Marvel Imagines

Broken Vigilantes (Clint Barton X Reader)

A/N: Sad. But happy? Idk. But I apologize in advance. I was a bit of a mess writing this. Nat's death in Endgame, after seeing Black Widow, hits like, 10x harder now. Anyways. Enjoy? Let me know your thoughts in the comments and any other Clint related ideas you may have!

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Ever since that fateful day that had completely flipped your concept of reality upside down, you haven't been the same.

You can ever so vividly recall the stiffly cold wind which blew by your cheeks as you climbed the set of narrow, rather uneven stairs, following behind the two people you'd been partnered up with.

The same very two people that mean the world to you.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton.

Your best friend and, at the time, your fiancé.

Neither of you had ever anticipated the world shattering news of how your assigned Infinity Stone was to be retrieved.

It had been a silently heated debate on the ancient slab of brick, resulting in the three of you all ultimately fighting the other way from the edge of the cliff.

The memory haunts you - the sting of electricity pulsing through your leg as you stumbled to the ground, so close to the edge.

And all you could do was watch as your fiancé silently mouthed the words "I love you," while leaping towards the edge, a cry of such agony and disbelief falling from your lips, one that you can still ever so vividly hear echoing back at you.

But in the blink of an eye, before you could even get yourself back up off of the ground to leap after him, Natasha blurred past you, beating you at your own plan.

And all you could do is watch as the Black Widow released one of her grappling hooks, the sound of it biting into the rock ringing loud in your panicked thoughts.

Disbelief and utter horror chorused through your veins, your eyesight blurring and thoughts slowing.

And then, as soon as the chaos had began, silence enveloped you.

Other than the sounds of your fiancé's heart-wrenching sobs, the soft orange glow of the Soul Stone illuminating his broken features.

Wait... That sounds too close to be just a memory...

You bolt upright in a groggy panic, your breathing erratic, heart beating wildly out of your chest, a clap of thunder heightening your senses even more.

Eyes still blurry and adjusting to the dim darkness of the bedroom you're in, you hurriedly cast your gaze to your side, the lump of blankets tossed heavy onto your side of the bed a telltale sign of just what your Partner is going through.

A crack of lightning illuminates the room for a moment, and when it does, the sight in front of you makes your heart break.

Your now husband is curled into a ball on his side of the bed, sweat evidently beading on his forehead, not a blanket nor shirt in sight.

And falling from his lips are soft cries and whimpers of utter defeat, guilt and agony, his entire body shaking with choked sobs.

Biting your lip in an attempt to keep your own building tears at bay, you gently reach out towards Clint, placing a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Clint," You murmur, compassion thick in your ever wavering tone. "You've got to wake up."

Shaking him a bit rougher now, you repeat your gentle words once more.