closed; maybe I'll sleep when I am dead

[cognitived]

Who | Avengerpalooza + friends
What | Clint ran into some beasties in the woods. He didn't come out of it in one piece.
Where | Heading to and hanging around in the Avenger's Base.
When | End of Week 3, beginning of Week 4
Warnings/Notes | Brief mentions of animal death, bodily injury, and field amputations.

closed to sam;

He ran. The argument ends, not because they compromise, not because they decide to stop, but because Clint -- in a concussion fueled decision -- turns on his heel and runs away from the mess that was once a tribute, and the furious figure of his partner. It's a shit awful decision, he knows it from the moment he hits the ground running. But Clint's just as stubborn as Sam is, and he doesn't turn back. No, instead, he headed into the forest, wand clutched tight in his hand, ignoring the way his leg fought to give way out from under him.

And in the end, he winds up wandering half lost in a damn forest when most of him is telling him to turn back. But he's stubborn. But he's mad. But he's got mustard yellow flecks of blood splattered across his hands and he's got that expression of Sam's stamped into his mind.

He's so damn distracted he misses the silent gathering of a pack of massive wolves. Up until a twig snaps and a snarl creeps in at the edge of his hearing, and Clint realizes what an idiot he was. The next few moments are a blur. The snarl and snap of teeth, the crackle of electricity and pained yelps of injured wolves, the pain of teeth sinking into his arm and nearly ripping it clean off.

Later, Clint won't really remember it all. But somehow, through sheer force of will, he backtracked his way through the forest, warding off the few wolves left with lighting from his wand, arm tucked close against his chest. The village slowly rises around him, but he's got his eyes on the castle.

God he wants to throw up, the pain is so much.

closed to amputation party;

Sam works quickly, efficiently, but the truth of the matter is this: Clint's arm is all but useless. Only the barest bit of bone, shredded flesh, and gristle keeps it connected, and the tourniquet can only do so much. If they were in the Capitol proper, or back home, maybe this would be an injury he could come back from intact.

But as it is, Clint's leaning heavily on Sam, dazed, pain shooting through him with every jostle, every step, every shuddered breath. It's killing him.

The walk to the Castle is slow and laborious, with Sam picking off the few remaining wolves and carefully dragging Clint back to their base. It's only luck and maybe the wild, determined cast to Sam's features that keep the way clear. If he wasn't a bit preoccupied with the fact that he might tumble over should he step in the wrong place, and the fact that his arm is only barely connected -- his arm, his arm -- Clint would probably find it a bit more impressive. Here, now, he's more focused on not dying in Sam's arms like Nat did last Arena. He won't do that to him, not if he can help it.

Soon enough, they've made their way back, and Clint leans heavily against Sam as he works the door open. But Clint's goddamn tired of bloodloss, injured limbs and the rising terror of what this means. And a joke is basically the only way he knows how to cope. So he drawls, slowly, carefully, pretending like this isn't as bad as it is.

"Honey, we're home."

open to avengers and their add ons;

Once the party died down, and the chances of Clint bleeding out on the operating table passes, it all seems very surreal. He tries not to look, when he's lucid and not hallucinating or seeing ghosts, because it's terrifying. It shocks him to the core to see that empty space where a limb once was. Where a limb should be.

The blankets help, more than he ever thought they would. But he's so cold, and maybe that's bloodloss speaking. In any case, Clint spends most of the first day after curled up in the nest others placed him in, trying in vain to ignore the ache shuddering through him where what was left of his arm ended. He can't believe it, can't. Can't sleep, even though he's repeatedly told he must. Wakes up gasping for breath, keening with pain as the thrashing sends his arm sparking with reminder of his injury.

Though he's not really up to visitors, Clint welcomes it. Craves the comfort that comes with another human being talking to him like he's simply down with a fracture, or a gunshot wound. Those, those are easy. He knows how to deal with that.

Instead, Clint doesn't deal. He ignores it, the agony and terror and uselessness that claws its way up his throat. Greets a visitor with a thin lipped smile and a mumbled "Hey."

Comments

[honeyibrokeharlem]

"Hey yourself."

It wasn't the first time Bruce helped amputate a limb. It was actually much easier this time than others, because this time he wasn't the most experienced medical resource on hand. Sam is the most experienced because he went through actual formal training, and everyone else in their group is remarkably calm around blood and gore. As amputations go, this one was pretty good.

Or it would be if he didn't actually know and care about the person whose arm they took off.

He has a pot of water and a first aid kit, which he puts to the side as he sits down next to Clint. "I'm here to change your bandages and see how you're holding up."

[actually112]

"Hey."

Aang has a little box and a chessboard under his arm. He sits down next to Clint, giving him a bright smile even if he doesn't quite feel happy. It wouldn't be very helpful for Aang to be sad around someone who's been hurt so badly; it's better to be cheerful and let other people feed off of that, even if it takes effort.

"I found a chessboard. Do you know how to play?"

[tookthewheel]

"I heard imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

Bucky steps into the room where Clint is resting slowly, booted feet falling heavily on the cool stone. He could be silent if he wanted to, of course, but there's no need to sneak up on an ally. Accidentally surprising people like them isn't a good idea either, even when the person in question was weak from emergency surgery.

The fingers of his metal hand twitch and he wonders if it can be considered phantom pain when you do have a limb in place of the one you lost. It's not a question he wants to linger on, nor his very messy memory of losing his own arm.

"You didn't need to go this far."

[metalicarus]

Jet figured they'd seen more of each other over the last few weeks than they had ever before, they just hadn't gotten a chance to talk despite how close their circles ran. Jet had gotten a good first impression that night Sam had called him over with the bird, but he'd gotten a better feel for who Clint was once Jet had started staying with them. He was a good man and definitely not someone who deserved something like this.

Jet had stayed out of the way when they'd brought Clint back -he was only good at patching small things and broken bones, not that- but when it came time for someone to watch over Clint and the people Jet suspected would be first in line needed rest, Jet volunteered. He didn't need rest as much as the others. He settled down beside the archer and was a little startled when he heard Clint's voice.

"Hey yourself. Thought you'd be sleeping."

[earthborn]

Between the spooked wildlife and the blood trail, finding the Avengers camp had turned out not to be as difficult as she'd thought. Honestly, Shepard was just happy to know that they were alive, now, whatever the shape they were in. It was better, not to be alone.

Hey he says, like it's nothing. Shepard's seen that look before.

"You look like shit, Barton," delicacy is for the weak, and Clint Barton is anything but, "There are better weight-loss regimes."

post argument

[sizeofyourbaggage]

It's an absolutely terrible decision, and for a moment Sam's so pissed off at Clint just running off that he doesn't immediately follow him.

Guilt eats at him when he knees down next to Psii's body, angry with the fact that he knows he probably doesn't have long before the clean up crew will arrive, that he doesn't know what kind of burial rituals Psii has. And then decides fuck it, they're in the catacombs, the least Sam can do is give Psii some kind of burial. He's already covered in the yellow of Psii's blood and brain, it's not like getting a little more on him while he carries the body.

When Sam's done - he's calmer, though he doesn't feel less guilty. And there's nothing more he can do here, so Sam pushes himself up to his feet and heads off after Clint.

Clint is still his partner, and it's been long enough since he stormed off that Sam's starting to worry. Part of him was sure that Clint would come back before long, maybe for round two, maybe just to pretend like it hadn't happened, but he'd been sure that he'd come back.

When Sam finally tracks him down, he realizes why he hadn't, and the fear and adrenaline that'd faded in the time since the fight comes shooting right back.

"Clint!" he shouts, picking up the pace and flying towards him at a run, zapping off one of the wolves getting a little too close to him with his own wand.

Post Party

[aboveangrybees]

Steve hesitates to come by for the first couple days, feeling like if there was a time for someone to lash out at him finally, it's when Clint is hurt, when they feel they need to protect him. Sure, he had stayed when Clint first arrived, helping hold down the man while they removed the arm, but once it was done Steve was asked to leave, let Clint rest, and Steve just didn't return to the safe room after. It didn't feel so safe for him, because even though he's slowly come to be comfortable enough with the group to not run, to stay in the relative safety in numbers, but trust is still hard, still not won, yet Clint might be the one he's coming to trust fastest.

So, eventually his concern for the man outweighs the rest and he returns to slowly open the door and peek in at the injured man. And remembers why he's actually kind of mad at him.

Walking in, Steve returns the hey with angry signing, not bothering to mask his upset at the other man. "You're an idiot." He throws his hand out of the word idiot it to point at Clint before continuing. "You could have died."

For a guy determined to win, he still can't help but deeply care about his teammate's well being. Maybe it's because Steve's thinking is in his own situation, what arena death means for him.

Amputation

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Sam's supporting pretty much all of Clint's weight at this point, doing his best to hold him steady so he doesn't jostle his arm too much. There’s no way around it coming off, but he'd rather not cause more damage - or more pain - than it's already going to be.

He's stabilized Clint the best he can, but it's weighing heavy on him that he knows the place he's carting him back to isn't safety, that even at their castle "base," they don't have the kind of equipment that could really help Clint.

It's gonna be dirty and it's gonna be rough, but right now, Sam is just focusing on keeping Clint alive.

"Bucky!" he calls, risking being a little bit louder than he normally would in the arena. He's gonna need the help here. "Jet, Steve, Bruce!"

He turns without waiting to see who's there and who's coming, guiding Clint towards the medieval table that's the best they've got at the moment. Least it's better than the floor in an ice cave. "Come on, man, up here, I got you."