Scars and Origins

Chapter 1: Cold and Uncontrolled

~ This story is set in 2008, after Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff both join up with SHIELD, but long before either one encounters any other Avenger. Iron Man is not even on the scene yet. Since Clint Barton's age has never been confirmed, we're going to assume that Clint is about 5 years older than Natasha, and she would be 24 years old at this point. ~

Canada was exceedingly cold this time of year. All they could do to keep from freezing was to keep moving. Their breath hung noiselessly in front of them as they descended a steep hillside covered in pines that obstructed the night sky. "It's just," he swallowed, "another mile." She shook her head at her partner as they hung onto each other. "We'll... freeze to death... there's a cabin," she squeaked, as she pointed a few hundred yards ahead of them among the foliage.

Agent Barton's arm was strung around Romanoff's waist, grasping onto the curve of her figure. Her blood stained the sleeve of his shirt. She had sunk her fingers into the side of his belt at his hip. Her walk was unsteady and her lips were pale. Her ankle had certainly been broken, with black and blue offending the skin around the joint. She had cuts and puncture wounds up and down her body, blood staining her skin and signature suit. Her hands were unsteady and sore. Her back was torn to shreds with gashes that could kill a bear. Clint was nowhere near unscathed either. His head was bleeding at his right temple, bottom lip cut open, but he had mostly been tased, apparent red marks where prongs had been littering his neck and shoulders. They had dislocated his left shoulder, but he had Natasha move that back into place hours before. However, the worst impact for Clint was hearing Natasha's screams over and over in his head.

Barton's quiver clung tightly to his frame, bow in his free hand. He was low on arrows, but knew Natasha and him were far out of reach from their enemy now. Their mile long hike and questionably safe careen across a canyon ensured that.

After another 10 minutes, Barton had settled Romanoff onto a dusty couch that laid in front of the fireplace that he was hastily prepping in the vacant cabin. She clutched onto her partner's vest that he had laid over her torso. She lay still and silent, as she trusted her partner to get them warmed up.

"This is probably a summer home," Clint theorized as the fire roared to life.

"Maybe," she replied as he hoisted her up and loosely held her seated in front of the fire. "I don't really care... I'm just cold."

With that, Barton went to the bedroom of the cabin and grabbed the duvet and a couple pillows. There was only one T-shirt in the closet, which he brought with him as a makeshift bandage if need be. He wrapped the duvet around them as they shook from the cold and the beatings they endured. They laid on their left sides and stared at the fire. Barton loosely hugged Natasha from behind on the wooden floor boards, careful not to put pressure on her raw skin. Warmth circulated around them as the fire grew. Normally, Romanoff would never allow this, but she was too bloodied and exhausted to protest.

Clint stood again once he was warm enough to think straight and feel his fingers. Caringly, he tucked the blanket around Romanoff to keep the heat in. He scoured the nearby kitchen cabinets and bathroom for medical supplies. Scattered in the different rooms of the house, he found a few rolls of gauze, extra strength Tylenol, scissors, bandaids, and hydrogen peroxide. He handed Natasha the bottle of pills, and she took four, full well knowing the dose was two. Her liver was not the issue right now. Clint laid the other supplies on the coffee table that was between his partner and the couch. Still shivering, he prepared to bandage his partner, cutting the sleeves and collar off the XL T-shirt. It would have to do.

"What did they do to you in there, Tash," Clint questioned with a gentle tone. "I've never seen you so... vulnerable." He frowned at the words he never thought he could say. Natasha Romanoff was never vulnerable.