"I had my eye on the guy with the laser," Clint said, as soon as Steve was in ear shot, sounding both defensive and aggrieved, like he thought Steve was about to tell him off for letting his guard slip. His head rolled against the wall, in a disconcerting, uncoordinated way, as he tried to glare up at Steve. There was blood at his mouth, but Steve couldn't tell if Clint had coughed it up or bit his lip. He hoped it was the second. "Couldn't cover them both." He huffed at the end of it, like talking was an effort, and Steve went down at his side both to get a better look at him and so Clint wouldn't have to try so hard to get volume into his words.
"I know," he said, and got a flicker of a grin for the sound of approval in his voice. He held his hand hovering over Clint, then slowly lowered it to touch Clint's own, where his fingers were splayed open over his stomach, off to one side, liquid welling up around them, dark against Clint's uniform and smudging his skin with red. There was a splatter of it on the ground under him and across the wall. A spray of fine droplets over his face. Steve licked his lip and swallowed, then managed to make himself ask, "Let me see?" and closed his grip around Clint's wrist, giving it a little pull. Just a hint so Clint would know what he wanted, in case the words weren't quite getting through. Steve had seen injury like this before. Knew that listening was likely to be difficult and comprehension hazy, through the adrenaline and the pain and the shock.
Clint looked numb though. Mouth a stubborn frown, like he was still more focused on Steve's judgement and disapproval than the hole in his side, and he seemed almost confused at Steve's preoccupation with it, letting his hand be pulled away and allowing Steve to tug at his vest, trying to get it off, or at least out of the way. With the blood coming up through the thick, reinforced fabric, he couldn't tell how bad the wound was, or where exactly Clint had been struck. If the bullet was likely to have hit vital organs or not. He needed Bruce. Backup of some kind. "Hang on, Clint."
"Fucking laser guy," Clint said, sounding more irritated than anything. His gaze flicked up to meet Steve's, hot with indignation. "Those fuckers sting."
Instant cautery, though, Steve didn't remind him, still struggling with Clint's suit, until frustration and the continuous well of blood prompted him to just dig his fingers into the rip in the fabric and pull. It gave way with a sharp sound and a breathy gasp from Clint, followed by a moan, quickly bitten off, then several seconds of harsh panting, before Clint was silent again, looking up at him with an offended look on his face.
"Sorry. I've gotta see what this looks like."
"I need a suit like Tony's huh?" Clint grinned, and gestured with an index finger extended, indicating something coming at him then bouncing away. "Fwping." Steve couldn't tell if that was a weak attempt at his regular humor, or if Clint was giddy with blood loss. He looked pale, and his skin was cool when Steve touched his face, inadvertently leaving streaks of red on Clint's brow and cheek. A thumbprint along his jaw.
"Hawkeye's down," Steve told his comms, in case help wasn't already on the way, eyes fixed on Clint's side. On the tear in the flesh, and the blood that welled out from it, pumping in time to Clint's heart. "He's awake and talking, but it's not looking good."
"Well excuse me for not looking good," Clint snipped, then shut up and took a series of sharp breaths when Steve put his palm against the wound and pressed, hoping to slow the bleeding. "We can't--can't all. Fuck, Steve."
"Sorry. Sorry, Clint. I know."
Clint's foot kicked a little, like he was looking for purchase, heel sliding, but that was all the struggle he gave. His hands stayed clear of Steve's, not trying to push them away. His head tilted back, though. Back arching a little against the pain.
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momijizukamori
Re: gunshot wound? - Clint & Steve - Gen
Date: 2017-02-20 05:58 pm (UTC)"I know," he said, and got a flicker of a grin for the sound of approval in his voice. He held his hand hovering over Clint, then slowly lowered it to touch Clint's own, where his fingers were splayed open over his stomach, off to one side, liquid welling up around them, dark against Clint's uniform and smudging his skin with red. There was a splatter of it on the ground under him and across the wall. A spray of fine droplets over his face. Steve licked his lip and swallowed, then managed to make himself ask, "Let me see?" and closed his grip around Clint's wrist, giving it a little pull. Just a hint so Clint would know what he wanted, in case the words weren't quite getting through. Steve had seen injury like this before. Knew that listening was likely to be difficult and comprehension hazy, through the adrenaline and the pain and the shock.
Clint looked numb though. Mouth a stubborn frown, like he was still more focused on Steve's judgement and disapproval than the hole in his side, and he seemed almost confused at Steve's preoccupation with it, letting his hand be pulled away and allowing Steve to tug at his vest, trying to get it off, or at least out of the way. With the blood coming up through the thick, reinforced fabric, he couldn't tell how bad the wound was, or where exactly Clint had been struck. If the bullet was likely to have hit vital organs or not. He needed Bruce. Backup of some kind. "Hang on, Clint."
"Fucking laser guy," Clint said, sounding more irritated than anything. His gaze flicked up to meet Steve's, hot with indignation. "Those fuckers sting."
Instant cautery, though, Steve didn't remind him, still struggling with Clint's suit, until frustration and the continuous well of blood prompted him to just dig his fingers into the rip in the fabric and pull. It gave way with a sharp sound and a breathy gasp from Clint, followed by a moan, quickly bitten off, then several seconds of harsh panting, before Clint was silent again, looking up at him with an offended look on his face.
"Sorry. I've gotta see what this looks like."
"I need a suit like Tony's huh?" Clint grinned, and gestured with an index finger extended, indicating something coming at him then bouncing away. "Fwping." Steve couldn't tell if that was a weak attempt at his regular humor, or if Clint was giddy with blood loss. He looked pale, and his skin was cool when Steve touched his face, inadvertently leaving streaks of red on Clint's brow and cheek. A thumbprint along his jaw.
"Hawkeye's down," Steve told his comms, in case help wasn't already on the way, eyes fixed on Clint's side. On the tear in the flesh, and the blood that welled out from it, pumping in time to Clint's heart. "He's awake and talking, but it's not looking good."
"Well excuse me for not looking good," Clint snipped, then shut up and took a series of sharp breaths when Steve put his palm against the wound and pressed, hoping to slow the bleeding. "We can't--can't all. Fuck, Steve."
"Sorry. Sorry, Clint. I know."
Clint's foot kicked a little, like he was looking for purchase, heel sliding, but that was all the struggle he gave. His hands stayed clear of Steve's, not trying to push them away. His head tilted back, though. Back arching a little against the pain.
"Easy, Hawkeye."