harcourt

Tony stepped back, saying, "No? Okay. We can stick to radio," then Steve heard him saying, "We need that medevac," trailing away as Tony made some distance, to report with more detail from where Clint wouldn't overhear.

"Stay with me," Steve told Clint, when he made a move like he wanted to go after Tony. "Help's coming."

"M'fine."

"Yeah."

Clint let his eyes slide closed. Then opened them again, looking directly at him, "Steve? You gotta go."

"I don't. We're fine. Just hang on."

Clint's fingers unhooked from Steve's pant leg. Slowly, like he had to think about loosening each joint, one at a time, and then he gave Steve a push. Just a weak shove at his knee, before his hand slid away, to fall at his side. "Go."

"I got gun guy after," Tony said, coming back. "So we're good. No one has to go anywhere. Except you, Barton. You look like you're sick of hanging around this place."

"You got gun guy," Clint echoed, and huffed, then looked Steve and made the bouncing-off gesture again, clumsier this time. Less coordinated.

Tony frowned at it. "What's that? 'Heart to heart'? You and Steve have something you want to share with the class?"

Clint's eyes rolled again, and this time he didn't answer Tony, going slack under Steve's hands.

"Barton?" Tony asked, voice rising. "Steve? Is he--?"

"I don't know. Call it in again."

I called it. They're coming. They can't get through a Hulk-smash. There's a quinjet on the way." He looked around, then added. "A little bitty hovering one, so it'll have room to set down."

"How long, Tony?"

"You want me to fly him in? Cut the trip shorter?"

Steve looked down pointedly at his hands, then back up at Tony.

"Right. Keeping his insides in," Tony said, then winced. "That came out wrong."

Steve ignored it. "He'll get help faster if we wait. The medics," he trailed off.

"Yeah, okay." Tony paced away a few steps and then back. Gestured helplessly. "I should have hit gun guy first. Of course Clint was going to take out the laser canon, even if some asshole was aiming a peashooter at him. Oh god, especially if there was a peashooter aimed at him. Fuck. I just--"

"Clint had the same thought."

"I know. I mean, obviously I know."

"Don't do this now, Tony."

"Right. Okay, yeah. Raincheck, then? You think you'll be ready for a freakout at around seven? Seven thirty? Dress nice."

Steve gave him a second to pull it together and stop talking, then said, "Ask how far out they are," to give him something to do while Steve tried to bring Clint around, saying his name over and over, interspersed with a sterner 'Hawkeye', until Clint groaned and blinked at him.

"Hey there. You missed Tony admitting he made a bad call," Steve told him, voice low. "Don't go to sleep again."

Clint's mouth moved like he was trying to say something, but then he just swallowed and nodded his head.

"Can you take my hand?"

He got a dazed blink in response, and then Clint looked down at himself and at Steve's hands pressing into him. "That really hurts," he said, sounding surprised like he'd only just noticed.

"I know. I want you to hold on. Grab my arm."

Clint did it, but asked, "Why?" voice a rasp. His fingers were sticky, pulling at Steve's sleeve when Clint adjusted his grip.

"So I know you're awake. Don't let go."

"Incoming," Tony called. "They just flew over Natasha. We should hear them in about half a minute. I'll escort them in. Make sure they find you." It wasn't likely that the med team would miss them, but Steve suspected Tony couldn't stand around any longer being useless and watching Clint fade in and out.

"Okay. Bring them in, Stark."

Clint shifted at the sound of Tony's repulsors, and his fingers dug into Steve's wrist. "Happening?" he slurred, eyes searching around for threat, but in a drunk way Steve didn't want to think about.

"Extraction."

"Good," Clint said, and let his hand fall away from Steve's wrist. "I've been trying to get you out of here."











----------------
A/N: Not sure I go this one right. Hope it's OK!