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WHO| Clint Barton & Tony Stark
WHAT| Clint's luck with the Cornucopia runs out, Tony helps.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| At the Cornucopia
WARNINGS| Language, violence, eventual death.

Midway through the week, Clint manages to lose sight of Tony completely. This wouldn't be such a problem if the others were here, or if they were back home with Tony's suit backing him up. But here in the Arena, with Yetis and earthquakes and fire, Clint's feeling on edge. The countdown has started, he's sure, and there can't be that many people left in this damn game, sooner or later they're going to be flushed out from their hidey-holes and tossed into one last vicious gamut. He'd bet on it.

This doesn't mean he's not pissed off when it happens.

The first mutt catches him by surprise, sinuous, snarling, all feline grace and horror twisted up in a woman's body. It's terrible all on it's own -- but Clint knows the way she moves, knows that hair, the curve of her face beneath the augmentation. He can't bear to name her, and he's running out of arrows. If she's not aiming to hurt him, he won't waste them. Instead, he slips around, runs, hears the footfalls of someone chasing and doesn't look. More footsteps, more noise, clicking teeth and snarls, shrieks in various -- familiar -- voices that he tries to shut out.

He doesn't have enough arrows for them all, not now.

Eventually, Clint realizes he's being herded towards the Cornucopia, and the rich scent of food lingers in the air, has his belly rumbling loudly. He slides to a stop, lingers just behind the treeline, watching, waiting, but the mutts at his back are louder now, screaming, screaming, reaching out and he --

-- books it to the weapons instead, not trusting the food to not be poisoned. With a new spear in hand, he slinks back to the treeline, climbs up and waits, watches. Eventually, when he's seen people come close and devour food and hasn't heard a canon, he decides it's okay. Only, there's now more and more mutts ringing the area, some hissing up at him, climbing into the trees to drag him down. Tony's there somewhere, he'd seen him off at the very edge earlier, and if he can get to him, they've a better chance. Even if this is the end.

So Clint crawls down carefully, shoves a spear straight through the chest of a reptilian looking mutt who'd gotten too high up for his comfort, doesn't look at the features. His luck runs out though, and Clint curses as the spear gets caught on bone, snapping in half as he yanks it back. The mutt writhes, wailing in agony as it dies, and suddenly he's the target of far too many. A clawed hand wraps around Clint's leg, nails piercing through cloth to sink into flesh, and yanks him from the tree. He goes crashing dazedly to the ground, leg still caught, and instinctively gropes for one of his arrows, stabs it into a slitted eye. Shoves to his feet and runs into the clearing.

It's more of a limp, though, snarling mutts after him once more.

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Tony can't even remember how they got split up, too much happened for him keep any real track of it. Which in itself annoyed him because he's used to keeping track of a lot of information all at once, even if he knows that normally so much isn't all trying to kill him and if it is he has J.A.R.V.I.S there to keep track too.

Right now? He's working his way over the table seeing what's there and what he can eat, all the while his eyes scanning every now and then on the look out for anyone having a problem with his existence. But right now there's nothing close to him as he eats.

So when a Mutt wails in the distance Tony's head snaps in that direction holding an apple with intent to weaponise it, for the moment forgetting about the knife in his belt. He doesn't see anything come at him in a rage, what he sees is Clint mostly winning a fight against the mutt he's sure is still wailing. He doesn't take a moment to think about it he starts running towards Clint, he doesn't know if Clint's got this, and he doesn't care, the Arena's have really helped reinforce to Tony how important teams is and he's going to help whats left of that team.

Tony's too far off, still. Sure, Clint spots him, his eyes catching the familiar figure booking it his way. But the distance between them is too great, and there's too many at his back.

One mutt grabs at him, misshapen, angry -- Bruce? -- and Clint slashes out with a knife, cuts from palm to elbow. It falls back, cradling the arm to its chest, and Clint doesn't let himself breathe with relief. Simply runs. He's fighting by instinct, dodging, stumbling on, swiping out with his blade when he has to. He can't stop and fight them, they'll swarm.

He needs to get to high ground.

But they would be able to follow, he knows it. They climbed up into the trees, didn't they?

In any case, he never gets to that point. Suddenly, there's wickedly sharp teeth digging into his shoulder, yanking him to the side. He yelps and stabs the mutt, carves out its eyes, panting with pain and exhaustion and a desperate flight. The velociraptor looking mutt drops him, but it's too much. He bares his teeth, cuts the mutt's throat and shoves it away. Draws his bow with a pained hiss and and looses the few remaining arrows he has.

Tony's closer, closer -- there's too many.

Not thinking about what else to do, Tony throws some of the food that's in his hand at the mutts, it's a donut, so it's barely going to distract them, let alone shoo them away but he doesn't have anything else short of the knife he has no intention of letting go of any time soon.

He trips over some uneven ground hitting the ground with a dull thud, coughing at the burn in his lungs and legs, but he scrambles back up to keep closing the distance on Clint.

He doesn't know how he'll save him, but he's working on it.

He can't waste the time to worry about Tony, whether he's nearby, whether he has weaponry or not.

His last arrow flies true, despite the bite wound deep in his arm, and Clint curses at his empty quiver. Slams his bow into the face of another mutt, and again, again, snarls with frustration as a clawed hand catches his wrist and tugs him off center. He's attacking wildly, the last ditch movements of a dying animal.

Suddenly, there's no where to run. He's cut off from freedom, and though he fights -- desperately, desperately -- he cannot break free. A hand digs into the ragged bite wound, deep and clawing.

Tony's struggling to his feet, but it's right about now that the first scream rends the air.

The scream makes Tony's blood run cold. The only thing that's keeping him running towards him right now is the lack of the death gong, which right now Tony isn't even sure if that's a good sign.

When he gets close enough Tony only focuses on the hand getting too deep into Clint's business, pulling out his knife he slashes wildly at the arm. If nothing else hoping to get the mutt to release the blonde more than damage the creature.

"Give me a break." is all he manages to grunt as he knows there's more mutts than he could deal with even in his wildest most badass dreams.
Why did he have to be all by himself without his suit right now?

Clint tears away, blood splattering against the grass, against the mutt before him. His arm falls limply at his side, wrecked, all gore and a screaming ache that stabs through him. He pushes back for a second, instinctive, the need to get out running through him. But Tony pulled him out and he won't leave him here. Not when he knows exactly well how Tony's skills will fare without his suit.

Doesn't matter, another mutt lurches forward, hissing through its misshapen jaw, and Clint snarls as he slams his bloodslicked knife into the hollow of it's throat. Twists and yanks, arterial spray getting in his eyes. It's enough to blind him for a second, even as he kicks the mutt back into another, reaches out and grabs Tony out of the way of swiping claws. But the mutt must have torn into him too badly, because he's well aware of the effects of bloodloss, and it's already getting to him. He curses, grips his knife tighter and strikes out, blade biting through the belly of a mutt.

The numbers are dwindling, bodies littering the floor, but there's still a handful of bloodthirsty beings. And there's no way he can out run them like this.

"Gotta move, Stark," he bites out, pushes Tony behind him and slams the knife up into the eye of a flesh-muzzled mutt, one that looks far too similar to Barnes. He stumbles, yanks it free, barely keeps his legs beneath him.

Tony stumbles a little as he's pulled out the way while surprised he at least gains enough momentum to gore a different mutt in the eye with his blade. He's oh so very aware of all the blood now covering him, some of it his own, but most of it Mutts and too much is Clint's.

He ignores the irritation in the back of his mind when Clint pulls him behind him to protect him, knowing now isn't the time or place to fight the instinct.

"I couldn't agree more." He grunts before putting an arm around Clint and lifts him a little to pull him away. While he wouldn't be able to hold him up for too long because he's out of practice of lifting heavy things from living here but at least he can help Clint move. "Just keep swinging, Dory." as he keeps moving backward.

Clint's not as coordinated as he'd like, right now. Though he pulls Tony behind him, he only has one arm with which to fight and protect, and that's not his best. The blade in his hand is slick with blood, fingers cramping at the tight hold they have to keep to prevent it from slipping and dooming them.

He can't hold them all back, and an hand tipped with wicked, sharp as knife claws slips through his defenses, slices into his abdomen. Its bad, blood spilling from the wound, but not deep enough to gut him despite the length and sharpness of those claws. Thankfully.

The arm Tony puts around Clint is painful, his mangled arm burning like fire along his side, up his spine into the hollow at the base of his skull. Clint groans, aching, and cuts fingers off of a mutt reaching for them. It falls back, howling, and he bares his teeth in a bloodied mockery of a smile.

But it's only Tony's arm around him that's keeping Clint up and fighting, and he knows it. Should he turn and run on his own two feet, he'll be swarmed, and Tony too.

"There's too many--" He cuts off, yelping at a mutt bodily throws itself at them.

"There always is" Tony grunts out as he keeps moving back. Hoping that if they get to the table the mutts will pull back. After all he's been at that table long enough to know nothing came for him there.

He swings at some with his knife as they get back out of his way.

"Still with me, agent?" Tony asks as he can feel his arm getting wetter and warmer as he moves, feeling relaxed as his assumption seems to be at least a little right as the mutts are now no longer in front of him.

At least that's what he's hoping it means instead of them ignoring him in favour of pulling back to take more chunks out of Barton.

They stumble, Clint's weight enough to pull them a bit off balance, enough for the mutt to miss them. With Tony walking them back, they might make it. Might get Tony out of dodge, at least, because he's bleeding far too much.

"For now," Clint groans, slashing wildly at the mutt whose fingers he'd cut off earlier, plants his knife in its throat. The blood slick blade and his own weakening grip are his undoing though, and the blade stays stuck in the mutt's flesh even as it crumbles to the floor. Clint curses, a muddled thing, leaning heavier against Tony's side. Luckily, there are fewer mutts, only a handful left really. The table looms up ahead, and the mutts seem to sense it, growling and snapping at them. But with one last swipe, nails catching at the thin skin over his hip, the mutts stalk off.

By the time they reach the table, Clint's pale with bloodloss, leaning heavily against Tony's side. He forces himself forward on sheer instinct, sheer force of will, though that's getting harder and harder with each step.

When Tony sees the beasts retreat and the table just in his eyeline, he stumbles backwards and falls. Hitting the ground awkwardly but still keeping his grip on Clint enough to pull him down on top of him.

Quickly enough Tony manages to sit up while Clint is still on him, his eyes taking in the archer in all his blood-o-max detail. There is no way Tony could call this the time he saved Clint.

"This... Could look. Uh. Better."

His hands hover, not really knowing where to go while his knife lays ignored next to him.

Tony might be able to control the fall, but it's still painful, still drives the air out of Clint's lungs. He groans, a soft, pained thing, and lays dazedly still for a very long moment. Tony sitting up is enough incentive to get Clint to gather his remaining energy, force himself up with Tony. It takes too much effort.

"Pro'bly."

He slurs, blinks slowly. His breath wheezes out of him, and Clint winces, far too pale. And he knows it, he really does. Clint just barely keeps his head from lolling, shoves himself back up as he starts listing to the side. His gaze tracks laboriously over to where the mutts disappeared, and back to Tony's face. He can read the truth there, even if he hadn't already known. He slips, catches himself, doesn't let much more than a pained breath escape him. Damn, but he never wanted to put Tony in this situation.

"Tony," Slowly, carefully. "Y're gonna--gonna have to kill me."

Every keening move and drop has Tony moving to keep Clint upright. He knows just as well as Clint does what should be done, but Tony's never been good with sensible choices sensible people make.

He's too good at being selfish for that kind of thing.

He pales and sets his jaw when Clint actually says what has to be said. Ignoring him, Tony looks back at the table, maybe something there could help. After all, Clint will look no worse for wear back in the capitol, so maybe there's something here that can give him that bit of time.

"Not our final option yet."

To be honest. Tony's too scared to kill him, as if doing so would destroy their bond. He knows it's stupid but seeing Clint look like an extra in a zombie movie isn't helping him to think straight. He tries to move away from Clint, looking reluctant because he wants to see if there is anything on the table that could help.

It's getting harder and harder, strength sapping away with each breath. The wounds are sluggishly bleeding, slowed from the immediate, but Clint's still losing blood. He's going cold, limbs numb even as he tries to move, tries to keep breathing. It's probably better if he doesn't move, he's well aware of this. But it's already too late. Tony doesn't have the expertise to patch him up after this, and Clint's not sure he could do it himself. Not now.

So he bares his teeth, bloodied, as Tony ignores his advice. Despite the bloodloss, Clint's gaze is sharp, even if he can't focus quite as easily as he should be able to. He watches Tony head towards the table, plants his hands on the ground to keep him upright, hopefully.

"Not gonna find somethin'."

He's not trying to be contrary, but he knows it's true. From his point, Clint can't see all the contents of the table, but it'd looked like mostly food. Nothing that can help, and he knows Tony knows it.

At the words Tony's hand tightens on his knife as he glares at the table. He knows Clint's right, and he hates it so very much. So much so he smacks a bowl of fruit off the table angrily. Glaring at the bowl and it's contents as they skitter into the grass before turning to look back at Clint then going back over to him.

He wants to shout out for help, hoping a sponsor would do something. But that's not how this game is played and he knows it.

"If I don't see you on the other side after this. There will be words."

He says trying to sound playful but coming off more honest and serious than he would have liked. He looks at Clint's mangled body and isn't even sure where he should start to help Clint out of his pain.

Clint watches slow and carefully, blinking around a tilting world. Tony's mad, of course he is, but Clint knows he'll come around. If he doesn't, hell, Clint will just have to wait and bleed out slowly and painfully. He'd rather not, really, so it's a good thing that Tony gives into logic after a fit of fruit abuse.

Still, at that overly honest comment Clint grins savagely, more a baring of bloodied teeth than anything. It's an agreement in and of itself, even if Clint doesn't verbalize it. He doesn't really make those kinds of promises if he can help it. Simply because he has no control over this.

"C'mere." Clint murmurs, leaning forward on his uninjured arm, hisses low in pain as he uses his injured to grab Tony's wrist and draw him close. His head tips back, eyes sharp but dulling, throat bared easily to the steel in Tony's hand. It presses delicately against skin. "Carotid, bleed out in a minute."

Tony swallows and then grimaces at the advice, looking at the blade pressing against the skin.

"Not helping. Do you want a count down or no warning?"

Because Tony doesn't know the etiquette on how to put someone out of their misery. Even more so when it's someone he knows and would never admit to liking,

Clint acknowledges that, but he's damn tired and in way too much pain to apologize. Maybe later.

"Just do it."

He states, softly, tiredly, looking up at Tony for a moment before letting his gaze skitter away. It's easier, not having to look someone in the eye as you slit their throat. It's a kindness he can offer, even if it's only the barest sketch of it.

As Tony moves the knife the slit Clint's throat, he closes his eyes not wanting to see the blood spurting out as he neatly opens up the artery.

There's a temptation for him to let go of the knife and just leave the area. But he just doesn't know who's still out there. So while still refusing to look at Clint, not wanting to make the death real to him, Tony moves away, turning his back quickly, before heading to the table cloth to wipe off the blood from his hands and knife.

All while fighting the oppressive urge to throw up for killing his friend. It doesn't matter to his body and subconcious that this was better for Clint, all it knows is his friend is dead and it's his fault. He loses the battle then throws up on the table, hating what he had to do just now.

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