harcourt | Prompt Bingo, player me

Entry tags:

Prompt Bingo, player me

Hostile climate	Fuck or die	Corporal punishment	Crossover/ Fusion	Exposure
Zombie apocalypse	Wing!fic	Prison AU	Different historical period	Vampires
Fantasy creature	Oral sex	WILD CARD	Trapped	Isolation
Friends with benefits	Torture	Tentacles	A/B/O	Illness
Bondage	Gunshot wound	Organised crime	On the run (2)	D/s

I'm still plugging away at longfic bingo, even though the comm seems dead, but you guys, longfic takes so long. But I like their prompt list, and I like kinkmeme style prompts, so I made myself a bingo card, and if anyone is up for this game:

You prompt/request according to a bingo box, I write a prompt fic style fic. I'll x-post to tumblr, but anon is on here. Wild card is free-for-prompter, go nuts.

Filled:

A/B/O:
Clint/Logan, On the Run

D/s:
Bucky/Clint

Fantasy Creature:
Bucky & Clint

Fuck or Die:
Clint/Tony

Gunshot Wound:
Clint & Steve

On the Run:
Clint/Tony
Clint/Logan, A/B/O

Torture:
Clint/Steve

Vampires:
Clint/Steve

Wing!fic:
Bruce & Clint

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

A/B/O & on the run

Maybe Logan/Clint. >D

Or else something like in Winter Soldier, but steve/Clint. :D

this is so exciting! i was tempted to request d/s, torture or corporal punishment tony/clint but you've already done all that brilliantly so i'm going to go with on the run tony/clint! :D

BECAUSE

Corporal punishment, in a D/s scenario. Maybe Clint scared the bejesus out of his partner.

Pairing : Steve/Clint. OR something cracky like.... Reed/Jack. >D

You mean like a combination prompt? Where it's A/B/O on the run?

Edited 2017-02-19 14:02 (UTC)

yesh. :P

I have no idea how ABO would change an 'on the run' prompt, but i'm interested in seeing how you'd figure out something.

(Or else SOMEONE goes into heat while on the run and everything is SO INCONVENIENT)

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you don't have a flying suit stashed anywhere," Clint says, from the bathroom and sounding muffled. Tony thinks he's probably poking at his face, trying to assess the damage, or possibly just admiring his bruises.

"That would be a good guess. Considering I am the world's handsomest hobo. Not a lot of places to stick an Iron Man suit when you've got a duffle bag and a shopping cart."

Clint snorts, and doesn't comment on Tony's dramatic retelling of what had really been more of a series of simple, but not awful safehouses. Mostly small apartments rented under a pseudonym and three layers of cover identity. It's not like he'd learned nothing, hanging around with Natasha. Hanging around with Clint was a bit different. Clint seemed to prefer the evasion tactic of going to ground and possibly actually living like a hobo. He's got a dusty coat and canvas backpack, in battered Army green, and his boots look like they could use a good burning and replacing. He looks tired.

"I was hoping you'd have--"

Whatever Clint's saying disappears into the sound of water as he gets the shower going. Tony yells, "What?" but the repetition isn't any clearer, so Tony flops down across the saggy motel bed, legs bent and with his feet still on the floor, and lets Clint talk to himself until he realizes he's not getting a response.

"Tony?"

"Sorry. I don't speak monologue. Tell me this isn't a sign you've turned to the dark side, because I promised Steve I'd shoot anyone suspicious and ask questions later."

The water cuts out. "You saw Cap?" Clint calls, without getting out of the tub, probably still covered in soap and shampoo, but coming to sharp attention.

"We can trade notes when you're done," Tony returns, not wanting to yell back and forth, both out of exhaustion and because he's gotten in the habit of keeping a low profile. Amicable shouting in the thin walled motel might not be the most suspicious thing, but better to not draw any attention they can avoid.

"Where did you see Cap?" Clint insists, water back on, scrubbing off fast before he's back in the bedroom, towel around his hips and hair dripping into his face and down his neck. "Tony?"

"New York. We got a pizza. It was a nice date."

Clint gives him an unamused look and crosses his arms. There's a new scar cutting across his chest, from shoulder to sternum like someone's tried to slash him open.

"Holy shit, Barton."

Clint follows his gaze, then shrugs.

"Please tell me someone took care of that for you."

"Oh sure," Clint says. "I just walked into a place and handed over my Avengers club card, and they said--"

Tony huffs and drops his head back to the mattress, eyes fixing on a water stain on the ceiling. "How the mighty have fallen?"

"I used a burner identity," Clint says, an apologetic tone in his voice, like he hadn't expected Tony to worry, when Tony had spent the last several months close to writing him off as dead. "Then I went out the back way as soon as I was stitched up and had some drugs and before they could bill me. I did kind of wander around stoned out of my head for about half a day, though."

"Oh, you did not. And stop dripping on the carpet before they charge us for that."

Clint laughs, a dark sound, and repeats, "How the mighty have fallen," back at him, as he walks away again.

"Sorry I can't put us up in a nicer place. I know I got you accustomed to a lifestyle and all that."

Clint makes a noncommittal sound from back inside the bathroom, then comes back in a t-shirt and boxers. "You're still buying me dinner though, right?"

"Ah, the more things change."

"Or we can split the instant oatmeal packets I have in my bag. I'm not picky."

"Okay, fine. Dinner's on me. Finding weapons will be your job."

Clint drops onto the bed, bouncing Tony, then drags his bag up to rummage through it, looking for clean clothes and tossing socks and rumpled t-shirts onto the bed cover until he gets to a pair of jeans that he pulls out, then leaves draped over his lap while he packs everything back into his bag. A precaution in case they have to run, done unthinkingly. An automatic thing now.

"Steve?" Clint asks, when Tony doesn't say anything. "How was he?"

"Mad. You know Rogers versus the big unfair world. I think he was looking for someone to punch."

"I'd join him," Clint says, and Tony picks his head up again as something clicks, to find Clint holding a gun out to him, grip first.

"Aw. For me?"

"What happened to Rhodes?"

"I don't know, Clint."

That makes Clint go still and silent. Then he checks the clip one more time to cover, before offering Tony the gun again, and waits for him to take it before he says, "Shit. Sorry, man. You think they got him?"

"I think you're writing him off pretty quick." It comes out light. Tony's practiced saying it and thinking it, and banishing his worry, but Clint's expression doesn't change as he gets to his feet to drag his pants on. They look a bit loose. Either Clint's lost weight on the lam, or a flattering wardrobe hasn't been high on his list of necessities.

"I'll find him," Tony says, at the ceiling again. "I found you."

Clint scoffs. "I think I found you."

"Agree to disagree."

"Can we contact Cap?" Clint asks, letting the subject of Rhodey drop. "Do you know where he is now?"

"You want to assemble? That's cute, Barton. Have you even heard from Fury lately?"

He's pretty sure that will shut Clint up, but Clint says, "Yes," and doesn't even sound like he's winning an argument. He just sounds solemn and grim in a way that Tony wishes he wasn't hearing from Clint. Not even any temper in it.

"Well, shit. How is the old cyclops?"

A shrug. Not good, that means. Or it means, fine but not in a position to help. Or it could mean anything. Tony waits for Clint to elaborate, but he doesn't. Just stands there silently with shadows in his eyes, waiting for Tony to read something in his expression.

"Who's dead?" he asks eventually, because that's the only reason he can come up with for Clint to look like that. "It's can't be Nat--"

"She's fine, last I heard."

"Last you heard," Tony echoes, and smiles darkly, mostly because the idea of Clint and Natasha not being in contact seems outlandish. He also doesn't doubt that they really haven't been in communication. That other than touching in with Fury, Clint's been on his own. Maybe that's what the empty, hunted look is about.

"You need a burger, Clint. And maybe two extra helpings of fries. And a bowl of chili for desert."

Clint laughs. "Do I ever."

"And you've gotta do your laundry. Have some standards."

Clint laughs again, and drops his bag on top of Tony, then comes back to lie on his stomach, at Tony's side, his knees bent so that Tony can just see his bare feet if he tilts his head a little. "Then take me to a laundromat and loan me some change," he says, not quite mock seductive, but like he's trying to see if he's in the mood for making the joke.

"Sure," Tony tells him, without moving. "Don't worry about it, babe. I'm loaded."

They're quiet for a while, just enjoying the company and the familiarity, and then Clint takes a breath and starts, "Tony--"

"Shut it. If anyone is dead, I don't want to know until I have to."

"We're gonna win this," Clint says instead, not determined the way Steve had sounded, but just matter of fact. "Figure out how you can get or build a suit."

"You think I haven't been figuring?"

Clint pushes up, just enough so he can look down at Tony, face serious. "I know where Bruce is," he says. "I don't want to lead anyone to him, but if we get a good solid base--"

"Was this a Fury plan?"

Clint stops talking. Then he looks away and gets off the bed, to find his boots.

"It's a good plan," Tony tells him. "I like the thought through details of and then Hulk. Very solid."

"I know we said scattered targets," Clint says, referring to Steve's emergency they-can't-get-us-all tactics as he pulls a boot on, his shoulder against the wall for balance. "Well, we're scattered. And we don't know where anyone is, or how they're doing, and I'm pretty sick of living in my car. Hell, it's not even my car. I'm gonna get picked up for boosting before I get picked up for treason to the great state of Hydra."

"Can't you at least let me take you to dinner before you try to seduce me into your coup?"

Edited 2017-02-20 11:47 (UTC)

Clint huffs and starts pulling his other boot on, then stamps around a little like he's making sure they fit.

"It's Fury's coup," he says, taking his bag from Tony, then offering a hand to pull him up. "I'm just an agent."

"Oh god, we're playing that again," Tony groans, but lets Clint get him on his feet and hustle him towards the door, grabbing Tony's bag on the way, in case their room gets compromised while they're gone. It’s kind of sad how fully Clint's adapted to being hunted, after all the trouble Tony had gone through to get him adapted to living in the tower and being spoiled. "If we survive this, no more hanging out with Fury."

Clint grins and throws his arm over Tony's shoulders. "First, we've got to figure out how to get a line to Thor," he says, "That's where you come in. After the suit."

"Dinner." Tony insists. "And then we think about how to find Natasha." Even though if Fury's in contact with Clint, he's probably also in contact with Natasha. Might be in contact with Steve. "That bastard's collecting us all over again, isn't he?"

"Assembling," Clint corrects, and kisses his cheek.

How about some realistic Clint with a gunshot wound fic? Can be Clint/any or Gen - I don't care. With Clint hurt but trying sooooo hard not be a drag on the team populated by super soldiers, hulks, men in metal suits, etc. So cliché, but such a yummy trope!

They were in the middle of nowhere, which was a small bit of luck, Logan thought, except that it meant there was no backup either, and no one to call for backup who wouldn't take at least a few hours to get there. He didn't take his foot off the gas as he leveled a look at Barton and asked, "What?"

"What?" Barton asked back, sounding testy. Logan had sort of forgotten how annoying he could be when he got it into his head to be a shit. "Watch the road."

"I'm watching the road," Logan snapped, even though he was only about half-watching. It was a well paved straight-away, still in good shape. He could've handled it with his eyes closed and on his bike. "What do you mean you don't have meds?"

"I mean I don't have meds."

Logan took a breath and considered throwing him out of the cab, then just resettled his hands on the wheel and let the breath out slowly.

"Don't act like it's my fault," Barton went on, still sounding argumentative. He had the window down and his elbow resting on the door, his hair ruffling as Logan accelerated a little too much, then slowed down again. "You're a mutant. You're way more likely to get someone on our tail."

It was nice that he'd learned some manners, since the last time Logan had seen him. If it came to dunking Barton in an icy stream somewhere, Logan was going to enjoy every cold wet second of it.

"I mean, no one sends Sentinels after omegas," Barton elaborated, unnecessarily. "So don't sweat it."

That could be some horrible pun, but Logan decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"And don't act like I can't look after myself."

"Is this the part where you tell me your sob story?" Logan asked, even though he knew enough bits of Barton's sob story to put the rest together on his own. SHIELD and Avengers aside, it wasn't that special. He certainly wasn't the first dumb omega kid to hash out some kind of survival tactic, or the first Logan had ever had to deal with. Just, with SHIELD and the Avengers in the picture, he'd expected Barton to have a better game plan than the average runaway. "Or the part where we start looking for some abandoned shack for you to hide away in?"

"Haha," Barton grouched, sliding down in his seat and looking pouty, like Logan could be bought with that cute sulk act. It probably worked a lot of the time, for him to do it so unthinkingly. Or he was just off his guard, if he was spilling secrets to Logan in the first place instead of abandoning him at the first sign of habitation to acquire whatever drugs he needed to keep heat at bay and make himself safe.

Or, possibly, he thought of Logan as safe, and that was a bit uncomfortable. A burden he didn't want, with the world gone to shit, and his own hide to look after. Barton, as usual, didn't seem to have any sense of how fragile he was, just human and omega on top of it, like his medieval weaponry was levelling a playing field that included near immortals and goddamn kill-bots. Logan didn't want to stand between him and the bitter reality, if it came to it, but he didn't want to see Barton dead either.

It would be hard to explain to Captain America, first of all. All grudges and arguments aside, that was a man Logan didn't want to offend or let down, and letting Barton get himself killed would probably do both.

"Anyway," Barton went on, "I didn't say it was now. I'm just--you know. Giving you fair warning," and grinned. "Of my impending sexiness."

Logan didn't answer, using the opportunity of an intersection to pretend to be checking for oncoming traffic, even though the small road they were on was abandoned and silent. Nothing in any direction but overgrown fields. That was a mercy, at least. That Barton wouldn't be drawing in any alphas Logan would have to deal with. That maybe the only danger they would be in would be that caused by heat itself--fever or however it took Barton. Maybe the danger caused by Logan being in his vicinity.

Barton didn't seem to be thinking of that possibility. He winked when he caught Logan giving him a wary, considering look, then smirked, slow and smug and almost predatory. Smooth and unpleasant in a way Logan hadn't seen on him before, all the times they'd crossed paths. He tried not to wonder what it meant.

"So," Logan asked, turning his attention back to the road, and the empty, bumpy miles, "I hope you like camping." Then he offered, "You can sleep in the truck."

"Hah. You can sleep in the truck. You're the one with the short legs," Barton said, then amended, "Besides, it's your truck. I can sleep in the back." He nodded towards the pickup bed, then played with the radio, dialing through static on every channel, before frowning and turning the thing back off, a new crease in his brow. No meds, no music. Everything crumbling.

There was no home to go back to either, that wasn't crawling with Sentinels, loaded not only with mutant detection abilities, but a database of their allies. Logan didn't mind the road, and doubted Barton did, but New York and the various Avengers compounds had become important to him in a different way than Charles's school had to Logan. Not just a touchstone, but a real home. Barton didn't need an abandoned shed, he needed Steve Rogers, or--of all people--Tony Stark, and familiar surroundings. It had probably been a while since he hadn't had that.

That might explain the lack of meds. Barton had probably been in the habit of just taking a few days off here and there, confident in the security of home, and the knowledge that someone could cover for him. Logan doubted, all of a sudden, that he'd even had much of an emergency stock and had probably burned through it by now.

"We'll knock over a drugstore," Logan promised. "Keep your eyes open, next time we a town."

Barton snorted a laugh, but said, "Suppressants are going to be the first thing gone."

True, if it was a hard-hit town. Some place with a big mutant population, or a lot of sympathizers, but humans would still need to deal with heat and heat-effects, unless things were getting uglier out there than Logan had known, out in the backcountry, with very little news filtering in, and most of that a little stale, coming to him by word of mouth or infrequent contact with what passed for the X-men these days. It was possible the omega situation was heading south the way the mutant situation had. Who knew what people would turn on, if they ran out of targets.

"How much time are we looking at? We'll find some mutants." Logan had a pretty good idea where some of them were, and Remy could find anything, if he was in a helpful mood. Logan was pretty sure he'd respond to any feelers Logan put out. They'd met up for lunch a few months back, casual and civilized, Remy playing the smooth criminal even with them being hunted, comfortable with the underworld they were all sinking into. Already used to dodging and hiding and sneaking. Managing to find outdoor cafes where his sunglasses wouldn't be out of place, even though Logan had been, in his boots and jeans and unkempt in the way that was inevitable when one was avoiding people and living out of a truck.

Barton watched the scenery pass for a long moment, eyeing a crumbling barn as it came up, then fell away behind them. "I don't think they're going to supply a human," he said, sounding sure enough that it meant he had tried that route. "Can't convince anyone you're a friendly these days."

Which was a nicer way of saying that it didn't matter that Barton had sided with them. Or maybe just sided with Rogers, it was hard to tell with Barton, sometimes, when he would dig his heels in and when he'd shoot where he was pointed. Either way, they owed him something, even if was just two gel caps and half a glass of water.

"Fine," Logan said, and turned off the paved road onto one what was mostly rocks and packed earth. "Until we find someone willing to share, you stick with me."

Barton smiled and didn't argue. Just asked, "Can we find a CD player for the car?"

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEee

I love Grouchy Hunted Logan. :D and clint covering any insecurities with bravado and the fact that Logan is the one THINKING OF IT and. AND. :D

"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.

"Easy, Hawkeye."

"S'okay," Clint said, when he had his breath back. "Gotta do what you gotta do." He mumbled something after, then let a hand drop to his side. Steve didn't look. Didn't want to see the horrible snap-shot of Clint's fingers smearing through his own blood. He could feel the damp of it when Clint found his leg and clung on, pulling at the fabric of his uniform. "Laser guy?"

"Tony got him."

"Oh, nice. I had him in my crosshairs, you know?"

"I know."

Clint had. Tony should have gone for the gun, but like Clint, had rated the danger and opted to prioritize the greater potential damage.

"A fucking handgun," Clint complained, moving his free hand to hold it in front of his face. The ruined handguard, blood crusting around his nails. "Can't fucking believe this."

It reminded Steve of a story Bucky had told him. Some guy in the war, killed with what may as well have been a pocket knife, at the very tail end of some skirmish, when everyone should have been well in the clear. The threat coming unexpected and from a laughable direction.

"Gotta get to our extraction," Clint said suddenly, like it had just occurred to him. "Are we late?"

Steve swallowed and kept his hand on Clint's side. Kept the pressure as steady as he could. "No, we're not late."

"You don't want to be stuck here with me," Clint went on, but the hand holding on to Steve didn't let go. He was definitely looking pale now and Steve could feel him shivering, going into shock.

"ETA?" he demanded over the comms. "We need a medic."

Clint gave him a little push. "Go, Steve."

"I'm not going anywhere. We're fine."

"Just help me up." He made a move to do it himself, pushing ineffectually against the ground before falling back, head hitting the wall with a hollow thunk, then laughed. A breathless, pained sound that scared Steve. He didn't sound like he was all there anymore. Like he was hurt so bad his body couldn't process it and left his mind floating. Steve had seen that before, too.

"Help," Steve said, into the comm. It sounded small and desperate, so he added, "Hawkeye's down. Where's my medic?" in a more demanding tone.

"I can walk," Clint insisted, even though there was no place they needed to walk to. No extraction team they needed to meet. The dull thump of someone setting down behind Steve was unlikely to be useful help, but at least it meant he wasn't alone anymore with a half-delirious Clint Barton.

"Oh, geez," Tony murmured. "What a mess."

Clint gave him a testy look. "I'll mop up."

"Hey. Not my tower, not my problem. Bleed on whatever you like." Then he turned to Steve. "Sounds like he's still with us."

"He's worried about making it to our extraction point."

That made Tony pause. Then he asked, "Does he know we aren't SHIELD?"

"Avengers." Clint said, and smirked. It looked ghoulish with the blood spattered and streaked on his face. "I'm an Avenger."

"Yeah. You made it to the major leagues, Barton. Big boy ball." Tony's usual bullshit, but delivered gently. When Steve looked up, Tony's face was dark with concern, looking back with a scared, questioning expression.

"He'll be okay." It came out more certain than Steve felt. Clint's chest and stomach were rising and falling in too-quick spasms, and his skin was slippery under Steve's hands. His eyes bright in a way that reminded Steve of fever.

"Heard you got my laser guy," Clint slurred.

"Yep. Sorry I didn't get the other guy first."

"Gotta--" Clint made a wheezing sound, and his foot made that searching, sliding move again. "Gotta learn to coordinate, Stark."

"I know, I know. Civilian mistake. I'm sorry. From now on it's cavalries and pincher maneuvers, okay? And when we get home you can teach me all your secret agent hand signals. And naval flags. You guys do naval flags on your flying ship?"

Clint laughed, then winced and spasmed under Steve's hands, like he was trying to curl in on himself. His head rolled against the wall, his eyes turning up in his head, showing white, before he relaxed with a long whine. He fixed Tony with an accusing stare.

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!

YAYYYYYYY!!! :D

Grumpy Logan just wants peace. And he's already caught up in X-vigilantism without Avengers Vigilantism knocking on his door.

would be nice if barton would just, you know, go find steve and have his heat at him, instead of making it logan's business.

dammit barton.

Clint being sick. maybe steve taking care of him?

Peeeeeerrfect! I love you!

Both of them being all snarky to each other through the whole thing ('no, not like THAT!' 'shut UP!' 'Is that the best you can do?' etc., etc., etc.)

Maybe that's where he's trying to get to, but Steve's just far away. Or Clint doesn't know where he is. Steve might be in trouble somewhere himself, too. So, Logan it is. Lucky meeting him in some backwater, eh?

I kinda want to read this as a prequel to your Component Parts series - specifically to Leeward Side, where Logan has a history of helping Clint out...

Lucky for CLINT.

Logan's pretty sure the jury is out on that one.

(Poor Logan, he just wants to be alone and grumpy. and Irrepressible Clint's here and being all OMEGA at him)

D/s, but not really?

Clint/Any where Any is a Dom and Clint is really into him but not particularly into D/s, but he's willing to give it a go because he's really into Any. Any likes heavy pain play and is going to town on Clint and Clint holds out for a really long time because he's resisted torture, for gods sake, he can handle a little rough sex, but eventually he safewords out. Don't really care why he needs to safeword, or if there's a resolution or whether it's happy or sad. I just really love safeword fic.

Yaayy! I'm glad you like it! :D

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Prompt Bingo, player me

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tumblr anonny here!

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Re: tumblr anonny here! - On The Run, Clint/Tony

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gunshot wound?

A/B/O & On the Run - Clint/Logan

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Re: gunshot wound? - Clint & Steve - Gen

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Re: gunshot wound? - Clint & Steve - Gen

Clint/Tony: Fuck or Die

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Re: gunshot wound? - Clint & Steve - Gen