FIC: Thicker Than Water (3/7) - Brothers 'verse
Title: "Thicker Than Water - Chapter 3/7"
Fandom: The Avengers/The Bourne Legacy
Characters: Clint Barton, Aaron Cross, Phil Coulson, mentions of Natasha Romanoff and Marta Shearing
Pairings: background Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, background Aaron Cross/Marta Shearing
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1992 words
Genre: Family / Adventure / Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: some language, movie grade violence, blood, mention of canonical child abuse (non-sexual) in later chapters
Summary: Aaron and Clint learned of each other’s existence a few months ago when Natasha brought Aaron and Marta into SHIELD on Fury’s behest. Now the brothers go on a mission together and get to really know each other when faced with a struggle for survival.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would like to appreciate a Clint and an Aaron of my own, thank you!
Author's notes: This fic was written for a prompt by my friend soncnica, who asked for brotherly bonding after we watched The Avengers and The Bourne legacy together :) I hope you like it, babe!
My sincerest gratitude to my wonderful beta missm0neypenny, your comments had me squeeing and laughing like a madwoman ;) Love to anuna_81 who also greenlit this for posting and to venitinmentem for cheering me on :D I love you all :D And thanks to inkvoices for the wonderful icon!
Comments are love, so please let me know what you think :D
You can also read it and all previous chapters on AO3
and FFN
Aaron pulls and the wood retracts with a squelch. Clint’s gut-wrenching, guttural scream, only slightly muffled by the impromptu gag, drowns it out immediately. The hairs on Aaron’s neck stand on end, and he swallows to keep the rising bile down. He pulls steadily until the splinter is free and Clint sags to the side with an undignified ungh.
Aaron throws the dark wood aside contemptuously and removes the glove from Clint’s mouth to allow him to breathe easier. Bright red blood wells sluggishly out of the corresponding wounds and Aaron takes a deep breath as he hastily reaches for the water bottle, unscrews it and pours half of it onto Clint’s leg to wash some of the contaminants away. He sets the bottle aside and picks up the battlefield dressing.
He tears off both plastic wrappers - the fucking thing is packed like Pepperidge Farm bread - before pressing the first non-adhesive bandage pad to the slightly larger exit wound. He then slides the movable extra pad to rest atop the entry wound in the back of Clint’s thigh and winds the elastic bandage around the leg once before he threads it through the pressure bar and pulls.
Clint jerks awake with a gasp as Aaron pulls the bandage tight and reaches for Aaron’s arms.
“Fuck,” he splutters. “What the hell’re ya doing?”
“Hold still, I have to make sure it clots,” Aaron commands, the slip to military tone easier than expected.
He wraps the bandage tight around Clint’s thigh and secures the end with the built-in clip before he presses down on top of the bandage, his shoulders screaming in protest.
Clint groans, clamps his hand around Aaron’s wrist and sucks in rapid little breaths. The older man’s grip on his arm is bruising, and the strength in it helps Aaron relax minutely.
“Deep breaths, Clint, I don’t want you to faint.”
“Fuck you, ‘m not gonna faint. You try to breathe through Superman squeezing the blood outta your thigh and then we’ll talk,” Clint grunts.
“Superman, huh?” Aaron smirks.
Clint’s grip is white-knuckled. “You’re stronger than you look, kiddo,” he breathes out through clenched teeth.
“I think you have to rethink your definition of kid, old man,” Aaron says with a smirk and releases his vice grip on Clint’s leg.
“’m not old, just older,” Clint grumbles. He closes his eyes and thumps his head against the wall repeatedly.
“Be careful with that birdbrain of yours, Hawkeye,” Aaron teases as he trains the flashlight’s beam onto the wound.
“’m not a birdbrain, shithead!” Clint grouses but stops his motion.
Aaron keeps an eye on the wound, smiling inwardly.
“Well, you giving yourself a head injury on top of the flesh wound will help nobody.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Clint mumbles.
Aaron sits down beside Clint, their shoulders touch and he feels the urge to be as close to his brother as he can be, so he leans into the contact. Clint trembles beside him, a low thrum running through his muscles.
“So, what do we do now?”
<><><><><><>
“Now you help me walk out of here,” Clint says and he can’t suppress the shudder that courses through him at the thought.
“How do you know that no one will come for us? SHIELD came for me last time,” Aaron asks, all business.
Clint swallows against his dry throat before he explains, “That was a planned op, just had to move up the schedule for the ground troops. And… there were other factors in play.”
One look at Aaron and by the way his jaw sets, Clint knows his brother understands. Clint had run the op and he made sure that Aaron got out alive. Aaron nods and hands the open water bottle to Clint.
“You first,” Clint rasps, and pushes Aaron’s hand back.
“Don’t be a dick, I have more. Now drink.”
Aaron holds out the bottle to Clint again and watches him as Clint closes his trembling fingers around it. The water feels like salvation when it hits Clint’s parched, sore throat and he drinks eagerly.
“Okay, so SHIELD won’t send ground forces for us. You said you could get us out, how do you propose to do that?” Aaron asks and Clint can feel his eyes on him.
“They almost drilled through the other side of the hill. Saw it on the scans of the place.” Clint takes a deep breath and drinks some more, feeling his energy return with every sip. “Should only take a little C4 to get us out. It’s why I chose to go deeper into the tunnel. Best chance for us, for you.”
Clint hears an exasperated sigh from his left and immediately feels a sting as Aaron thwacks him hard on the back of his head. Clint’s hand shoots up to rub across the tingling patch of skin and he looks at Aaron accusingly.
“Whatcha do that for?” he whines.
Aaron’s features are blank and he hisses lowly, “Don’t you pull that self-sacrificing crap on me. I don’t need a protector. I had to take care of myself for thirty fucking years and I survived just fine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking glad you’re back in my life, but I don’t need you to pull the big brother act on me. Where did you get the notion that I need that?”
Clint swallows audibly and replays the words in his head. He recalls Aaron dancing in the shadows of the searchlights, how evenly matched they are when they spar, the ease with which Aaron masters the parkour circuit at SHIELD and he knows that Aaron is right.
He cringes and a slight smirk crosses his face. “Alright already, don’t get your panties in a twist, kiddo.”
Aaron sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes. He mirrors Clint’s smirk and says, “Get up, old man. We, and I mean the both of us, are getting out of this shithole.”
Clint nods and Aaron kneels next to him, puts his arms around Clint’s back, and gently pulls Clint up. Aaron’s arms are steady and strong as pain lances through Clint’s leg. He moans and digs his trembling fingers into Aaron’s shoulders to keep upright. The tunnel wall is rough at Clint’s back, its solidity and Aaron’s unwavering strength grounding him as he rests his head on his brother’s shoulder until his breath has evened out.
“You with me?” Aaron asks him and Clint is almost certain that he heard a hitch in his voice at that.
Aaron waits until Clint nods a tightlipped assent to let go and Clint almost tips to the side.
“Shit, damn it, damn,” Clint curses and claws for Aaron’s arm while he tries to regain his equilibrium.
“Yeah, I feel you, brother,” Aaron says and rubs Clint’s shoulders until the dizziness finally passes. “You okay to stay vertical?”
“Think so,” Clint grounds out and exhales deeply.
He shivers when Aaron removes his hands again and Clint closes his eyes. His leg is pounding and white flashes dance behind his lids with every beat of his heart. He counts to ten, then Aaron’s warm hand grasps his bicep and Clint opens his eyes. Aaron holds out Clint’s quiver with a grim smile. The determination in his eyes eases the tightness in Clint’s stomach. Mirroring his brother’s expression, Clint slips on his quiver, then Aaron collapses the bow and stows it in the holster at the small of the archer’s back. The familiar weight wrenches a contented sigh from Clint, Aaron chuckles in response as he picks up the flashlight.
Aaron’s pack is slung low on his back when he pulls Clint’s left arm across his shoulders. Clint thinks he can hear a pained moan escape his brother’s throat, but when he looks Aaron’s face betrays no discomfort. Clint can’t suppress a grunt when Aaron kicks away the last of the rubble from the fallen support beam before he helps Clint navigate the area. The tunnel is small and for once Clint is thankful that he’s not the tallest guy and that his brother is even more compact than he is. He gasps as a thought of tall, dark, broad-shouldered Barney springs to his mind and he shivers.
“You okay?” Aaron asks and holds him closer.
“Yeah. Good you’re not Barney,” Clint grounds out and he feels Aaron perk up.
Clint’s stomach turns the moment the words leave his mouth. He has never spoken of their older brother beyond stating that he died a few years ago, and now he just wants to banish the thought of the older Barton back to where it came from .
“Yeah? Why is that?” Aaron asks and Clint can detect hope to hear more in his voice.
“He was tall,” Clint deflects with a pained smirk on his face. “Would’ve made this a hell of a lot harder.”
“Is that all he was?” Aaron queries with a slump of his shoulders.
“He was an ass,” Clint grounds out. He says nothing else, just bites his lip and follows Aaron’s lead through the tunnel.
The heat inside the badly ventilated mine makes breathing a chore for Clint and he leans heavily on Aaron as he limps down the dark shaft. The flashlight’s bright beam wavers over the tunnel’s ragged surface; the subtle motions play tricks on his mind and make him seasick. His leg throbs and feels at least three times as big as it actually is. Every step sends a jolt of icy electricity through his shattered nerves and up his spine, sweat coating his whole body. He can’t suppress the sounds of pain completely, but tries for Aaron’s sake.
He loses all concept of time, counting each agonizing step he manages as a win. It’s only his iron will and Aaron’s solid mass beside him that keep him going. He leans heavily on his brother and he really is glad that it’s him and not Barney next to him. The pain in his thigh and the darkness around him take him back to that rainy night in the circus seventeen years ago. Their fight, the pain, the betrayal… He shudders at the memory and the muscular arm around his waist holds him tighter.
“It’s okay, you’re doing good,” Aaron says next to him, his voice sure and strong.
Clint scoffs. He knows he’s not even in the vicinity of good. Blackness encroaches on his sight with each thumping beat of his heart. He can feel it strain against his ribs. His head throbs in perfect time with it. Aaron groans softly when Clint leans on him more heavily.
“You hurt?” Clint ask and berates himself for his neglect.
“Bruises. Nothing bad, don’t worry,” Aaron placates and holds Clint more securely around the waist.
Clint breathes a sigh of relief and his mind wanders again. He gets lost in the hypnotic play of the flashlight’s beam across the walls - the pain, the exhaustion, it all becomes irrelevant.
“How long did you say this tunnel was?” Aaron asks him after what feels like a lifetime.
Clint shakes his head to clear his mind and tries to remember the layout from what he saw on the carrier’s screen. A long shaft leading into the earth, branching out into a warren of smaller tunnels as it leads farther underground. One of these is almost long enough to breach the other side of the mountain. He just has to make sure not to get them lost on the way.
“Dunno,” Clint chokes out in between harsh breaths. “S-saw a junction about halfway.”
He should tell Aaron how to navigate the warren, make sure he will get out, but before he can act on that thought his right leg slips on loose gravel and he has to put weight on his mangled leg to keep upright. All-encompassing pain shoots white hot through his body, tearing a scream from his throat before he allows the rapidly approaching blackness to swallow him whole.
Fandom: The Avengers/The Bourne Legacy
Characters: Clint Barton, Aaron Cross, Phil Coulson, mentions of Natasha Romanoff and Marta Shearing
Pairings: background Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, background Aaron Cross/Marta Shearing
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1992 words
Genre: Family / Adventure / Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: some language, movie grade violence, blood, mention of canonical child abuse (non-sexual) in later chapters
Summary: Aaron and Clint learned of each other’s existence a few months ago when Natasha brought Aaron and Marta into SHIELD on Fury’s behest. Now the brothers go on a mission together and get to really know each other when faced with a struggle for survival.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would like to appreciate a Clint and an Aaron of my own, thank you!
Author's notes: This fic was written for a prompt by my friend soncnica, who asked for brotherly bonding after we watched The Avengers and The Bourne legacy together :) I hope you like it, babe!
My sincerest gratitude to my wonderful beta missm0neypenny, your comments had me squeeing and laughing like a madwoman ;) Love to anuna_81 who also greenlit this for posting and to venitinmentem for cheering me on :D I love you all :D And thanks to inkvoices for the wonderful icon!
Comments are love, so please let me know what you think :D
You can also read it and all previous chapters on AO3
and FFN
Aaron pulls and the wood retracts with a squelch. Clint’s gut-wrenching, guttural scream, only slightly muffled by the impromptu gag, drowns it out immediately. The hairs on Aaron’s neck stand on end, and he swallows to keep the rising bile down. He pulls steadily until the splinter is free and Clint sags to the side with an undignified ungh.
Aaron throws the dark wood aside contemptuously and removes the glove from Clint’s mouth to allow him to breathe easier. Bright red blood wells sluggishly out of the corresponding wounds and Aaron takes a deep breath as he hastily reaches for the water bottle, unscrews it and pours half of it onto Clint’s leg to wash some of the contaminants away. He sets the bottle aside and picks up the battlefield dressing.
He tears off both plastic wrappers - the fucking thing is packed like Pepperidge Farm bread - before pressing the first non-adhesive bandage pad to the slightly larger exit wound. He then slides the movable extra pad to rest atop the entry wound in the back of Clint’s thigh and winds the elastic bandage around the leg once before he threads it through the pressure bar and pulls.
Clint jerks awake with a gasp as Aaron pulls the bandage tight and reaches for Aaron’s arms.
“Fuck,” he splutters. “What the hell’re ya doing?”
“Hold still, I have to make sure it clots,” Aaron commands, the slip to military tone easier than expected.
He wraps the bandage tight around Clint’s thigh and secures the end with the built-in clip before he presses down on top of the bandage, his shoulders screaming in protest.
Clint groans, clamps his hand around Aaron’s wrist and sucks in rapid little breaths. The older man’s grip on his arm is bruising, and the strength in it helps Aaron relax minutely.
“Deep breaths, Clint, I don’t want you to faint.”
“Fuck you, ‘m not gonna faint. You try to breathe through Superman squeezing the blood outta your thigh and then we’ll talk,” Clint grunts.
“Superman, huh?” Aaron smirks.
Clint’s grip is white-knuckled. “You’re stronger than you look, kiddo,” he breathes out through clenched teeth.
“I think you have to rethink your definition of kid, old man,” Aaron says with a smirk and releases his vice grip on Clint’s leg.
“’m not old, just older,” Clint grumbles. He closes his eyes and thumps his head against the wall repeatedly.
“Be careful with that birdbrain of yours, Hawkeye,” Aaron teases as he trains the flashlight’s beam onto the wound.
“’m not a birdbrain, shithead!” Clint grouses but stops his motion.
Aaron keeps an eye on the wound, smiling inwardly.
“Well, you giving yourself a head injury on top of the flesh wound will help nobody.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Clint mumbles.
Aaron sits down beside Clint, their shoulders touch and he feels the urge to be as close to his brother as he can be, so he leans into the contact. Clint trembles beside him, a low thrum running through his muscles.
“So, what do we do now?”
<><><><><><>
“Now you help me walk out of here,” Clint says and he can’t suppress the shudder that courses through him at the thought.
“How do you know that no one will come for us? SHIELD came for me last time,” Aaron asks, all business.
Clint swallows against his dry throat before he explains, “That was a planned op, just had to move up the schedule for the ground troops. And… there were other factors in play.”
One look at Aaron and by the way his jaw sets, Clint knows his brother understands. Clint had run the op and he made sure that Aaron got out alive. Aaron nods and hands the open water bottle to Clint.
“You first,” Clint rasps, and pushes Aaron’s hand back.
“Don’t be a dick, I have more. Now drink.”
Aaron holds out the bottle to Clint again and watches him as Clint closes his trembling fingers around it. The water feels like salvation when it hits Clint’s parched, sore throat and he drinks eagerly.
“Okay, so SHIELD won’t send ground forces for us. You said you could get us out, how do you propose to do that?” Aaron asks and Clint can feel his eyes on him.
“They almost drilled through the other side of the hill. Saw it on the scans of the place.” Clint takes a deep breath and drinks some more, feeling his energy return with every sip. “Should only take a little C4 to get us out. It’s why I chose to go deeper into the tunnel. Best chance for us, for you.”
Clint hears an exasperated sigh from his left and immediately feels a sting as Aaron thwacks him hard on the back of his head. Clint’s hand shoots up to rub across the tingling patch of skin and he looks at Aaron accusingly.
“Whatcha do that for?” he whines.
Aaron’s features are blank and he hisses lowly, “Don’t you pull that self-sacrificing crap on me. I don’t need a protector. I had to take care of myself for thirty fucking years and I survived just fine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking glad you’re back in my life, but I don’t need you to pull the big brother act on me. Where did you get the notion that I need that?”
Clint swallows audibly and replays the words in his head. He recalls Aaron dancing in the shadows of the searchlights, how evenly matched they are when they spar, the ease with which Aaron masters the parkour circuit at SHIELD and he knows that Aaron is right.
He cringes and a slight smirk crosses his face. “Alright already, don’t get your panties in a twist, kiddo.”
Aaron sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes. He mirrors Clint’s smirk and says, “Get up, old man. We, and I mean the both of us, are getting out of this shithole.”
Clint nods and Aaron kneels next to him, puts his arms around Clint’s back, and gently pulls Clint up. Aaron’s arms are steady and strong as pain lances through Clint’s leg. He moans and digs his trembling fingers into Aaron’s shoulders to keep upright. The tunnel wall is rough at Clint’s back, its solidity and Aaron’s unwavering strength grounding him as he rests his head on his brother’s shoulder until his breath has evened out.
“You with me?” Aaron asks him and Clint is almost certain that he heard a hitch in his voice at that.
Aaron waits until Clint nods a tightlipped assent to let go and Clint almost tips to the side.
“Shit, damn it, damn,” Clint curses and claws for Aaron’s arm while he tries to regain his equilibrium.
“Yeah, I feel you, brother,” Aaron says and rubs Clint’s shoulders until the dizziness finally passes. “You okay to stay vertical?”
“Think so,” Clint grounds out and exhales deeply.
He shivers when Aaron removes his hands again and Clint closes his eyes. His leg is pounding and white flashes dance behind his lids with every beat of his heart. He counts to ten, then Aaron’s warm hand grasps his bicep and Clint opens his eyes. Aaron holds out Clint’s quiver with a grim smile. The determination in his eyes eases the tightness in Clint’s stomach. Mirroring his brother’s expression, Clint slips on his quiver, then Aaron collapses the bow and stows it in the holster at the small of the archer’s back. The familiar weight wrenches a contented sigh from Clint, Aaron chuckles in response as he picks up the flashlight.
Aaron’s pack is slung low on his back when he pulls Clint’s left arm across his shoulders. Clint thinks he can hear a pained moan escape his brother’s throat, but when he looks Aaron’s face betrays no discomfort. Clint can’t suppress a grunt when Aaron kicks away the last of the rubble from the fallen support beam before he helps Clint navigate the area. The tunnel is small and for once Clint is thankful that he’s not the tallest guy and that his brother is even more compact than he is. He gasps as a thought of tall, dark, broad-shouldered Barney springs to his mind and he shivers.
“You okay?” Aaron asks and holds him closer.
“Yeah. Good you’re not Barney,” Clint grounds out and he feels Aaron perk up.
Clint’s stomach turns the moment the words leave his mouth. He has never spoken of their older brother beyond stating that he died a few years ago, and now he just wants to banish the thought of the older Barton back to where it came from .
“Yeah? Why is that?” Aaron asks and Clint can detect hope to hear more in his voice.
“He was tall,” Clint deflects with a pained smirk on his face. “Would’ve made this a hell of a lot harder.”
“Is that all he was?” Aaron queries with a slump of his shoulders.
“He was an ass,” Clint grounds out. He says nothing else, just bites his lip and follows Aaron’s lead through the tunnel.
The heat inside the badly ventilated mine makes breathing a chore for Clint and he leans heavily on Aaron as he limps down the dark shaft. The flashlight’s bright beam wavers over the tunnel’s ragged surface; the subtle motions play tricks on his mind and make him seasick. His leg throbs and feels at least three times as big as it actually is. Every step sends a jolt of icy electricity through his shattered nerves and up his spine, sweat coating his whole body. He can’t suppress the sounds of pain completely, but tries for Aaron’s sake.
He loses all concept of time, counting each agonizing step he manages as a win. It’s only his iron will and Aaron’s solid mass beside him that keep him going. He leans heavily on his brother and he really is glad that it’s him and not Barney next to him. The pain in his thigh and the darkness around him take him back to that rainy night in the circus seventeen years ago. Their fight, the pain, the betrayal… He shudders at the memory and the muscular arm around his waist holds him tighter.
“It’s okay, you’re doing good,” Aaron says next to him, his voice sure and strong.
Clint scoffs. He knows he’s not even in the vicinity of good. Blackness encroaches on his sight with each thumping beat of his heart. He can feel it strain against his ribs. His head throbs in perfect time with it. Aaron groans softly when Clint leans on him more heavily.
“You hurt?” Clint ask and berates himself for his neglect.
“Bruises. Nothing bad, don’t worry,” Aaron placates and holds Clint more securely around the waist.
Clint breathes a sigh of relief and his mind wanders again. He gets lost in the hypnotic play of the flashlight’s beam across the walls - the pain, the exhaustion, it all becomes irrelevant.
“How long did you say this tunnel was?” Aaron asks him after what feels like a lifetime.
Clint shakes his head to clear his mind and tries to remember the layout from what he saw on the carrier’s screen. A long shaft leading into the earth, branching out into a warren of smaller tunnels as it leads farther underground. One of these is almost long enough to breach the other side of the mountain. He just has to make sure not to get them lost on the way.
“Dunno,” Clint chokes out in between harsh breaths. “S-saw a junction about halfway.”
He should tell Aaron how to navigate the warren, make sure he will get out, but before he can act on that thought his right leg slips on loose gravel and he has to put weight on his mangled leg to keep upright. All-encompassing pain shoots white hot through his body, tearing a scream from his throat before he allows the rapidly approaching blackness to swallow him whole.