but the part that worries Clint the most is that neither Tony or Bruce are anywhere to be seen.
Having no idea how much time passed in between their attempt to escape and him waking up also means he doesn’t know if he’s even in the same place anymore. He doesn’t know how far the three of them have been separated, if the other two are even still alive.
That thought alone is enough to send boiling hot fury through his entire body, as well as a deep set determination to stay alive and find out, no matter what. If one single hair is out of place on either of his friends, he will murder their captors. If they’re hurt or dead, he’ll make it messy and painful, that much he is sure of.
Either no one is talking to him, or they took away his hearing aids - his mind is fuzzy, but Clint is pretty sure that it is a mixture of both - which means they don’t want information from him. That, in turn, tells him that this is either revenge or they have another, unknown goal.
They hadn’t even known what their captors even wanted, back when they’d woken up in a small, wet cell. No one has asked anything, no one had even visited them the entire time. But they want something, that much is clear.
Suddenly, the prick of a needle pushes into his neck, and shortly after that, Clint can’t move anything, even with the already limited range of motion he currently has. But his muscles refuse to work, and then, all he is able to geel is seething, all-consuming pain.
* ~
Tony startles awake, perplexed and violently choking on the sudden flush of icy water that hits him in the face. There is a cloth bound around his head, covering his nose and mouth and he is scrambling to try and get a clear breath of air. He’s panicking, which makes breathing even harder. His heart is pounding in his chest, and it takes all of his willpower to calm down even just a little bit.
While he is still choking and coughing under the wet cloth, someone is ripping it away, but there is no time for relief.
Instead, he is being pulled up by his arms and roughly shoved through the room. The figure behind him is quite a bit taller, clad in a white overall like one would wear to renovate houses. It’s like they want to prevent a mess getting onto them which, Tony finds, is definitely something to worry about in his position.
He also can’t make out anyone familiar in this room. Neither Clint or Bruce seem to be near him, which is unsettling for more than one reason. For one, he’d have very much liked to keep his friends close. It’s unnerving, having no idea where they are or what is happening to either of them. It’s not just that though.
However messed up or scary a situation is, it’s easier to live through it when he’s not alone. He knows this now.
It is not something he would have willingly admitted a few years back, but Tony has certainly grown enough to recognize and admit that by now. It is an everlasting conflict with him wanting the people around him as safe and secure as humanly possible.
“Move it.” the voice of the figure shoving him growls and the next push sends Tony stumbling forwards. He twists his neck to glare back at the guy and give him a piece of his mind, but before he can finish the sentence, he catches a hard backhand right into his face. He can both feel and hear his nose breaking under the impact,
“Ow. Fucking asshole!” he spits out, which earns him another rough shove and a steel toed boot to the back of his knee. Something pops, and a small, warm trickle of blood is running out of his nose. It splatters down his chin and onto his shirt. It’s a mess anyway, he thinks, and part of him is wondering if he is already losing it, because out of all things he could be thinking about, it’s this.
Fighting back might be useless, but that doesn’t stop him from trying still. This, however, results in even more pain. Bruises are forming and broken bones are throbbing, but he clenches his jaw, moving on and walking as he is told, even though it hurts with every step.
Only a little while later, the door to some sort of laboratory opens automatically as they come closer. Tony is shoved along the way just as roughly as before, then another person is manhandling him into a chair that looks like a contraption straight out of a horror movie.
Nausea rises up in his throat, but he can’t get away from the two people forcing him into it and securing him by the arms and legs.
“You’re not getting away from us, Mr. Stark.” somebody says. The voice is male, cold and disinterested. Merely stating facts. It sends a shiver down his spine, but he is trying his best to keep a straight face.
‘ Don’t show them how scared you are. Keep a clear head, do what you have to do. You can fall apart about it when it’s over. Just stay alive in the meantime. ’ a calm voice in his head reminds Tony. It is no coincidence that the voice sounds very much like Natasha. The words are hers, shared in a quiet moment a few years back. It had been the night after a rough mission, and it kept all of them awake.
Tony thinks about this advice every time things go to hell - it might be a small comfort, but in the end, it really does help.
Staying alive is exactly what he needs to do now.
Part of him hopes that the three of them are already missed back home - facing a pissed off Black Widow is very much what he wishes upon those bastards.
* ~
Clint comes back to himself with sharp pain shooting through his entire body. It takes his breath away and he’s starting to panic for a split second. Then he forces himself to breathe as calmly as possible. Every single part of him feels like it’s on fire, his skull pounding hard enough as if about to explode. He is still unable to move, apart from his eyes.
This is what worries him the most, at least it is until they move him upright, still strapped to the table. Then, the metaphorical ground is ripped away from under his feet once again.
The room around him looks different now, although it is still too bright, cold, and sterile.
He is no longer alone though. If he were able to move or scream or do anything really, he would. But as it is, all he can do is watch as the captors pull aside a white plastic curtain that, until now, had separated the room. It reveals his friends, and as much as he wants to move, fight, do anything - he can’t. He can’t do anything to fight or help, and that knowledge alone is physically painful.
Both Bruce and Tony are in a sorry state, and the desire to kill every single person responsible for this is the most powerful thing he’s felt in a while, even while he is in excruciating pain himself, as well as drugged up to hell.
Clint is still unable to move, no matter how much he wishes for it to be different, no matter how much he tries to force his body to obey his brain. It doesn’t work.
Him being unable to move now is the punishment for him being able to break the three of them out of their cell - he just knows it.
Clint never finds out what they wanted originally - all he knows is that this, the fucked up shitshow of an aftermath, is the revenge for their nearly successful escape.
They torture Bruce with drugs and knives, just to prove that the Hulk truly is suppressed - at least for now, while they are in control and not him.
They break his own bones and shoot him up with more and more drugs.
They force Tony to watch it all.
Clint is out of it and his brain is getting foggy. But a small part of him is always aware of what is happening, and as he is watching his friends suffer, he does just the same.
Clint can’t hear anything, doesn’t know what Tony is yelling, doesn’t know if Bruce is awake or drifting away. But there are hot and angry tears burning in his eyes and then they drip down his chin.
He can’t do anything about that, either. In fact, it’s all he can do at the moment besides forcing himself to keep breathing.
* ~
Tony is raging - if he was physically able to at this very moment, he would probably kill the men in this room.
Bruce is unconscious, strapped to a table and covered in little ports with needles. An unknown drug is running through his system, a drug which seems to suppress the Hulk. His skin changes every once in a while, veins bulging in an acidic green. But then he rears up, still unconscious but obviously in agony as his body is overwhelmed and unsure of what to do with all the overlapping sensations. He is bleeding from the ports and there is foam forming in front of his mouth. But there are also cuts all over his body, all of them bleeding freely.
Bruce looks even worse than before and after a while his lips are slowly turning blue.
Oppressed or not, Tony is quite certain that if it wasn’t for the other guy, Bruce would be dead by now. The thought sends cold dread, agony and seething anger through him.
Clint, however, remains completely still. Not a single sound leaves his lips, and the only sign that he is still alive is the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. They must have drugged him up to no end, because he doesn’t even flinch as they break bone after bone - first his right arm that is already damaged, then the left. The arm he uses to shoot more often than not. Then they move on to Clint’s legs.
He can’t do anything about it.
Tony is nauseous from watching, but he forces himself to keep his eyes open. As he knows now, they’ll only hurt his friends worse whenever he tries to look away - he doesn’t want to be responsible for that. But whenever and however he’ll get out of this, he will make them pay. He swears it, over and over again as they force him to watch them torture his teammates for hours.
By the time the doors are kicked in and gentle hands free Tony from his restraints, he is too out of it to react in any meaningful way. But the arms that carry him are warm, strong and familiar. In his field of vision, there is the familiar blur of blue, red, white and stars and he just knows that they are safe now.
Exhaustion takes over, and the last thing he sees as he peaks over Steve’s shoulder, is Thor carrying both Bruce and Clint over his shoulders.
Thor is gentle with them, carefully picking them up and trying not to jostle them too much, out of fear of hurting them any further. The Thundergod’s usually friendly blue eyes are darkened by many emotions, and there are flashes of lightning crackling around him, although never touching any of his friends.
Natasha is out of his field of vision, but Tony can hear the terrified screams of their tormentors echo in the room. He doesn’t even feel bad for being gleeful about that.
Tony finally passes out with the knowledge that at least this wish came true. No surprise there though - no one hurts the people Natasha calls family and survives the aftermath.
* ~
How do you even survive something like this?
It is a question that every single one of them keeps asking themselves, and yet they’re still there to tell the tale. An extended stay in the hospital is mandatory for Clint, Bruce and Tony. The three of them are sore, hurting and plagued with night terrors about being tortured or worse, losing each other even weeks and months after the incident, but being back home and being safe helps. So does being surrounded by the rest of the team. Their disappearance had worried them all, especially since there had been no planned missions. To have them home and safe now eases something in their minds - almost losing one another on a semi-regular basis is really getting old, so they stay even closer than usual.
No one objects to group cuddling in two hospital beds shoved together, even though they have to be mindful of various injuries.
It doesn’t take long for Bruce (“Im fine , the drugs are wearing off. Leave me alone!”) to move into a chair in the room that contains his two friends. The doctors had kept them separated at first, but it doesn’t last long because Bruce heals fast once he isn’t shot up with lord knows what anymore. His healing powers finally return, and as soon as he is well enough to get out of bed, he keeps traveling in between Clint and Tony’s rooms.
This only lasts as long as it takes for Tony to wake up and demand he’d be moved into the room with Clint. Let it never be said that Tony Stark can’t be effective if he wants to. He has the incredibly useful capacity to be truly annoying, even more so than usual and he takes full advantage of it. He keeps it up until the nurses put a second bed into the room where Clint is wrapped up in too many casts and hooked up to too many machines that beep.
Being close together to heal is helpful to all of them, even more so because the rest of the team is always nearby, refusing to leave them alone.
Neither of them is ever truly alone, and while usually, all of them like to have their own space, now they are practically attached by the hip. Just being able to see the others is a tremendous help in easing the fear that one of them might disappear again.
Natasha spends the first few nights curled up on the edge of Clint’s bed. She remains there until he slowly wakes up and asks why she doesn’t come closer. Her fear of hurting him further than he already is is everlasting, but he claims to be on the good kind of drugs, and besides, there is no point in snuggling if there is any air left in between the participants.
How on earth he manages to string that sentence together first thing after waking up, Nat isn’t sure. But it makes her laugh, and that is good enough for Clint. It lasts until her laughter is replaced by tears - it takes him a little off guard, but he keeps his face pressed into Natasha’s hair, whispering reassurances until his already wrecked voice gives out entirely. She keeps crying for a while, pressing as close to him as she dares with the amount of injuries that need to heal.
He wishes he’d be able to hug his best friend, but there are too many injuries for him to manage it. So this needs to be enough. The two of them cling for a while, but then they decide to keep moving forward, just as they always do.
As it turns out, it doesn’t take long for everyone else to move into the room as well. There is always someone there, and it makes her sleep a little easier at night, knowing that her whole family is safe.
They look out for each other, and they always will.
* ~
Square 25: "Manhandling"