Work Text:
Suddenly, there is silence
Suddenly, there is silence. The sounds of the fight that is still going on around him are no longer noticeable to Clint. All there is, is a stabbing pain that feels like his skull is about to explode.
He is gasping for air, trying to get up from the concrete floor. Why is he even down here in the first place? Quickly he finds that getting up is nearly impossible. There is blood gushing everywhere, and fuck, is that his own?
Clint doesn’t make it all the way up, but his balance is shot to shit, so he staggers and falls back down again. The pain is getting more and more intense, and when his head hits the floor, there are two arrows next to him, covered in blood. Neither of those arrows is his own, but he still recognizes them. It’s been years since he last saw his brother, but he knows his signatures when he sees them. Ice cold dread is running down his spine when that thought hits him.
Oh, Fuck.
Before Clint can say anything, like calling for help or looking where his attacker has fled to, Clint starts passing out. His comms are going crazy, what with his teammates calling for him, but he can’t hear it.
He can’t hear anything. All there is is silence, and it surrounds him while he slowly drifts away.
* ~
In between unconsciousness and being awake, Clint remembers that fateful day nearly 30 years ago when the world had suddenly turned silent for the very first time in his life.
The really sad thing? He doesn’t remember what set Dad off that day. If he messed up somehow, or if Dad had been too drunk to think straight. Logically, Clint knows that none of this is his fault - never had been. Years and years of therapy have pounded this into his head, and he may or may not believe it now, but it doesn’t change the fact that he always starts this particular thought with “I don’t remember what set him off that day”.
He knows it’s the alcohol - he knows it was his dad being angry and frustrated at the world in general, and nothing Clint did or didn’t do could have changed anything about that.
Unfortunately, Harold has always taken it out on his wife and kids.
Barney might have remembered the few and far between good times with Dad, but Clint never got to know that man. All he knows is fear and pain and hiding, when thinking of his father.
Clint doesn’t know what set Dad off that day.
All he remembers is that he was suddenly being grabbed from behind, shaken hard enough so that he dropped the glass of water he had been holding at the time. The breaking glass and the mess on the floor only made Dad more angry, and then he lashed out.
Sadly, even at 6 years old, Clint was used to being his fathers punching bag, and he knows that it’s best to remain silent - don’t talk back, don’t scream, and most of all, don’t cry. Don’t ever fucking cry, or it’ll get so much worse.
So, Clint remained silent that day, hoping that Dad will stop soon, hoping he’ll move on to something else when he is done here. Only, that day, that is not what happened.
Harold Barton was hollering at his youngest son, inches away from his face, so that stinking breath that reeked of alcohol and flying droplets of spit hit him straight in the face. And then, suddenly, Clint’s head collided with the coffee table.
Dad stopped yelling, but then again, there was no other sound either.
There was a pain in his head, different from anything else Clint had ever experienced, even in the sorry circumstances he spent the majority of his short life in.
Out of pure instinct, he touched the sides of his head, over his ears where the pain was worst, and his tiny hands came away covered in blood - Clint was terrified. And because he was so utterly scared, he momentarily forgot the two most important rules when it comes to Dad - Don’t scream, don’t cry.
He was sobbing from fear and pain, and he couldn't make out even part of that, even though he must have been loud enough for half the street to hear. It terrified him even more, and Clint didn’t dare look at Dad, didn't want to see his red, angry face yelling at him any more.
Harold grabbed him by the shoulders, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. He was still shaking him as if that would stop anything, and he kept doing so until Mom came running and forcefully pulled Harold away. She was shrieking at her husband,
“What have you done?!” but Clint couldn’t hear that, either.
At this point, he was about to pass out from the pain and blood loss, and really, it was a relief.
* ~
Clint wakes up to bright lights and scratchy sheets. There is a sharp, distinctive smell of antiseptic in the air that tells him that he is in a hospital. His head is heavy, as if filled with cotton, but there is no pain. Other than that, the world is still utterly silent. Sometimes, there is a muffled bit of something that makes its way through, but it is over just as quickly as it came.
With a groan, Clint opens his eyes. The light is blinding, way too bright, and he almost flinches away from it. Too much. It’s too much. His dream is lingering, but he is too tired to deal with that.
A warm, gentle hand rests on his arm, fingers tapping a short but familiar rhythm - Clint relaxes at once, because only two other people use this form of communication with him. Originally, they came up with that in case they can’t talk out loud during missions and when hand signs would be too obvious - Clint, Nat and Phil are fluent in each other's micro expressions, but sometimes, it’s nice to be able to say something.
`You are safe. I’m here.` is what the tapping rhythm means, and really, just moments later, the lights are dimmed a bit, which is an instant relief. Then Phil steps into his line of sight. Clint manages a small smile.
He is happy and relieved to see him, and Phil seems to be just as happy. Slowly, he reaches out for his hand and Clint happily lets him. With his other hand, Phil is brushing away a few strands of blond hair from his forehead, and Clint leans into the touch.
“Hey. What happened?” he asks, and this time, he isn’t surprised at all that he can’t hear himself. There is a fear in the back of his head, old memories that are coming back to the surface, but he manages to hold that off for now. He is safe, and Phil is here - he can figure out the rest as it comes.
Phil taps his shoulder, and Clint opens his eyes again to look - oh, right. Communication and all that. His head is still cloudy. But lucky for him, his partner is prepared as always. He hands him a notepad, where he has written a few short, blocky sentences. It’s far from his usual small, neat handwriting. This was written with someone dizzy and exhausted in mind.
Hi. Good to see you awake.
You are safe now, but you were attacked in the last fight.
Stabbed ear drums. Hearing loss.
Might be permanent.
Doctors say a little might come back over time.
Can’t say anything for sure yet.
Clint takes that in, and has to swallow a lump in his throat. The word “permanent” is burned into his brain, and it makes him think of a doctor’s visit many many years ago, where these exact words had been written down for him - Hearing loss, possibly permanent.
Clint remembers feeling completely numb at the time, only nodding to indicate that he understood. He didn’t know what his parents told the doctor back then, but there is no doubt that they’d gone the “clumsy kid had an accident” route like they always did.
Clint had been long used to that, too, and he wouldn’t dare say anything. He was way too afraid of the painful consequences if he did.
His hearing had returned over time - mostly. It hadn’t been great ever since, but he’d managed well enough.
Now, things look quite a bit different.
Now, as an adult, Clint nods to the explanation, trying to keep all of the thoughts and memories at bay. Phil seems to know that he must be struggling, so he leans over to press a kiss against Clint’s temple. Clint leans into the touch, and is happy that Phil is scooting closer so they can keep up the physical contact more easily. Then, he flips over to another page on his notepad.
How are you feeling?
Clint considers this for a second. Then he shrugs.
“I don’t know. Tired. Dizzy. Can’t hear anything.”
Talking feels funny, too. He says as much, and Phil nods in understanding.
Pain? , He scribbles down under his first question, and Clint shakes his head - just the tiny bit of movement makes his head spin. It takes him a while to answer because of that.
“No, I think they gave me the good stuff. Just, my balance must be shot to shit.”
This time, Phil writes a little bit more.
Yes, that is normal for now, from what I’ve been told. Doc will come by later to explain.
With a long sigh, Clint nods again.
“...Okay.”
There really isn’t much else he could say right now, and despite having questions, Clint can feel the exhaustion pulling him back under again. While he settles back into a more comfortable position, he can feel Phil sitting down on the edge of his bed. He reaches out, carefully, and Clint happily accepts the offer. He drifts off into sleep while leaning into the warmth of his partner, leaning into the touch while he slowly strokes his hair until Clint is out cold again.
When he wakes up again, nothing has changed. He still feels the same, and thankfully, Phil is still with him. They don’t talk much, although the notepad is still close.
I was worried about you.
Do you need anything?
Natahsa is coming by tonight.
The team might join us later, if you’re up for it.
and
I love you.
are the only things currently written on it, but the `I love you´ is written a lot bigger than everything else. Phil has underlined that sentence more than once and he even drew a few lopsided hearts floating around it.
Clint can still feel the flush that crept up his neck, but he also hasn’t stopped smiling since, despite everything else. The amount of love he feels for Phil is hard to put into words, and sometimes he can’t believe how lucky he is that Phil feels the same for him. But he does, and he only leaves Clint’s side to shower and change, or to pick up food from the cafeteria. Other than that, Phil remains close, happy to write small notes for Clint or to hold him while he sleeps, occupying himself with a book or paperwork.
Clint is happy, and more than a little thankful for the distraction. This whole situation still terrifies him, still makes him think way too much of the first time his world has turned utterly silent. All that is a can of worms he doesn’t want to open right now, so he takes any distraction, any happy thought he can right now.
Maybe, when he is out of the hospital, he might tell Phil about it. He knows that he would be willing to listen at any time, happy to help him sort through the thoughts and memories. He would be there , to support him in any way he needs, and Clint loves him for it.
He doesn’t fool himself - he knows that the rough times will hit as soon as the fog has left his head and things are more clear. The memories and old trauma will hit him then, no doubt, but he also knows that he won’t have to do this alone. Sometimes, he doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve Phil.
But for now, he is happy to doze off with his head pillowed on Phil’s legs, happy to let him keep watch for a little while longer.
-
Prompt: Ear Injury