"Clint's down? What do you mean Clint is down?" Tony demanded. "Or maybe, what do you mean Clint is down? I thought he was already dead?"
"I'm not already dead, you asshole," Clint grumbled, crackly in Steve's ear. He sounded strained, not reappearing from the stack of boxes he had crashed into. Steve could see one foot and part of his leg, sticking up out of squashed cardboard. It jerked, crunching the box a little further. "Also, ow."
Clint didn't seem to be in danger of anything falling on him, with shelves already knocked over all around him like toppled dominos, but it did mean Steve had to carefully pick his way over shards of equipment and burst packaging as well as climb over oversize warehouse shelving. "Hang on. SHIELD's closing the perimeter. Medical will be here soon."
"You think Medical's upped their vampire hunter game since last we checked?" Tony asked, starting to set down, then changing his mind and coming to a hover instead, watching while Steve climbed and slid by turns over the ruin of the floor, books and bicycle parts and blenders poking up out of the mess. "Because I was under the impression that Barton was supposed to be everything-proof?"
Steve let him talk, not wanting to topple onto Clint as he climbed over a fallen shelf, then a box, and was finally at Clint's side, watching thin wisps of smoke rising out of him. "Give me a report, Clint."
"Did I already say 'ow'?" Clint asked. "Because ow. Ow ow ow."
"Is he on fire?" Tony asked, landing carefully in a slightly clearer spot, boxes and objects crunching under his feet.
Clint's chest hitched. "No. Just--" He reached across his body, pulling weakly at his clothes. "Just get my gear off."
"I believe that's your department, Cap?"
Steve didn't laugh, worried what they'd find, but when he'd managed to pull Clint's armored vest off, the wounds were all tidy. Small, bloodless punctures, with thin wisps of vapor rising from them, quickly dissipating like steam.
Tony made a low sound, then said, "Well, shit," as Steve reached to touch the flesh around one of the injuries, to find the skin cool and dry, Clint's muscles twitching slightly under his hand.
"His vest didn't look burned," Steve said, as much for the comms and Medical's benefit as for Tony's.
Clint blinked. Licked his lip. Made a long whining sound when Steve tried to move him to look for further injury. His face was pale, more than usual and considering he'd fed that morning, but he seemed lucid. "It's not the heat," he said, and paused to swallow and try to lift his head, then let it fall back again. "It's silver."
"Isn't that for werewolves?"
Clint tried to lift his head again, then just glared at the ceiling. "What do you want it to be, Tony? Garlic cloves?"
"Tiny crucifixes. Maybe a holy water sprits bottle, I don't know. A heartfelt blessing, possibly. God, I hate magic."
"Could you," Clint started, hesitated, then gestured to indicate his knife, waving his hand towards his boot, where he kept it tucked. "Do you think you could dig a few of 'em out?"
"I hate magic," Tony repeated, but went for the knife, fumbling a little with his hands in the suit gauntlets, Clint limply allowing himself to be manhandled until Tony decided he wasn't getting anywhere, that Clint wasn't in immediate danger, and he might as well take the time to get Clint's boot off so he could free the knife strap more easily.
"Yeah," Clint agreed, when Tony had finished and was carefully setting his leg back down. "Magic sucks."
"I'm going to let Steve do the honors," Tony said, handing the knife over, sheath and strap and all. "I hate medical procedures, too."
Steve took it, then hesitated, rolling the whole thing up into a tidy bundle in his hand, that he could grip tight in his fist, until the leather squeaked
"It's not going to kill me," Clint said, without picking his head up. He swallowed, and Steve saw his throat jump. "But it fucking burns, so I'd really appreciate if one of you would just--"
"Play doctor?" Tony offered, moving to Clint's side and lowering himself back into a crouch, to poke his fingers along Clint's ribs, examining the damage again. "You sure there's nothing important in there?"
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momijizukamori
Re: Clint/Any, Clint is a vampire
Date: 2017-03-22 09:50 am (UTC)"I'm not already dead, you asshole," Clint grumbled, crackly in Steve's ear. He sounded strained, not reappearing from the stack of boxes he had crashed into. Steve could see one foot and part of his leg, sticking up out of squashed cardboard. It jerked, crunching the box a little further. "Also, ow."
Clint didn't seem to be in danger of anything falling on him, with shelves already knocked over all around him like toppled dominos, but it did mean Steve had to carefully pick his way over shards of equipment and burst packaging as well as climb over oversize warehouse shelving. "Hang on. SHIELD's closing the perimeter. Medical will be here soon."
"You think Medical's upped their vampire hunter game since last we checked?" Tony asked, starting to set down, then changing his mind and coming to a hover instead, watching while Steve climbed and slid by turns over the ruin of the floor, books and bicycle parts and blenders poking up out of the mess. "Because I was under the impression that Barton was supposed to be everything-proof?"
Steve let him talk, not wanting to topple onto Clint as he climbed over a fallen shelf, then a box, and was finally at Clint's side, watching thin wisps of smoke rising out of him. "Give me a report, Clint."
"Did I already say 'ow'?" Clint asked. "Because ow. Ow ow ow."
"Is he on fire?" Tony asked, landing carefully in a slightly clearer spot, boxes and objects crunching under his feet.
Clint's chest hitched. "No. Just--" He reached across his body, pulling weakly at his clothes. "Just get my gear off."
"I believe that's your department, Cap?"
Steve didn't laugh, worried what they'd find, but when he'd managed to pull Clint's armored vest off, the wounds were all tidy. Small, bloodless punctures, with thin wisps of vapor rising from them, quickly dissipating like steam.
Tony made a low sound, then said, "Well, shit," as Steve reached to touch the flesh around one of the injuries, to find the skin cool and dry, Clint's muscles twitching slightly under his hand.
"His vest didn't look burned," Steve said, as much for the comms and Medical's benefit as for Tony's.
Clint blinked. Licked his lip. Made a long whining sound when Steve tried to move him to look for further injury. His face was pale, more than usual and considering he'd fed that morning, but he seemed lucid. "It's not the heat," he said, and paused to swallow and try to lift his head, then let it fall back again. "It's silver."
"Isn't that for werewolves?"
Clint tried to lift his head again, then just glared at the ceiling. "What do you want it to be, Tony? Garlic cloves?"
"Tiny crucifixes. Maybe a holy water sprits bottle, I don't know. A heartfelt blessing, possibly. God, I hate magic."
"Could you," Clint started, hesitated, then gestured to indicate his knife, waving his hand towards his boot, where he kept it tucked. "Do you think you could dig a few of 'em out?"
"I hate magic," Tony repeated, but went for the knife, fumbling a little with his hands in the suit gauntlets, Clint limply allowing himself to be manhandled until Tony decided he wasn't getting anywhere, that Clint wasn't in immediate danger, and he might as well take the time to get Clint's boot off so he could free the knife strap more easily.
"Yeah," Clint agreed, when Tony had finished and was carefully setting his leg back down. "Magic sucks."
"I'm going to let Steve do the honors," Tony said, handing the knife over, sheath and strap and all. "I hate medical procedures, too."
Steve took it, then hesitated, rolling the whole thing up into a tidy bundle in his hand, that he could grip tight in his fist, until the leather squeaked
"It's not going to kill me," Clint said, without picking his head up. He swallowed, and Steve saw his throat jump. "But it fucking burns, so I'd really appreciate if one of you would just--"
"Play doctor?" Tony offered, moving to Clint's side and lowering himself back into a crouch, to poke his fingers along Clint's ribs, examining the damage again. "You sure there's nothing important in there?"