"You didn't see that coming?"
Then he was gone.
"No," Clint whispered, picking the kid up as time slowed. Was he moving? How was the ship getting closer if he wasn't going away from the body? He was running, he knew that, but he should have been running towards him, not away.
As he climbed onto the ship, he felt his shoulder being grabbed as he tried to hop back off after putting the boy down.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Natasha barked, trying to grab onto his sleeve and pull him back onto board.
"Pietro's still out there!" He yelled over the roar of the thrusters. "Let go of me!"
"Are you insane? We have to leave him!" She shouted back, but was cut off when Clint jabbed an arrow into her hand and made her drop him. He crashed to the ground, his back landing on some heavy rubble. Groaning, Clint stood and began running off to go find the speedster, Natasha screaming in the background for him to come back.
Good thing his hearing impediment drowned her out.
"Pietro? Pietro!" He yelled, searching among the rubble where he had shielded the boy, and the other had lost his life. "Pietro, please!"
He couldn't help but think back to when they had apprehended the twins only a week or so ago. After that mission, every time he saw the brat, he would get a funny feeling inside him, like someone was boiling water in his stomach. He didn't really like it, so he filed it under I Don't Want to Give More Than Two Minutes of Thought on This, and he called it a day. It wasn't a thing about going from enemies to allies, because he didn't feel this way about Wanda at all.
Maybe he was just being weird about it all. Again.
He spotted a flash of silver hair sticking up from behind a large boulder. Clint ran to it and came around to find the bloody body of his teammate.
"No, no, no no no, this isn't real," he felt hot tears pool at his eyes as he knelt down and heaved Pietro up. What was happening to him? Approximately twenty minutes ago, he was making a joke about how he wouldn't miss the kid at all. And here he was, sniveling over his corpse.
What had this guy done to him?
"You're gonna be okay," he urged a faint smile to come to his lips, not that Pietro could see it. He just thought'd it would be nice. "I'm gonna get you home, Wanda will be there, we'll all be there. Like a party. A get well soon party." Pull it TOGETHER Barton, you're talking to yourself. He can't hear you, and he can't hear anything else. So why bother? In a way, it was comforting, knowing he could get away with saying whatever he wanted.
Not that he would take the risk of Pietro being able to hear.
If he was even alive.
"How did it feel? Shitty, huh? I'm sure... Listen, I didn't mean for any of this to happen," by now he was slurring words, like he was a drunk that was mad at the world. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's all my fault and I'm sorry," he sniffed and shook his head. "Do you see this? What I'm doing right now? I'm crying because you couldn't just let me take those bullets for you! Because you, you had to just go ahead and come up with that cheesy catchphrase that made my chest wring and my head spin and your stupid SMILE that you thought would be good to flash at a time like that. Now it's frozen on your face. Nice going, dummy." He felt his chest rise and fall with each heartbeat, each struggle to keep moving under the weight of the other.
"Everything will be okay," he sputtered and choked back an audible sob that threatened to release itself from his throat. Crying. What a way to present himself in the best light. He had to physically stop to gather himself together enough for him to continue.
What was Pietro thinking?
The kid was literally ready to slit Clint's throat, and now he was taking a bullet (several, actually) for him? What was the point? Clint wasn't even sure he would have done the same for the other.
Another thought to file away.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Clint was running now, sobbing between words and trying to wipe his eyes enough so he could see. "Why'd ya do it, you bastard? It makes no sense, why? Why do you do this to me? I should be fine! I should be on that plane back to safety! You're dead for all I know, and yet I'm lugging your lifeless body out into the open, where I could probably die, in hopes that you would get the help that you need. Maybe I'm the idiot."
The only reason Clint stopped running was because he finally noticed the hole piercing his side.
He slowed, unaware of what had happened. Pain reflexes hadn't struck yet, and the metal bit was clattering away onto some tile. He stared at it, blankly, like he was a kid and it was a frog he wasn't sure he wanted to catch or not. Blood was seeping from the wound, and Pietro was falling.
No, Clint wasn't going to let that happen again. Especially not if it was because of him.
He took another staggered step forward, pain suddenly searing through his body. A bullet, from somewhere unknown, had blasted through his left abdomen. He shakily fell to his knees, keeping Pietro supported the whole time. Someone was screaming for him, for Pietro, and he was being lifted into the air by a red bubble.
He screamed, fighting the force that was trying to separate him and the other. He wasn't letting go, and he never planned on it until the fast one was in better care.
Vision blurry, he fought to keep conscious and hold onto the body. "I won't let you go again!" He yelled, shivers racking his body as he felt the soft fabric of that dumb shirt slip from his fingers. "Don't take him! Please!"
This was all his fault. If he hadn't just moved a little further, if he hadn't just taken the initiative to let the bullets go through him, to have pushed Pietro out of the way so it was him to be done with, not the other way around. He wasn't going to let anyone else hurt him, not until he had at least returned the favor of having his life saved.
Just before everything went black, he felt himself falling, and he knew Pietro's pain all at once.
He vowed to never let the other go through that again.
Even if he was a brat.
